Internet Shakespeare Editions

Toolbox




Jump to line
Through Line Number
Help on texts
About this text
Print this page

About this text

  • Title: The Tempest (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editors: Brent Whitted, Paul Yachnin

    • ISBN: 978-1-55058-370-0

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editors: Brent Whitted, Paul Yachnin
    Peer Reviewed

    The Tempest (Folio 1, 1623)

    2
    The Tempest.
    (Who had no doubt some noble creature in her)
    Dash'd all to peeces: O the cry did knocke
    90Against my very heart: poore soules, they perish'd.
    Had I byn any God of power, I would
    Haue suncke the Sea within the Earth, or ere
    It should the good Ship so haue swallow'd, and
    The fraughting Soules within her.
    95Pros. Be collected,
    No more amazement: Tell your pitteous heart
    there's no harme done.
    Mira. O woe, the day.
    Pros. No harme:
    100I haue done nothing, but in care of thee
    (Of thee my deere one; thee my daughter) who
    Art ignorant of what thou art. naught knowing
    Of whence I am: nor that I am more better
    Then Prospero, Master of a full poore cell,
    105And thy no greater Father.
    Mira. More to know
    Did neuer medle with my thoughts.
    Pros. 'Tis time
    I should informe thee farther: Lend thy hand
    110And plucke my Magick garment from me: So,
    Lye there my Art: wipe thou thine eyes, haue comfort,
    The direfull spectacle of the wracke which touch'd
    The very vertue of compassion in thee:
    I haue with such prouision in mine Art
    115So safely ordered, that there is no soule
    No not so much perdition as an hayre
    Betid to any creature in the vessell
    Which thou heardst cry, which thou saw'st sinke: Sit [downe,
    For thou must now know farther.
    120Mira. You haue often
    Begun to tell me what I am, but stopt
    And left me to a bootelesse Inquisition,
    Concluding, stay: not yet.
    Pros. The howr's now come
    125The very minute byds thee ope thine eare,
    Obey, and be attentiue. Canst thou remember
    A time before we came vnto this Cell?
    I doe not thinke thou canst, for then thou was't not
    Out three yeeres old.
    130Mira. Certainely Sir, I can.
    Pros. By what? by any other house, or person?
    Of any thing the Image, tell me, that
    Hath kept with thy remembrance.
    Mira. 'Tis farre off:
    135And rather like a dreame, then an assurance
    That my remembrance warrants: Had I not
    Fowre, or fiue women once, that tended me?
    Pros. Thou hadst; and more Miranda: But how is it
    That this liues in thy minde? What seest thou els
    140In the dark-backward and Abisme of Time?
    Yf thou remembrest ought ere thou cam'st here,
    How thou cam'st here thou maist.
    Mira. But that I doe not.
    Pros. Twelue yere since ( Miranda) twelue yere since,
    145Thy father was the Duke of Millaine and
    A Prince of power:
    Mira. Sir, are not you my Father?
    Pros. Thy Mother was a peece of vertue, and
    She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
    150Was Duke of Millaine, and his onely heire,
    And Princesse; no worse Issued.
    Mira. O the heauens,
    What fowle play had we, that we came from thence?

    Or blessed was't we did?
    155Pros. Both, both my Girle.
    By fowle-play (as thou saist) were we heau'd thence,
    But blessedly holpe hither.
    Mira. O my heart bleedes
    To thinke oth' teene that I haue turn'd you to,
    160Which is from my remembrance, please you, farther;
    Pros. My brother and thy vncle, call'd Anthonio:
    I pray thee marke me, that a brother should
    Be so perfidious: he, whom next thy selfe
    Of all the world I lou'd, and to him put
    165The mannage of my state, as at that time
    Through all the signories it was the first,
    And Prospero, the prime Duke, being so reputed
    In dignity; and for the liberall Artes,
    Without a paralell; those being all my studie,
    170The Gouernment I cast vpon my brother,
    And to my State grew stranger, being transported
    And rapt in secret studies, thy false vncle
    (Do'st thou attend me?)
    Mira. Sir, most heedefully.
    175Pros. Being once perfected how to graunt suites,
    how to deny them: who t'aduance, and who
    To trash for ouer-topping; new created
    The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em,
    Or els new form'd 'em; hauing both the key,
    180Of Officer, and office, set all hearts i'th state
    To what tune pleas'd his eare, that now he was
    The Iuy which had hid my princely Trunck,
    And suckt my verdure out on't: Thou attend'st not?
    Mira. O good Sir, I doe.
    185Pros. I pray thee marke me:
    I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
    To closenes, and the bettering of my mind
    with that, which but by being so retir'd
    Ore-priz'd all popular rate: in my false brother
    190Awak'd an euill nature, and my trust
    Like a good parent, did beget of him
    A falsehood in it's contrarie, as great
    As my trust was, which had indeede no limit,
    A confidence sans bound. He being thus Lorded,
    195Not onely with what my reuenew yeelded,
    But what my power might els exact. Like one
    Who hauing into truth, by telling of it,
    Made such a synner of his memorie
    To credite his owne lie, he did beleeue
    200He was indeed the Duke, out o'th' Substitution
    And executing th'outward face of Roialtie
    With all prerogatiue: hence his Ambition growing:
    Do'st thou heare?
    Mira. Your tale, Sir, would cure deafenesse.
    205Pros. To haue no Schreene between this part he plaid,
    And him he plaid it for, he needes will be
    Absolute Millaine, Me (poore man) my Librarie
    Was Dukedome large enough: of temporall roalties
    He thinks me now incapable. Confederates
    210(so drie he was for Sway) with King of Naples
    To giue him Annuall tribute, doe him homage
    Subiect his Coronet, to his Crowne and bend
    The Dukedom yet vnbow'd (alas poore Millaine)
    To most ignoble stooping.
    215Mira. Oh the heauens:
    Pros. Marke his condition, and th'euent, then tell me
    If this might be a brother.
    Mira. I should sinne
    To thinke but Noblie of my Grand-mother,
    Good
    About
    Contact us
    Content quality
    Site guide
    © Internet Shakespeare Editions
    Copyright details
    Privacy policy
    This site is supported by:
    University of Victoria
    Friends of the ISE
    SSHRC