The Tempest By William Shakespeare

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The Tempest

William Shakespeare

Published: 1611

Categorie(s): Fiction, Drama

Source: http://shakespeare.mit.edu/ About Shakespeare:

William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564 – died 23 April 1616) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright. Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon. At the age of 18 he married Anne Hathaway, who bore him three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Between 1585 and 1592 he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part owner of the playing company the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men. He appears to have retired to Stratford around 1613, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive, and there has been considerable speculation about such matters as his sexuality, religious beliefs, and whether the works attributed to him were written by others. Shakespeare produced most of his known work between 1590 and 1613. His early plays were mainly comedies and histories, genres he raised to the peak of sophistication and artistry by the end of the sixteenth century. Next he wrote mainly tragedies until about 1608, including Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth, considered some of the finest examples in the English language. In his last phase, he wrote tragicomedies, also known as romances, and collaborated with other playwrights. Many of his plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime, and in 1623 two of his former theatrical colleagues published the First Folio, a collected edition of his dramatic works that included all but two of the plays now recognised as Shakespeare's. Shakespeare was a respected poet and playwright in his own day, but his reputation did not rise to its present heights until the nineteenth century. The Romantics, in particular, acclaimed Shakespeare's genius, and the Victorians hero-worshipped Shakespeare with a reverence that George Bernard Shaw called "bardolatry". In the twentieth century, his work was repeatedly adopted and rediscovered by new movements in scholarship and performance. His plays remain highly popular today and are consistently performed and reinterpreted in diverse cultural and political contexts throughout the world. Source: Wikipedia

Also available on Feedbooks Shakespeare:

- Romeo and Juliet (1597)

- Hamlet (1599)

- Macbeth (1606)

- A Midsummer Night's Dream (1596)

- Julius Caesar (1599)

- Othello (1603)

- The Merchant of Venice (1598)

- Much Ado About Nothing (1600)

- King Lear (1606)

- The Taming of the Shrew (1594)

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Act I

SCENE I. On a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard.

> Enter a Master and a Boatswain

Master

> Boatswain!

Boatswain

> Here, master: what cheer?

Master

> Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely,

> or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.

>

> Exit

>

> Enter Mariners

Boatswain

> Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!

> yare, 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

ALONSO

> Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?

> Play the men.

Boatswain

> I pray now, keep below.

ANTONIO

> Where is the master, boatswain?

Boatswain

> Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your

> cabins: you do assist the storm.

GONZALO

> Nay, good, be patient.

Boatswain

> When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers

> for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

GONZALO

> Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

Boatswain

> 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 lived 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

GONZALO

> 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 hanged, our case is miserable.

>

> Exeunt

>

> Re-enter Boatswain

Boatswain

> Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring

> her to try with main-course.

>

> A cry within

>

> A plague upon this howling! they are louder than

> the weather or our office.

>

> Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO

>

> Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er

> and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEBASTIAN

> A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,

> incharitable dog!

Boatswain

> Work you then.

ANTONIO

> Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!

> We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

GONZALO

> I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were

> no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an

> unstanched wench.

Boatswain

> Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to

> sea again; lay her off.

>

> Enter Mariners wet

Mariners

> All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Boatswain

> What, must our mouths be cold?

GONZALO

> The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them,

> For our case is as theirs.

SEBASTIAN

> I'm out of patience.

ANTONIO

> We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:

> This wide-chapp'd rascal—would thou mightst lie drowning

> The washing of ten tides!

GONZALO

> He'll be hang'd yet,

> Though every drop of water swear against it

> And gape at widest 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!'

ANTONIO

> Let's all sink with the king.

SEBASTIAN

> Let's take leave of him.

>

> Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN

GONZALO

> Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an

> acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any

> thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain

> die a dry death.

>

> Exeunt

SCENE II. The island. Before PROSPERO'S cell.

> Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA

MIRANDA

> 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

> The fraughting souls within her.

PROSPERO

> Be collected:

> No more amazement: tell your piteous heart

> There's no harm done.

MIRANDA

> O, woe the day!

PROSPERO

> 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.

MIRANDA

> More to know

> Did never meddle with my thoughts.

PROSPERO

> '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.

MIRANDA

> You have often

> Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd

> And left me to a bootless inquisition,

> Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

PROSPERO

> 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.

MIRANDA

> Certainly, sir, I can.

PROSPERO

> By what? by any other house or person?

> Of any thing the image tell me that

> Hath kept with thy remembrance.

MIRANDA

> '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?

PROSPERO

> Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it

> 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.

MIRANDA

> But that I do not.

PROSPERO

> Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,

> Thy father was the Duke of Milan and

> A prince of power.

MIRANDA

> Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO

> Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and

> She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father

> Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir

> And princess no worse issued.

MIRANDA

> O the heavens!

> What foul play had we, that we came from thence?

> Or blessed was't we did?

PROSPERO

> Both, both, my girl:

> By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,

> But blessedly holp hither.

MIRANDA

> O, my heart bleeds

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

> Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

PROSPERO

> 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,

> 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?

MIRANDA

> Sir, most heedfully.

PROSPERO

> Being once perfected how to grant suits,

> 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.

MIRANDA

> O, good sir, I do.

PROSPERO

> 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,

> With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing—

> Dost thou hear?

MIRANDA

> Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PROSPERO

> 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—

> 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.

MIRANDA

> O the heavens!

PROSPERO

> Mark his condition and the event; then tell me

> If this might be a brother.

MIRANDA

> I should sin

> To think but nobly of my grandmother:

> Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO

> Now the condition.

> The 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,

> The ministers for the purpose hurried thence

> Me and thy crying self.

MIRANDA

> 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.

PROSPERO

> 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.

MIRANDA

> Wherefore did they not

> That hour destroy us?

PROSPERO

> 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 boat, not rigg'd,

> Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats

> Instinctively had 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.

MIRANDA

> Alack, what trouble

> Was I then to you!

PROSPERO

> O, a cherubim

> 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 burthen groan'd; which raised in me

> An undergoing stomach, to bear up

> Against what should ensue.

MIRANDA

> How came we ashore?

PROSPERO

> By Providence divine.

> Some food we had and some fresh water that

> A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,

> Out of his charity, 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.

MIRANDA

> Would I might

> But ever see that man!

PROSPERO

> Now I arise:

>

> Resumes his mantle

>

> 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 princesses can that have more time

> For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.

MIRANDA

> 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?

PROSPERO

> Know thus far forth.