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What's deareft to the World; full many a Lady
I have ey'd with beft Regard, and many a time
Th' Harmony of their Tongues hath into Bondage
Brought my too diligent Ear; for feveral Virtues
Have I lik'd feveral Women, never any
With fo full Soul, but fome Defect in her
Did quarrel with the nobleft Grace fhe ow'd,
And put it to the Foil. But you, O you,
So perfect, and so peerless, are created
Of every Creatures best.

Mira. I do not know

One of my Sex; no Woman's Face remember,
Save, from my Glafs, mine own; nor have I feen
More that I may call Men, than you good Friends
And my dear Father; how Features are abroad
I am skillefs of; but my Modefty,

The Jewel in my Dower, I would not wish
Any Companion in the World but

Nor can Imagination form a Shape,

you;

Befides your felf, to like of; but I prattle
Something too wildly, and my Father's Precepts
I therein do forget.

Fer. I am, in my Condition,

A Prince, Miranda, I do think a King;
I would not fo, and would no more endure

This wooden Slavery, than to fuffer

The Flesh-flie blow my Mouth. Hear my Soul fpeak;

The very inftant that I faw you, did

My Heart fly to your Service, there refides

To make me Slave to it, and for your fake

Am I this patient Log-man.

Mira. Do you love me!

Fer. O Heav'n, O Earth, bear Witness to this Sound,

And crown what I profess with kind Event,

If I fpeak true; if hollowly, invert

What beft is boaded me, to Mischief; I,
Beyond all limit of what else i'th' World,
Do love, prize, honour you.

Mira. I am a Fool

To weep at what I am glad of.
Pro. Fair Encounter

Whilft thus you mock it; how in ftripping it
You more inveft it: Ebbing Men, indeed,
Most often do fo, near the Bottom, run,
By their own Fear or Sloth.

Seb. Prethee fay on,

The fetting of thine Eye and Cheek proclaim
A Matter from thee; and a Birth, indeed,
Which throws thee much to yield.

Ant. Thus Sir:

Although this Lord of weak Remembrance; this
Who shall be of as little Memory

When he is earth'd, hath here almost perfuaded
(For he's a Spirit of Perfuafion, only
Profeffes to perfuade) the King his Son's alive;
'Tis as impoffible that he's undrown'd,
As he that fleeps here, fwims.

Seb. I have no Hope

That he's undrown'd.

Ant. O, out of that no Hope,

What great Hope have you? No Hope that way, is
Another way fo high an Hope, that even

Ambition cannot pierce a Wink beyond,

But doubt Discovery there. Will you grant, with me, That Ferdinand is drown'd?

Seb. He's gone.

Ant. Then tell me who's the next Heir of Naples?
Seb. Claribel.

Ant. She that is Queen of Tunis; fhe that dwells

Ten Leagues beyond Man's Life; the that from Naples
Can have no Note, unless the Sun were Post,

The Man i' th' Moon's too flow, 'till new-born Chins
Be rough, and razorable; fhe from whom

We all were Sea-fwallow'd, tho' some cast again,
And by that Destiny to perform an A&t;
Whereof, what's paft in Prologue, what to come
In yours, and my Difcharge-

Seb. What Stuff is this? How say you?

'Tis true, my Brother's Daughter's Queen of Tunis, So is the Heir of Naples, 'twixt which Regions There is fome Space.

Ant.

Ant. A Space whofe ev'ry Cubit
Seems to cry out, How fhall that Claribel
Measure us back by Naples? keep in Tunis,
And let Sebaftian wake. Say, this were Death
That now hath feiz'd them, why they were no worfe
Than now they are: There be that can rule Naples
As well as he that fleeps; Lords, that can prate
As amply, and unneceffarily

As this Gonzalo; I my felf could make

A Chough of as deep Chat; O, that you bore
The Mind that I do; what a Sleep were this
For your Advancement? Do you understand me?
Seb. Methinks I do.

Ant. And how does your Content
Tender your own good Fortune?
Seb. I remember

You did fupplant your Brother Profpero.
Ant. True:

And look how well my Garments fit upon me,
Much feater than before. My Brother's Servants
Were then my Fellows, now they are my Men.
Seb. But for your Confcience.

