Prospero's Books Page #8

---

were I so minded,

I here could pluck his

Highness' frown upon you,

and justify you traitors;

at this time I will tell no tales.

The devil speaks in him.

- No.

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call

brother would even infect my mouth,

I do forgive thy rankest fault -

all of them;

and require my dukedom of thee,

which I know perforce thou must restore.

If thou beest Prospero, Give us

particulars of thy preservation;

How thou hast met us here, whom three

hours since were wreck'd upon this shore;

where I have lost - How sharp

the point of this remembrance is!

My dear son Ferdinand.

I am woe for't, sir.

Irreparable is the loss;

and patience says it is past her cure.

I rather think you have not sought her help,

of whose soft grace for the like loss...

I have her sovereign aid,

and rest myself content.

You the like loss!

- As great to me as late;

and, supportable to make the dear loss,

have I means much weaker than

you may call to comfort you,

for I have lost my daughter.

A daughter! O heavens,

that they were living both in Naples,

The King and Queen there!

That they were,

I wish myself were mudded in

that oozy bed where my son lies.

When did you lose your daughter?

In this last tempest.

but, howsoe'er you have been

justled from your senses,

know for certain that I am Prospero,

and that very duke which

was thrust forth of Milan;

who most strangely upon this shore,

where you were wrecked,

was landed to be the lord on't.

My dukedom since you have given me again,

I will requite you with as good a thing;

At least bring forth a wonder,

to content ye as much as me my dukedom.

Sweet lord, you play me false.

No, my dearest love,

I would not for the world.

Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should

wrangle and I would call it fair play.

If this prove a vision of the island,

one dear son shall I twice lose.

22. A Book of Games

Though the seas threaten, they are merciful;

I have curs'd them without cause.

Now all the blessings Of a glad

father compass thee about!

Arise, and say how thou cam'st here.

O, wonder! How many goodly

creatures are there here!

How beauteous mankind is!

O brave new world

That has such people in't!

'Tis new to thee.

What is this maid with whom

thou wast at play?

Your eld'st acquaintance

cannot be three hours;

Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,

And brought us thus together?

Sir, she is mortal; But by immortal

Providence she's mine.

I chose her when I could not ask

my father For his advice,

nor thought I had one.

She Is daughter to this

famous Duke of Milan,

Of whom so often I have heard renown

But never saw before;

of whom I have Receiv'd a second life; and

second father This lady makes him to me.

I am hers.

But, O, how oddly will it sound that

I must ask my child forgiveness!

There, sir, stop; Let us not burden our

remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.

I have inly wept,

or should have spoke ere this.

Look down, you gods, and on

this couple drop a blessed crown;

For it is you that have chalk'd forth

the way which brought us hither.

I say, Amen, Gonzalo!

Was Milan thrust from Milan,

that his issue should become

Kings of Naples?

O, rejoice beyond a common joy,

and set it down with

gold on lasting pillars:

in one voyage did Claribel

her husband find at Tunis;

And Ferdinand, her brother,

found a wife...

...where he himself was lost;

Prospero his dukedom In a poor isle;

and all of us ourselves...

...when no man was his own.

Give me your hands.

Let grief and sorrow still embrace

his heart that doth not wish you joy.

Be it so. Amen!

I prophesied, if a gallows were on

land, this fellow could not drown.

What is the news?

The best news is that we have

safely found our King and company;

the next, our ship- Which but three

glasses since we gave out split -

Is tight and yare, and bravely rigg'd,

as when We first put out to sea.

Every man shift for all the rest,

and let no man take care for himself;

for all is but fortune.

Coragio, bully-monster, coragio!

If these be true spies which I wear

in my head, here's a goodly sight.

O Setebos,

these be brave spirits indeed

How fine my master is!

I am afraid he will chastise me.

What things are these, my lord Antonio?

Will money buy'em?

Very like; one of them is a plain fish,

and no doubt marketable.

Mark but the badges of these men,

my lords, then say if they be true.

This mis-shapen knave- His mother

was a witch, and one so strong...

...that could control the moon,

make flows and ebbs,

And deal in her command

without her power.

These three have robb'd me;

and this demi-devil -

For he's a bastard one -

had plotted with them to take my life.

Two of these fellows you must know and own;

this thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.

I shall be pinch'd to death.

- Go, sirrah, to my cell;

Take with you your companions;

as you look to have my pardon,

trim it handsomely.

Sir, I invite your Highness

and your train to my poor cell,

where you shall take your

rest for this one night;

And in the morn

I'll bring you to your ship,

and so to Naples, where I have hope

to see the nuptial...

of these our dear-belov'd solemnized,

and thence retire me to my Milan,

where every third thought

shall be my grave.

Sir, all this service have I done since I went.

Was't well done?

- Bravely, my diligence.

Thou shalt be free.

This is a thick, printed volume of plays dated 1623.

There are thirty-five plays in the book

and room for one more.

Nineteen pages are left

blank for its inclusion.

Right at the front of the book,

just after the prefix.

And this is the thirty-sixth play,

The Tempest.

Boatswain

Boatswain?

Here, master; what cheer?

All the other volumes have been

drowned and destroyed.

We still do have the last two books,

safely fished from the sea.

My Ariel, chick,

now to the elements be free

and fare thou well!

Please you, draw near.

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,

and what strength I have's

mine own, which is most faint.

Now 'tis true, I must be here

confin'd by you, or sent to Naples.

Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got,

And pardon'd the deceiver,

dwell In this bare island by your spell;

But release me from my bands

with the help of your good hands.

Gentle breath of yours my sails must fill,

or else my project fails,

which was to please.

Now I want spirits to enforce,

art to enchant;

And my ending is despair...

unless I be reliev'd by prayer,

which pierces so...

that it assaults mercy itself,

and frees all faults.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be,

let your indulgence set me free.

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote