EPILOGUE.

Lord.How, gentlemen! what, quarrelling among yourselves!

Mood.Cox-nowns! help me down, and let me have fair play; he shall never marry my daughter.

Sir Mart.[LeadingRose.] No, I'll be sworn that he shall not; therefore never repine, sir, for marriages, you know, are made in heaven; in fine, sir, we are joined together in spite of fortune.

Rose.[Pulling off her mask.] That we are, indeed, Sir Martin, and these are witnesses; therefore, in fine, never repine, sir, for marriages, you know, are made in heaven.

Omn.Rose!

Warn.What, is Rose split in two? Sure I have got one Rose!

Mill.Ay, the best Rose you ever got in all your life.[Pulls off her mask.

Warn.This amazeth me so much, I know not what to say, or think.

Mood.My daughter married to Warner!

Sir Mart.Well, I thought it impossible that any man in England should have over-reached me: Sure, Warner, there is some mistake in this: Pr'ythee, Billy, let's go to the parson to make all right again, that every man have his own, before the matter go too far.

Warn.Well, sir! for my part, I will have nothing farther to do with these women, for, I find, they will be too hard for us; but e'en sit down by the loss, and content myself with my hard fortune: But, madam, do you ever think I will forgive you this, to cheat me into an estate of two thousand pounds a-year?

Sir Mart.An I were as thee, I would not be so served, Warner.

Mill.I have served him but right, for the cheat he put upon me, when he persuaded me you were a wit——now, there's a trick for your trick, sir.

Warn.Nay, I confess you have outwitted me.

Sir John.Let me down, and I'll forgive all freely.[They let him down.

Mood.What am I kept here for?

Warn.I might in policy keep you there, till your daughter and I had been in private, for a little consummation: But for once, sir, I'll trust your good nature.[Takes him down too.

Mood.An thou wert a gentleman, it would not grieve me.

Mill.That I was assured of before I married him, by my lord here.

Lord.I cannot refuse to own him for my kinsman, though his father's sufferings in the late times have ruined his fortunes.

Mood.But yet he has been a serving man.

Warn.You are mistaken, sir, I have been a master; and, besides, there is an estate of eight hundred pounds a year, only it is mortgaged for six thousand pounds.

Mood.Well, we'll bring it off; and, for my part, I am glad my daughter has missedin finethere.

Sir John.I will not be the only man that must sleep without a bed-fellow to-night, if this lady will once again receive me.

L. Dupe.She's yours, sir.

Lord.And the same parson, that did the former execution, is still in the next chamber; what with candles, wine, and quidding, which he has taken in abundance, I think he will be able to wheedle two more of you into matrimony.

Mill.Poor Sir Martin looks melancholy! I am half afraid he is in love.

Warn.Not with the lady that took him for a wit, I hope.

Rose.At least, Sir Martin can do more than you, Mr Warner; for he can make me a lady, which you cannot my mistress.

Sir Mart.I have lost nothing but my man, and, in fine, I shall get another.

Mill.You'll do very well, Sir Martin, for you'll never be your own man, I assure you.

Warn.For my part, I had loved you before, if I had followed my inclination.

Mill.But now I am afraid you begin of the latest, except your love can grow up, like a mushroom, at a night's warning.

Warn.For that matter, never trouble yourself; I can love as fast as any man, when I am nigh possession; my love falls heavy, and never moves quick till it comes near the centre; he's an ill falconer, that will unhood before the quarry be in sight.

Love's an high-mettled hawk that beats the air,But soon grows weary when the game's not near.

[Exeunt omnes.

As country vicars, when the sermon's done,Run headlong to the benediction;Well knowing, though the better sort may stay,The vulgar rout will run unblest away:So we, when once our play is done, make hasteWith a short epilogue to close your taste.In thus withdrawing, we seem mannerly;But, when the curtain's down, we peep, and seeA jury of the wits, who still stay late,And in their club decree the poor play's fate;Their verdict back is to the boxes brought,Thence all the town pronounces it their thought.Thus, gallants, we, like Lilly, can foresee;But if you ask us what our doom will be,We by to-morrow will our fortune cast,As he tells all things when the year is past.

THE

OR, THE

COMEDY.

In this alteration of the "Tempest," Dryden acknowledges his obligation to Sir William Davenant, whom he extols for his quick and piercing imagination. Sir William was the son of an inn-keeper in Oxford, whose house was frequented by our immortal Shakespeare; and hence an ill-founded tradition ascribed to him a paternal interest in young Davenant: But this slander on Shakespeare's moral character has been fully refuted in the Prolegomena to Johnson and Steevens' edition of his plays. Davenant was appointed poet laureat upon the death of Ben Jonson. During the civil wars, he distinguished himself on the royal side, was lieutenant-general of ordnance to the earl of Newcastle, and was knighted by Charles at the siege of Gloucester. He was afterwards much trusted by Henrietta, the queen-dowager; and was finally made prisoner by an English man of war, in attempting to convey a colony of loyalists to Virginia. After a long captivity in the Tower, he was liberated through the intercession of the lord-keeper, Whitelocke; the wisest and most temperate of the counsellors of the ruling power. Through his countenance, Sir William was protected, or connived at, in bringing forward certain interludes and operas, even during the rigid sway of fanaticism. After the restoration, he became manager of a company of players, called the duke of York's servants, in distinction to the king's company, which was directed by Killigrew. He introduced upon the stage much pomp in dress, scenery, and decoration, as if to indemnify the theatrical muses for the poor shifts to which they had been reduced during the usurpation. Sir William Davenant died in 1668, at the age of 63.

"Gondibert," his greatest performance, incurred, when first published, more ridicule, and in latter times more neglect, than its merits deserve. An epic poem, in elegiac stanzas, must always be tedious, because no structure of verse is more unfavourable to narration than that which almost peremptorily requires each sentence to be restricted, or protracted, to four lines. But the liveliness of Davenant's imagination, which Dryden has pointed out as his most striking attribute, has illuminated even the dull and dreary path which he has chosen; and perhaps few poems afford more instances of vigorous conceptions, and even felicity of expression, than the neglected "Gondibert.[C]"

The alteration of the Tempest was Davenant's last work; and it seems to have been undertaken, chiefly, with a view to give room for scenical decoration. Few readers will think the play much improved by the introduction of the sea-language, which Davenant had acquired during the adventurous period of his life. Nevertheless, the ludicrous contest betwixt the sailors, for the dukedom and viceroyship of a barren island, gave much amusement at the time, and some of the expressions were long after proverbial[D]. Much cannot be said for Davenant's ingenuity, in contrasting the character of a woman, who had never seen a man, with that of a man, who had never seen a woman, or in inventing a sister monster for Caliban. The majestic simplicity of Shakespeare's plan is injured by thus doubling his characters; and his wild landscape is converted into a formal parterre, where "each alley has its brother." In sketching characters drawn from fancy, and not from observation, the palm of genius must rest with the first inventor; others are but copyists, and a copy shews no where to such disadvantage as when placed by the original. Besides, although we are delighted with the feminine simplicity of Miranda, it becomes unmanly childishness in Hippolito; and the premature coquetry of Dorinda is disgusting, when contrasted with the maidenly purity that chastens the simplicity of Shakespeare's heroine. The latter seems to display, as it were by instinct, the innate dignity of her sex; the former, to shew, even in solitude, the germ of those vices, by which, in a voluptuous age, the female character becomes degraded. The wild and savage character of Caliban is also sunk into low and vulgar buffoonery.

Dryden has not informed us of the share he had in this alteration: It was probably little more than the care of adapting it to the stage. The prologue is one of the most masterly tributes ever paid at the shrine of Shakespeare.

From the epilogue, the Tempest appears to have been acted in 1667. Although Dryden was under engagements to the king's company, this play was performed by the duke's servants, probably because written in conjunction with Davenant, their manager. It was not published until 1670.