Ant. Ay, Sir; where lyes that? If 'twere a Kybe
'Twould put me to my Slipper: But I feel not
This Deity in my Bofom. Twenty Confciences
That ftand 'twixt me and Millan, candied be they,
And melt e'er they moleft. Here lyes your Brother,
No better than the Earth he lyes upon,

If he were that which now he's like, that's dead;
Whom I with this obedient Steel, three Inches of it,
Can lay to Bed for ever: Whilft you doing thus,
To the perpetual Wink for ay might put
This ancient Morfel, this Sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our Courfe. For all the reft
They'll take Suggeftion, as a Cat laps Milk;
They'll tell the Clock, to any Bufinefs that
We fay befits the Hour.

Seb. Thy Cafe, dear Friend,

Shall be my Prefident; As thou got'ft Millan,

I'll come by Naples. Draw thy Sword, one Stroke
Shall free thee from the Tribute which thou payeft,

And

And I the King fhall love thee.

Ant. Draw together:

And when I rear my Hand, do you the like

To fall it on Gonzalo.

Seb. O, but one Word.

Enter Ariel with Musick and Song.

Ari. My Mafter through his Art forefees the Danger That you, his Friend, are in; and fends me forth

(For elle his Project dies) to keep them living.

[Sings in Gonzalo's Ear.

While you here do Snoaring lye,

Open-ey'd Conspiracy

His time doth take:

If of Life you keep a Care,
Shake off Slumber, and beware.
Awake, awake.

Ant. Then let us both be fudden.

Gon. Now, good Angels preferve the King. [They wake. Alon. Why how now ho? awake? why are you drawn? Wherefore this ghaftly Looking?

Gon. What's the Matter?

Seb. Whilft we ftood here fecuring your Repofe,
Even now we heard a hollow Burft of bellowing
Like Bulls, or rather Lions; did't not wake you?
It ftrook mine Ear moft terribly.

Alon. I heard nothing.

Ant. O, 'twas a Din to fright a Monster's Ear;
To make an Earthquake: Sure it was the Roar
Of a whole Herd of Lions.

Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo?

Gon. Upon mine, Honour, Sir, I heard a Humming,
And that a strange one too, which did awake me!
I fhak'd you, Sir, and cry'd, as mine Eyes open'd,
I faw their Weapons drawn: There was a Noife,
That's verily. Tis beft we ftand upon our Guard;
Or that we quit this Place; let's draw our Weapons.
Alon. Lead off this Ground, and let's make further Search
For my poor Son.

Gon. Heav'ns keep him from these Beasts:
For he is fure i'th'Ifland.

Alon. Lead away.

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Ari. Profpero, my Lord, fhall know what I have done. So, King, go fafely on to feek thy Son.

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[Exeunte

Enter Caliban with a Burden of Wood; a Noife of
Thunder heard.

Cal. All the Infections that the Sun fucks up
From Bogs, Fens, Flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
By Inch-meal a Difeafe: His Spirits hear me,

And yet I needs muft curfe. But they'll not pinch,
Fright me with Urchin fhews, pitch me i' th' Mire,
Nor lead me, like a Fire-brand, in the Dark
Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
For every trifle are they fet upon me;

Sometime like Apes, that moe and chatter at me,
And after bite me; then like Hedg-hogs, which
Lye tumbling in my Bare-foot-way, and mount
Their pricks at my Foot-fall; fometime am I

All wound with Adders, who with cloven Tongues
Do hifs me into Madness. Lo! now! lo! [Enter Trinculo.
Here comes a Spirit of his, and to torment me,
For bringing Wood in flowly: I'll fall flat,
Perchance he will not mind me.

Tri. Here's neither Bush nor Shrub to bear off any Wea ther at all, and another Storm brewing; I hear it fing i'th Wind: Yond fame black Cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul Bumbard that would fhed his Liquor. If it should Thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my Head: Yond fame Cloud cannot chufe but fall by Pailfuls What have we here, a Man or a Fifh? dead or alive? A Fish; he smells like a Fish: A very ancient and fish-like Smell. A kind of, not of the neweft Poor John: Aftrange Fish; were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this Fish painted, not an Holy-day-fool there but would give a piece of Silver; there would this Monfter make a Man; any ftrange Beaft there makes a Man: When they will not give a Doit to relieve a lame Beggar, they will lay out ten to fee a dead Indian. Leg'd like a Man! and his Fins like Arms! warm o'my troth: I do now let loofe my Opinion, hold it no longer; this is no Fish, but an Iflander, that hath lately suffer'd by a Thunderbolt: Alas! the Storm is come +

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