(Who had no doubt some noble creature in her)
Dafh’d all to peeces: O the cry did knocke
Against 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.
No more amazement: Tell your pitteous heart
there’s no harme done.
O woe, the day.
I 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,
And thy no greater Father.
More to know
Did neuer medle with my thoughts.
I should in forme thee farther: Lend thy hand
And 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 companion in thee:
I haue with such prouision in mine Art
So 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.
You haue often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopt
And left me to a bootelesse Inquisition,
Concluding, stay: not yet.
The howr’s now come
The 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.
Certainely Sir, I can.
By what? by any other house, or person?
Of any thing the Image, tell me, that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.
Tis farre off:
And rather like a dreame, then an assurance
That my remembrance warrants; Had I not
Fowre, or hue women once, that tended me?
Thou hadst; and more Miranda: But how is it
That this liues in thy minde? What seest thou els
In the dark-backward and Abisme of Time?
Yf thou remembrest ought ere thou cam’st here,
How thou cam’st here thou maist.
But that I doe not.
Twelue yere since (Miranda) twelue yere since,
Thy father was the Duke of Millainc and
A Prince of power.’
Sir, are not you my Father?
Thy Mother was a peece of vertue, and
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Was Duke of Millaine, and his onely heire,
And Princesse: no worse Issued.
O the heauens,
What fowle play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was’t we did?
Both, both my Girle.
By fowle-play (as thou saist) were we heau’d thence,
But blessedly holpe hither.
O my heart bleedes
To thinke oth’teene that I haue turn’d you to,
Which is from my remembrance, please you, farther;
My brother and thy vncle, call’d Anthonio:
I pray thee marke me, that a brother should
Be so perfidious: he, whom next thy selse
Of all the world I lou’d, and to him put
The 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,
The 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? )
Sir, most heedefully.
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,
Of 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?
O good Sir, I doe.
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
Awak’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 fans bound. He being thus Lorded,
Not 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
He was indeed the Duke, out o’th’Substitution
And executing th’outward face of Roialtie
With all prerogatiue: hence his Ambition growing:
Your tale, Sir, would cure deafenesse.
To haue no Schreene between this part he plaid,
And him he plaid it for, he needes will be
Absolute Millainc, Me (poore man) my Librarie
Was Dukedome large enough: of temporall roalties
He thinks me now incapable. Confederates
(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 Millainc)
To most ignoble stooping.
Oh the heauens:
Marke his condition, and th’euent, then tell me
If this might be a brother.
I should sinne
To thinke but Noblie of my Grand-mother,