The writing of prefaces to plays was probably invented by some very ambitious poet, who never thought he had done enough: Perhaps by some ape of the French eloquence, which uses to make a business of a letter of gallantry, an examen of a farce; and, in short, a great pomp and ostentation of words on every trifle. This is certainly the talent of that nation, and ought not to be invaded by any other. They do that out of gaiety, which would be an imposition[E]upon us.

We may satisfy ourselves with surmounting them in the scene, and safely leave them those trappings of writings, and flourishes of the pen, with which they adorn the borders of their plays, and which are indeed no more than good landscapes to a very indifferent picture. I must proceed no farther in this argument, lest I run myself beyond my excuse for writing this. Give me leave, therefore, to tell you, reader, that I do not set a value on any thing I have written in this play, but out ofgratitude to the memory of Sir William Davenant, who did me the honour to join me with him in the alteration of it.

It was originally Shakespeare's; a poet for whom he had particularly a high veneration, and whom he first taught me to admire. The play itself had formerly been acted with success in the Black Friars: And our excellent Fletcher had so great a value for it, that he thought fit to make use of the same design, not much varied, a second time. Those, who have seen his "Sea-Voyage," may easily discern that it was a copy of Shakespeare's "Tempest:" The storm, the desert island, and the woman who had never seen a man, are all sufficient testimonies of it. But Fletcher was not the only poet who made use of Shakespeare's plot: Sir John Suckling, a professed admirer of our author, has followed his footsteps in his "Goblins;" hisRegmellabeing an open imitation of Shakespeare'sMiranda, and his spirits, though counterfeit, yet are copied fromAriel. But Sir William Davenant, as he was a man of a quick and piercing imagination, soon found that somewhat might be added to the design of Shakespeare, of which neither Fletcher nor Suckling had ever thought: And, therefore, to put the last hand to it, he designed the counter-part to Shakespeare's plot, namely, that of a man who had never seen a woman; that by this means those two characters of innocence and love might the more illustrate and commend each other. This excellent contrivance he was pleased to communicate to me, and to desire my assistance in it. I confess, that from the very first moment it so pleased me, that I never writ any thing with more delight. I mustlikewise do him that justice to acknowledge, that my writing received daily his amendments; and that is the reason why it is not so faulty, as the rest which I have done, without the help or correction of so judicious a friend. The comical parts of the sailors were also of his invention, and, for the most part, his writing, as you will easily discover by the style. In the time I writ with him, I had the opportunity to observe somewhat more nearly of him, than I had formerly done, when I had only a bare acquaintance with him: I found him then of so quick a fancy, that nothing was proposed to him, on which he could not suddenly produce a thought, extremely pleasant and surprising: and those first thoughts of his, contrary to the old Latin proverb, were not always the least happy. And as his fancy was quick, so likewise were the products of it remote and new. He borrowed not of any other; and his imagination's were such as could not easily enter into any other man. His corrections were sober and judicious: and he corrected his own writings much more severely than those of another man, bestowing twice the time and labour in polishing, which he used in invention. It had perhaps been easy enough for me to have arrogated more to myself than was my due, in the writing of this play, and to have passed by his name with silence in the publication of it, with the same ingratitude which others have used to him, whose writings he hath not only corrected, as he hath done this, but has had a greater inspection over them, and sometimes added whole scenes together, which may as easily be distinguished from the rest, as true gold from counterfeit, by the weight. But, besides the unworthiness of the action, which deterred me from it, (there being nothing so base as to rob the dead of hisreputation,) I am satisfied I could never have received so much honour, in being thought the author of any poem, how excellent soever, as I shall from the joining my imperfections with the merit and name of Shakespeare and Sir William Davenant.

John Dryden.

December 1. 1669.

