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Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This musick crept by me upon the waters;
Allaying both their fury, and my passion,
With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
Or it hath drawn me rather :-But 'tis gone.
No, it begins again.

ARIEL sings.

Full fathom five thy father lics;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls, that were his eyes :
Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

Hark! now I hear them,—ding-dong, bell.

[Burden, ding-dong.

Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father:

This is no mortal business, nor no sound

That the earth owes 18 :-I hear it now above me.

Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say, what thou seest yond'.

Mira. What is't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,

It carries a brave form :-But 'tis a spirit.

Pro. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath such

senses

As we have, such: This gallant, which thou seest,

Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call him

A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows,

And strays about to find them.

Mira.

A thing divine; for nothing natural

I ever saw so noble.

Pro.

It goes on,

I might call him

[Aside.

As my soul prompts it:- Spirit, fine spirit, I'll free

thee

Within two days for this.

Fer.

Most sure, the goddess

On whom these airs attend!-Vouchsafe, my prayer

May know, if you remain upon this island;
And that you will some good instruction give,
How I may bear me here: My prime request,
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
If you be made, or no?

Mira.

But, certainly a maid.

Fer.

No wonder, sir;

My language! heavens!

I am the best of them that speak this speech,
Were I but where 'tis spoken.

Pro.

How! the best?

What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard

thee?

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples: He does hear me; And, that he does, I weep: myself am Naples;

Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld
The king my father wreck'd.

Mira.

Alack, for mercy!

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of

Milan,

And his brave son, being twain 19.

Pro.

The duke of Milan,

And his more braver daughter, could control thee,
If now 't were fit to do 't:-At the first sight [Aside.
They have chang'd eyes :-Delicate Ariel,

I'll set thee free for this !-A word, good sir;

I fear, you have done yourself some wrong: a word.
Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This
Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first

That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father
To be inclin'd my way!

Fer.

And your

O, if a virgin,

affection not gone forth, I'll make you

The queen of Naples.

Pro.

Soft, sir; one word more.-

They are both in either's powers: but this swift

business

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning

[Aside.

Make the prize light.-One word more; I charge

thee,

That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp

The name thou ow'st not: and hast put thyself

Upon this island, as a spy, to win it

From me, the lord on 't.

Fer.

No, as I am a man.

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a tem

ple:

If the ill spirit have so fair an house,

Good things will strive to dwell with't.

Pro.

Follow me.-[To Ferd. Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor.-Come.

I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:
Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled: Follow.

Fer.

I will resist such entertainment, till

Mine enemy has more power.

Mira.

No;

[He draws.

O dear father,

Make not too rash a trial of him, for

He's gentle, and not fearful.

Pro.

What, I say,

My foot my tutor!-Put thy sword up, traitor;

Who mak'st a shew, but dar'st not strike, thy con

science

Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward;

For I can here disarm thee with this stick,

And make thy weapon drop.

Mira.

Pro. Hence! hang not on my garments.

Mira.

I'll be his surety.

Pro.

Beseech you, father!

Sir, have pity;

Silence: one word more

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!

An advocate for an impostor? hush!

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