Last Strokes of Shakespeare's Pen
November 01, 2014 |
| Act I, Scene I of The Tempest |
William Shakespeare (1564–1616). The Tempest.
Vol. 46, pp. 397-410 of
The Harvard Classics
Monsters of the
earth, weird creatures of the air, magic romance, and shipwreck are
mingled by a master hand in his thrilling drama. The fanciful,
enchanting "Tempest" is the last work of the great bard of
Stratford.
("The Tempest"
performed at Queen Elizabeth's court, Nov. 1, 1611.)
Act I
Scene I
[On a ship at sea:] a
tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard
Enter a Ship-Master and a Boatswain
Enter a Ship-Master and a Boatswain
Master BOATSWAIN!
Boats. Here, master;
what cheer?
Mast. Good;
speak to the mariners. Fall to ’t, yarely, 1 or
we run ourselves aground. Bestir, bestir. Exit.
Enter Mariners
Boats. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, 2 yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master’s whistle.—Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough!
Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND, GONZALO, and
others
Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where’s the master? Play the men.
Boats. I pray now,
keep below.
Ant. Where is the
master, boatswain?
Boats. Do you not
hear him? You mar our labour. Keep your cabins; you do assist the
storm.
Gon. Nay, good, be
patient.
Boats. When the sea
is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king? To cabin!
silence! trouble us not.
Gon. Good, yet
remember whom thou hast aboard.
Boats. None that I
more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if you can command these
elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not
hand a rope more; use your authority. If you cannot, give thanks you
have liv’d so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the
mischance of the hour, if it so hap.—Cheerly, good hearts!—Out of
our way, I say. Exit.
Gon. I have great
comfort from this fellow. Methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him;
his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his
hanging; make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth
little advantage. If he be not born to be hang’d, our case is
miserable. Exeunt.
Re-enter Boatswain
Boats. Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try 3 wi’ the main-course. A plague A cry within.
Enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO
upon this howling! They are louder than the weather or our office.—Yet again! What do you here? Shall we give o’er and drown? Have you a mind to sink?
Seb. A pox o’ your
throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!
Boats. Work you,
then.
Ant. Hang, cur!
hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid to be
drown’d than thou art.
Gon. I’ll warrant
him for drowning though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell
and as leaky as an unstanched wench.
Enter Mariners wet
Mariners. All lost! To prayers, to prayers! All lost!
Boats. What, must
our mouths be cold?
Gon. The King and
Prince at prayers! Let’s assist them, For our case is as theirs.
Seb. I’m
out of patience.
This wide-chapp’d rascal—would thou mightst
lie drowning
The washing of ten tides!
Gon. He’ll
be hang’d yet,
Though every drop of water swear against it
And gape at wid’st to glut him. A
confused noise within.
Mercy on us!
We split, we split! Farewell, my wife and
children!
Farewell, brother! We split, we split, we split!
Ant. Let’s all
sink wi’ the King.
Seb. Let’s take
leave of him. Exit.
Gon. Now would I
give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, long
heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but I would
fain die a dry death. Exeunt.
Note
1. Smartly.
Note
6. Absolutely.
[The island. Before Prospero’s
cell]
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA
Mir. If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin’s
cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel,
Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,
Dash’d all to pieces! O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish’d.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
It should the good ship so have swallow’d and
Pros. Be
collected;
No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart
There’s no harm done.
Mir. O,
woe the day!
Pros. No
harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.
Mir. More
to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
Pros. ’Tis
time
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me. So, [Lays
down his mantle.]
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have
comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch’d
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely ordered that there is no soul—
No, not so much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st
sink. Sit down;
For thou must now know farther.
Mir. You
have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp’d
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding, “Stay, not yet.”
Pros. The
hour’s now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear.
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
Out three years old.
Mir. Certainly,
sir, I can.
Pros. By what? By
any other house or person?
Of anything the image tell me, that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.
Mir. ’Tis
far off
And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
Four or five women once that tended me?
Pros. Thou hadst,
and more, Miranda. But how is it
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
If thou rememb’rest aught ere thou cam’st
here,
How thou cam’st here thou may’st.
Mir. But
that I do not.
Pros. Twelve year
since, Miranda, twelve year since,
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
A prince of power.
Mir. Sir,
are not you my father?
Pros. Thy mother was
a piece of virtue, and
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir
And princess no worse issued.
Mir. O
the heavens!
What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was ’t we did?
Pros. Both,
both, my girl.
By foul play, as thou say’st, were we heav’d
thence,
But blessedly holp hither.
Mir. O,
my heart bleeds
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 lov’d, and to him put
And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
In dignity, and for the liberal arts
Without a parallel; those being all my study,
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?
Mir. Sir,
most heedfully.
Pros. Being once
perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them, who to advance and who
The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang’d
’em,
Or else new form’d ’em; having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i’ the
state
To what tune pleas’d 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
With that which, but by being so retir’d,
Awak’d 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,
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
And executing the outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative, hence his ambition growing—
Dost thou hear?
Mir. 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—
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.
Mir. O
the heavens!
Pros. Mark his
condition and the event, then tell me
If this might be a brother.
Mir. I
should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother.
Good wombs have borne bad sons.
Pros. Now
the condition.
This King of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother’s suit;
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,
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
Me and thy crying self.
Mir. Alack,
for pity!
I, not rememb’ring how I cried out then,
That wrings mine eyes to ’t.
Pros. Hear
a little further,
And then I’ll bring thee to the present business
Which now’s upon ’s, without the which this
story
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) 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
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.
Mir. Alack,
what trouble
Was I then to you!