As when a tree's cut down, the secret rootLives under ground, and thence new branches shoot;So, from old Shakespeare's honoured dust, this daySprings up and buds a new-reviving play:Shakespeare, who (taught by none) did first impartTo Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson art.He, monarch-like, gave those, his subjects, law;And is that nature which they paint and draw.Fletcher reached that which on his heights did grow,Whilst Jonson crept, and gathered all below.This did his love, and this his mirth, digest:One imitates him most, the other best.If they have since outwrit all other men,'Tis with the drops which fell from Shakespeare's pen,The storm, which vanished on the neighbouring shore,Was taught by Shakespeare's Tempest first to roar.That innocence and beauty, which did smileIn Fletcher, grew on this enchanted isle.But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be;Within that circle none durst walk but he.I must confess 'twas bold, nor would you nowThat liberty to vulgar wits allow,Which works by magic supernatural things:But Shakespeare's power is sacred as a king's.Those legends from old priesthood were received,And he then writ, as people then believed.But if for Shakespeare we your grace implore,We for our theatre shall want it more:Who, by our dearth of youths, are forced to employOne of our women to present a boy;And that's a transformation, you will say,Exceeding all the magic in the play.Let none expect, in the last act, to findHer sex transformed from man to womankind.Whate'er she was before the play began,All you shall see of her is perfect man.Or, if your fancy will be farther ledTo find her woman—it must be a-bed.

Alonzo,Duke of Savoy, and Usurper of the Dukedom of Mantua.

Ferdinand,his Son.

Prospero,right Duke of Milan.

Antonio,his Brother, Usurper of the Dukedom.

Gonzalo,a Nobleman of Savoy.

Hippolito,one that never saw woman, right Heir of the Dukedom of Mantua.

Stephano,Master of the Ship.

Mustacho,his Mate.

Trincalo,Boatswain.

Ventoso,a Mariner.

Several Mariners.

A Cabin-Boy.

Miranda, }}Daughters toProspero,that never saw man.Dorinda, }

Ariel,an airy Spirit, Attendant onProspero.

Several Spirits, Guards toProspero.

Caliban, }}Two Monsters of the Isle.Sycorax, }his Sister.

THE

The front of the stage is opened, and the band of twenty-four violins, with the harpsicals and theorbos which accompany the voices, are placed between the pit and the stage. While the overture is playing, the curtain rises, and discovers a new frontispiece, joined to the great pilasters, on each side of the stage. This frontispiece is a noble arch, supported by large wreathed columns of the Corinthian order; the wreathings of the columns are beautified with roses wound round them, and several Cupids flying about them. On the cornice, just over the capitals, sits on either side a figure, with a trumpet in one hand, and a palm in the other, representing Fame. A little farther, on the same cornice, on each side of a compass-pediment, lie a lion and a unicorn, the supporters of the royal arms of England. In the middle of the arch are several angels, holding the king's arms, as if they were placing them in the midst of that compass-pediment. Behind this is the scene, which represents a thick cloudy sky, a very rocky coast, and a tempestuous sea in perpetual agitation. This tempest (supposed to be raised by magick) has many dreadful objects in it, as several spirits in horrid shapes flying down amongst the sailors, then rising and crossing in the air. And when the ship is sinking, the whole house is darkened, and a shower of fire falls upon them. This is accompanied with lightning, and several claps of thunder, to the end of the storm.

EnterMustachoandVentoso.

Vent.What a sea comes in!

Must.A foaming sea; we shall have foul weather.

EnterTrincalo.

Trinc.The scud comes against the wind, 'twill blow hard.

EnterStephano.

Steph.Boatswain!

Trinc.Here, master, what say you?

Steph.Ill weather; let's off to sea.

Must.Let's have sea room enough, and then let it blow the devil's head off.

Steph.Boy! Boy!

Enter Cabin Boy.

Boy.Yaw, yaw, here, master.

Steph.Give the pilot a dram of the bottle.[ExeuntStephanoand boy.

Enter Mariners, and pass over the stage.

Trinc.Bring the cable to the capstorm.

EnterAlonso,Antonio,andGonzalo.

Alon.Good boatswain, have a care; where's the master? Play the men.

Trinc.Pray keep below.

Anto.Where's the master, boatswain?

Trinc.Do you not hear him? You hinder us: Keep your cabins, you help the storm.

Gonz.Nay, good friend, be patient.

Trinc.Ay, when the sea is: Hence! what care these roarers for the name of duke? To cabin; silence; trouble us not.

