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But how is it

Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda.

Mir.

That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
How thou camest here thou mayst.

But that I do not.

Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and

Mir.

A prince of power.

Sir, are not you my father?

Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and

Mir.

Pros.

Mir.

She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Was Duke of Milan; and his only heir

A princess, no worse issued.

O the heavens !

50

What foul play had we, that we came from thence? 60
Or blessed was't we did?

Both, both, my girl:
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence;
But blessedly holp hither.

O, my heart bleeds

To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,

Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther. Pros. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,— I pray thee, mark me,—that a brother should Be so perfidious!—he whom, next thyself, Of all the world I loved, and to him put The manage 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 liberal arts

Without a parallel; those being all my study,

70

The government I cast upon my brother,

And to my state grew stranger, being transported
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-
Dost thou attend me ?

Sir, most heedfully.

Mir.
Pros. Being once perfected how to grant suits,

80

How to deny them, who to advance, and who
To trash for over-topping, new created
The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em,
Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key

Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state

To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,

And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. Mir. O, good sir, I do.

Pros.

I pray thee, mark me.

I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness and the bettering of my mind
With that which, but by being so retired,
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
Awaked an evil nature; and my trust,
Like a good parent, did beget of him
A falsehood in its contrary, as great

As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,

A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,

Not only with what my revenue yielded,

But what my power might else exact, like one
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,

To credit his own lie, he did believe

He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution,
And executing the outward face of royalty,

90

100

Mir.

With all prerogative:-hence his ambition growing,-
Dost thou hear?

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
Pros. To have no screen between this part he play'd
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties
He thinks me now incapable; confederates,

Mir.

So dry he was for sway, wi' the King of Naples
To give him annual tribute, do him homage,

Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend

The dukedom, yet unbow'd,-alas, poor Milan !—
To most ignoble stooping.

O the heavens!

Pros. Mark his condition, and the event; then tell me
If this might be a brother.

Mir.

Pros.

I should sin

To think but nobly of my grandmother :
Good wombs have borne bad sons.

III

Now the condition. 120
This King of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises,
Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan,
With all the honours, on my brother: whereon,
A treacherous army levied, one midnight

Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open

The gates of Milan; and, i' the dead of darkness, 130
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence

Me and thy crying self.

Mir.

Pros.

Alack, for pity!

I, not remembering how I cried out then,
Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint

That wrings mine eyes to 't.

Hear a little further,

And then I'll bring thee to the present business
Which now's upon's; without the which, this story
Were most impertinent.

Mir.

Wherefore did they not

That hour destroy us?

Pros.

Well demanded, wench:

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
So dear the love my people bore me; nor set

A mark so bloody on the business; but

With colours fairer painted their foul ends.

In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,

Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg'd,

Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us,
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.

[41

150

Mir.

Alack, what trouble

Was I then to you!

Pros.

O, a cherubin

Thou didst smile,

Thou wast that did preserve me.

Infused with a fortitude from heaven,

When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me
An undergoing stomach, to bear up

Against what should ensue.

Mir.

Pros. By Providence divine.

Mir.

Pros.

How came we ashore?

Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 160
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,

Out of his charity, who being then appointed

Master of this design, did give us, with

Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me
From mine own library with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.

But ever see that man!

Would I might

Now I arise:

[Resumes his mantle.

170

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Here in this island we arrived; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princess' can, that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. Mir. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir, For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason For raising this sea-storm?

Pros.

Know thus far forth.

By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience

I find my zenith doth depend upon

A most auspicious star, whose influence

If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes

180

Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions:
Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness,
And give it way: I know thou canst not choose.

[Miranda sleeps.

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