Pros. O,
a cherubin
Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile,
Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
When I have deck’d the sea with drops full salt,
Under my burden groan’d; which rais’d in me
Against what should ensue.
Mir. How
came we ashore?
Pros. By Providence
divine.
Some food we had and some fresh water that
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,
Knowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d me
From mine own library with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.
Mir. Would
I might
But ever see that man!
Pros. Now
I arise. [Puts on his robe.]
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arriv’d; 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
A most auspicious star, whose influence
If now I court not but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions.
Thou art inclin’d to sleep; ’tis a good
dulness,
And give it way. I know thou canst not
choose. [MIRANDA sleeps.]
Come away, servant, come; I am ready now.
Approach, my Ariel; come.
Enter ARIEL
Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
To answer thy best pleasure, be ’t to fly,
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
On the curl’d clouds. To thy strong bidding task
Pros. Hast
thou, spirit,
Ari. To every
article.
I boarded the king’s ship; now on the beak,
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
I flam’d amazement. Sometime I’d divide,
And burn in many places. On the topmast,
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,
Then meet and join. Jove’s lightnings, the
precursors
O’ the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks
Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,
Yea, his dread trident shake.
Pros. My
brave spirit!
Would not infect his reason?
Ari. Not
a soul
But felt a fever of the mad, and play’d
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
Plung’d in the foaming brine and quit the
vessel,
Then all afire with me. The King’s son,
Ferdinand,
With hair up-staring,—then like reeds, not
hair,—
Was the first man that leap’d; cried, “Hell is
empty,
And all the devils are here.”
Pros. Why,
that’s my spirit!
But was not this nigh shore?
Ari. Close
by, my master.
Pros. But are they,
Ariel, safe?
Ari. Not
a hair perish’d;
On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
But fresher than before; and, as thou bad’st me,
In troops I have dispers’d them ’bout the
isle.
The King’s son have I landed by himself,
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,
His arms in this sad knot.
Pros. Of
the King’s ship
The mariners say how thou hast dispos’d,
And all the rest o’ the fleet.
Ari. Safely
in harbour
Is the King’s ship; in the deep nook, where once
Thou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
From the still-vex’d Bermoothes, there she’s
hid;
The mariners all under hatches stow’d,
Who, with a charm join’d to their suff’red
labour,
I have left asleep; and for the rest o’ the
fleet,
Which I dispers’d, they all have met again,
Bound sadly home for Naples,
Supposing that they saw the King’s ship wreck’d
And his great person perish.
Pros. Ariel,
thy charge
Exactly is perform’d; but there’s more work.
What is the time o’ the day?
Ari. Past
the mid season.
Pros. At least two
glasses. The time ’twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most
preciously.
Ari. Is there more
toil? Since thou dost give me pains,
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis’d,
Which is not yet perform’d me.
Pros. How
now? moody?
What is ’t thou canst demand?
Ari. My
liberty.
Pros. Before the
time be out? No more!
Ari. I
prithee,
Remember I have done thee worthy service,
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv’d
Without or grudge or grumblings. Thou did promise
Pros. Dost
thou forget
From what a torment I did free thee?
Ari. No.
Pros. Thou dost, and
think’st it much to tread the ooze
Of the salt deep,
To run upon the sharp wind of the north,
To do me business in the veins o’ the earth
When it is bak’d with frost.
Ari. I
do not, sir.
Pros. Thou liest,
malignant thing! Hast thou forgot
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?
Ari. No, sir.
Pros. Thou
hast. Where was she born? Speak; tell me.
Pros. O,
was she so? I must
Once in a month recount what thou hast been,
Which thou forget’st. This damn’d witch
Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing, from Argier,
Thou know’st, was banish’d; for one thing she
did
They would not take her life. Is not this true?
Ari. Ay, sir.
Pros. This blue-ey’d
hag was hither brought with child,
And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,
As thou report’st thyself, was then her servant;
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthy and abhorr’d commands,
By help of her more potent ministers
And in her most unmitigable rage,
Into a cloven pine; within which rift
Imprison’d thou didst painfully remain
A dozen years; within which space she died
And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy
groans
As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this
island—
Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckl’d whelp, hag-born,—not honour’d
with
A human shape.
Ari. Yes,
Caliban her son.
Pros. Dull thing, I
say so; he, that Caliban
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st
What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts
Of ever angry bears. It was a torment
To lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax
Could not again undo. It was mine art,
When I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gape
The pine, and let thee out.
Ari. I
thank thee, master.
Pros. If thou more
murmur’st, I will rend an oak
And peg thee in his knotty entrails till
Thou hast howl’d away twelve winters.
Ari. Pardon,
master;
And do my spiriting gently.
Pros. Do
so, and after two days
I will discharge thee.
Ari. That’s
my noble master!
What shall I do? say what. What shall I do?
Pros. Go make
thyself like a nymph o’ the sea; be subject
To no sight but thine and mine, invisible
To every eyeball else. Go take this shape
And hither come in ’t. Go, hence with
diligence! Exit ARIEL.
Awake, dear heart, awake! Thou hast slept well;
Awake!
Mir. The
strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.
Pros. Shake
it off. Come on,
We’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.
Mir. ’Tis
a villain, sir,
I do not love to look on.
Pros. But,
as ’tis,
We cannot miss him. He does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices
That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban!
Thou earth, thou! speak.
Cal. (Within.)
There’s wood enough within.
Pros. Come forth, I
say! there’s other business for thee.
Come, thou tortoise!
When?
Note
1. Composing the freight.
Note
26. Responsive.
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