Gonz.Good friend, remember whom thou hast aboard.

Trinc.None that I love more than myself: You are a counsellor; if you can advise these elements to silence, use your wisdom: if yon cannot, make yourself ready in the cabin for the ill hour. Cheerly, good hearts! out of our way, sirs.[ExeuntTrincaloand mariners.

Gonz.I have great comfort from this fellow; methinks his complexion is perfect gallows: stand fast, good fate, to his hanging; make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own does little advantage us; if he be not born to be hanged, we shall be drowned.[Exit.

EnterTrincaloandStephano.

Trinc.Up aloft, lads. Come, reef both topsails.

Steph.Make haste, let's weigh, let's weigh, and off to sea.[ExitSteph.

Enter two Mariners, and pass over the stage.

Trinc.Hands down! Man your main capstorm.

EnterMustachoandVentosoat the other door.

Must.Up aloft! and man your seere capstorm.

Vent.My lads, my hearts of gold, get in your capstorm-bar. Hoa up, hoa up![ExeuntMustachoandVentoso.

EnterStephano.

Steph.Hold on well! hold on well! Nip well there; quarter-master, get's more nippers.[ExitSteph.

Enter two Mariners, and pass over again.

Trinc.Turn out, turn out all hands to capstorm. You dogs, is this a time to sleep? Lubbord. Heave together, lads.[Trincalowhistles.[ExeuntMustachoandVentoso.

Must. within.Our vial's broke.

Vent. within.'Tis but our vial-block has given way. Come, heave, lads! we are fixed again. Heave together, bullies.

EnterStephano.

Steph.Cut down the hammocks! cut down the hammocks! come, my lads: Come, bullies, chear up! heave lustily. The anchor's apeak.

Trinc.Is the anchor apeak?

Steph.Is a weigh! is a weigh.

Trinc.Up aloft, my lads, upon the fore-castle; cut the anchor, cut him.

All within.Haul catt, haul catt, haul catt, haul: Haul catt, haul. Below.

Steph.Aft, aft, and loose the mizen!

Trinc.Get the mizen-tack aboard. Haul aft mizen-sheet.

EnterMustacho.

Must.Loose the main-top sail!

Steph.Let him alone, there's too much wind.

Trinc.Loose fore-sail! haul aft both sheets! trim her right before the wind. Aft! aft! lads, and hale up the mizen here.

Must.A mackrel-gale, master.

Steph. within.Port hard, port! the wind veers forward, bring the tack aboard-port is. Starboard, starboard, a little steady; now steady, keep her thus, no nearer you cannot come, 'till the sails are loose.

EnterVentoso.

Vent.Some hands down: The guns are loose.[ExitMust.

Trinc.Try the pump, try the pump.[ExitVent.

EnterMustachoat the other door.

Must.O master! six foot water in hold.

Steph.Clap the helm hard aweather! flat, flat, flat-in the fore-sheet there.

Trinc.Over-haul your fore-bowling.

Steph.Brace in the larboard.[Exit.

Trinc.A curse upon this howling, [A great cry within.] They are louder than the weather.

EnterAntonioandGonzalo.

Yet again, what do you here? Shall we give over, and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

Gonz.A pox on your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, uncharitable dog.

Trinc.Work you then, and be poxed.

Anto.Hang, cur, hang, you whorson insolent noise-maker! We are less afraid to be drowned than you are.

Trinc.Ease the fore-brace a little.[Exit.

Gonz.I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench.

EnterAlonzoandFerdinand.

Ferd.For myself I care not, but your loss brings a thousand deaths to me.

Alon.O name not me, I am grown old, my son;I now am tedious to the world, and that,By use, is so to me: But, Ferdinand,I grieve my subjects' loss in thee: Alas!I grieve my subjects' loss in thee: Alas!I suffer justly for my crimes, but whyThou should'st—O heaven!

[A cry within.

Hark! farewell, my son, a long farewell!

EnterTrincalo,Mustacho,andVentoso.

Trinc.What, must our mouths be cold then?

Vent.All's lost. To prayers, to prayers.

Gonz.The duke and prince are gone within to prayers. Let's assist them.

Must.Nay, we may e'en pray too, ourCase is now alike.

Ant.Mercy upon us! we split, we split!

Gonz.Let's all sink with the duke, and the young prince.[Exeunt.

EnterStephanoandTrincalo.

Trinc.The ship is sinking.[A new cry within.

Steph.Run her ashore!

Trinc.Luff! luff! or we are all lost! there's a rock upon the starboard-bow.

Steph.She strikes, she strikes! All shift for themselves.[Exeunt.

In the midst of the shower of fire, the scene changes. The cloudy sky, rocks, and sea vanish; and, when the lights return, discover that beautiful part of the island, which was the habitation ofProspero:'Tis composed of three walks of cypress-trees; each side-walk leads to a cave, in one of whichProsperokeeps his daughter, in the otherHippolito:The middle-walk is of great depth, and leads to an open part of the island.

EnterProsperoandMiranda.

Prosp.Miranda, where's your sister?

Mir.I left her looking from the pointed rock,At the walk's end, on the huge beat of waters.

Prosp.It is a dreadful object.

Mir.If by your art,My dearest father, you have put them inThis roar, allay them quickly.Prosp.I have so ordered,That not one creature in the ship is lost:I have done nothing but in care of thee,My daughter, and thy pretty sister:You both are ignorant of what you are,Not knowing whence I am, nor that I'm moreThan Prospero, master of a narrow cell,And thy unhappy father.Mir.I ne'er endeavouredTo know more than you were pleased to tell me.

Mir.If by your art,My dearest father, you have put them inThis roar, allay them quickly.

Prosp.I have so ordered,That not one creature in the ship is lost:I have done nothing but in care of thee,My daughter, and thy pretty sister:You both are ignorant of what you are,Not knowing whence I am, nor that I'm moreThan Prospero, master of a narrow cell,And thy unhappy father.

Mir.I ne'er endeavouredTo know more than you were pleased to tell me.

Prosp.I should inform thee farther.

Mir.You often, sir, began to tell me what I am,But then you stopt.Prosp.The hour's now come;Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou rememberA time, before we came into this cell?I do not think thou canst, for then thou wert notFull three years old.

Mir.You often, sir, began to tell me what I am,But then you stopt.

Prosp.The hour's now come;Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou rememberA time, before we came into this cell?I do not think thou canst, for then thou wert notFull three years old.

Mir.Certainly I can, sir.

Prosp.Tell me the image then of any thing,Which thou dost keep in thy remembrance still.

Mir.Sir, had I not four or five women once, that tended me?

Prosp.Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: What seest thou else,In the dark back-ward, and abyss of time?If thou rememberest aught, ere thou cam'st here,Then how thou cam'st thou mayest remember too.

Mir.Sir, that I do not.

Prosp.Fifteen years since, Miranda,Thy father was the duke of Milan, andA prince of power.

Mir.Sir, are not you my father?

Prosp.Thy mother was all virtue, and she saidThou wast my daughter, and thy sister too.Mir.O heavens! what foul play had we, thatWe hither came? or was't a blessing that we did?

Prosp.Thy mother was all virtue, and she saidThou wast my daughter, and thy sister too.

Mir.O heavens! what foul play had we, thatWe hither came? or was't a blessing that we did?

Prosp.Both, both, my girl.

Mir.But, sir, I pray, proceed.

Prosp.My brother, and thy uncle, called Antonio,To whom I trusted then the manage of my state,While I was wrapped with secret studies,—that false uncle,Having attained the craft of granting suits,And of denying them; whom to advance,Or lop, for over-topping,—soon was grownThe ivy, which did hide my princely trunk,And sucked my verdure out: Thou attend'st not.

Mir.O good sir, I do.

Prosp.I thus neglecting worldly ends, and bentTo closeness, and the bettering of my mind,Waked in my false brother an evil nature: He did believeHe was indeed the duke, because he thenDid execute the outward face of sovereignty——Do'st thou still mark me?

Mir.Your story would cure deafness.

Prosp.This false dukeNeeds would be absolute in Milan, and confederateWith Savoy's duke, to give him tribute, andTo do him homage.

Mir.False man!

Prosp.This duke of Savoy, being an enemyTo me inveterate, strait grants my brother's suit;And on a night, mated to his design,Antonio opened the gates of Milan, andIn the dead of darkness hurried me thence,With thy young sister, and thy crying self.

Mir.But wherefore did they not that hour destroy us?

Prosp.They durst not, girl, in Milan, for the loveMy people bore me; in short, they hurried usAway to Savoy, and thence aboard a bark at Nissa's port,Bore us some leagues to sea, where they preparedA rotten carcase of a boat, not rigged,No tackle, sail, nor mast; the very ratsInstinctively had quit it.Mir.Alack! what troubleWas I then to you?Prosp.Thou and thy sister wereTwo cherubims, which did preserve me: You bothDid smile, infused with fortitude from heaven.

Mir.Alack! what troubleWas I then to you?

Prosp.Thou and thy sister wereTwo cherubims, which did preserve me: You bothDid smile, infused with fortitude from heaven.

Mir.How came we ashore?

Prosp.By providence divine.Some food we had, and some fresh water, whichA nobleman of Savoy, called Gonzalo,Appointed master of that black design,Gave us; with rich garments, and all necessaries,Which since have steaded much; And of his gentleness(Knowing I loved my books) he furnished me,From mine own library, with volumes, whichI prize above my dukedom.

Mir.Would I might see that man!

Prosp.Here in this island we arrived, and hereHave I your tutor been. But by my skillI find, that my mid-heaven doth dependOn a most happy star, whose influenceIf I now court not, but omit, my fortunesWill ever after droop: Here cease more questions;Thou art inclined to sleep: 'Tis a good dulness,And give it way; I know thou can'st not chuse.[She falls asleep.Come away, my spirit: I am ready now; approach,My Ariel, come.

Come away, my spirit: I am ready now; approach,My Ariel, come.

EnterAriel.

Ariel.All hail, great master, graveSir, hail! I come to answer thy best pleasure,Be it to fly, to swim, to shoot into the fire,To ride into the curled clouds; to thy strong biddingTask Ariel, and all his qualities.Prosp.Hast thou, spirit, performed to pointThe tempest, that I bade thee?Ariel.To every article.I boarded the duke's ship; now on the beak,Now in the waste, the deck, in every cabin,I flamed amazement; and sometimes I seemedTo burn in many places; on the top-mast,The yards, and bow-sprit, I did flame distinctly;Nay, once I rained a shower of fire upon them.Prosp.My brave spirit!—Who was so firm, so constant, that this coilDid not infect his reason?Ariel.Not a soul,But felt a fever of the mind, and playedSome tricks of desperation; all,But mariners, plunged in the foaming brine,And quit the vessel: The duke's son, Ferdinand,With hair upstaring, (more like reeds than hair)Was the first man that leaped; cried,Hell is empty!And all the devils are here!Prosp.Why, that's my spirit!—But, was not this nigh shore?

Prosp.Hast thou, spirit, performed to pointThe tempest, that I bade thee?

Ariel.To every article.I boarded the duke's ship; now on the beak,Now in the waste, the deck, in every cabin,I flamed amazement; and sometimes I seemedTo burn in many places; on the top-mast,The yards, and bow-sprit, I did flame distinctly;Nay, once I rained a shower of fire upon them.

Prosp.My brave spirit!—Who was so firm, so constant, that this coilDid not infect his reason?

Ariel.Not a soul,But felt a fever of the mind, and playedSome tricks of desperation; all,But mariners, plunged in the foaming brine,And quit the vessel: The duke's son, Ferdinand,With hair upstaring, (more like reeds than hair)Was the first man that leaped; cried,Hell is empty!And all the devils are here!

Prosp.Why, that's my spirit!—But, was not this nigh shore?

Ariel.Close by, my master.

Prosp.But, Ariel, are they safe?

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