And his brave Son, being twain.

Pro. The Duke of Millan

And his more braver Daughter could controll thee,
If now 'twere fit to do't: At the first Sight
They have chang'd Eyes: Delicate Ariel,

I'll fet thee free for this. A Word, good Sir,
I fear you have done your felf fome Wrong: A Word.
Mira. Why fpeaks my Father fo ungently? This
Is the third Man that e'er I faw; the firft

That e'er I figh'd for: Pity move my Father
To be enclin'd my way.

Fer. O, if a Virgin,

And your Affection not gone forth; I'll make you
The Queen of Naples.

Pro. Soft Sir, one Word more.

They are both in eithers Pow'r: But this fwift Business
I must uneafie make, left too light winning

Make the Prize light. One Word more; I charge thee
That thou attend me; thou doft here ufurp
The Name thou ow'ft not, and haft put thy felf
Upon this Ifland, 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 Temple. If the ill Spirit have fo fair an House,

Good things will ftrive to dwell with't.

Pro. Follow me.

Speak not you for him: He's a Traitor.

I'll manacle thy Neck and Feet together;

Come,

Sea-water fhalt thou drink, thy Food shall be

The fresh-brook Mufcles, wither'd Roots, and Husks
Wherein the Acorn cradled.. Follow.

Fer. No,

I will refift fuch Entertainment, 'till

Mine Enemy has more Pow'r.

[He draws, and is charmed from moving.

Mira. O dear Father,

Make not too rafh a Trial of him; for

He's gentle, and not fearful.

Pro. What I fay,

My Foot my Tutor? Put thy Sword up, Traitor,

Who mak'st a Shew, but dar'ft not ftrike; thy Confcience

Is poffeft with Guilt: Come from thy Ward,
For I can here difarm thee with this Stick,
And make thy Weapon drop.

Mira. Befeech you, Father.

Pro. Hence: Hang not on my Garments.
Mira. Sir, have Pity;

I'll be his Surety.

Pro. Silence: One Word more

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What,
An Advocate for an Impoftor? Hush!

Thou think'ft there are no more fuch Shapes as he,
(Having feen but him and Caliban) foolish Wench,
To th' moft of Men this is a Caliban,

And they to him are Angels.

Mira. My Affections

Are then moft humble: I have no Ambition

To fee a goodlier Man.

Pro. Come on, obey:

Thy Nerves are in their Infancy again,

And have no Vigour in them.

Fer. So they are:

1

My Spirits, as in a Dream, are all bound up.
My Father's lofs, the Weakness which I feel,
The Wrack of all my Friends, and this Man's Threats,
To whom I am fubdu'd, are but light to me,
Might I but through my Prison once a Day
Behold this Maid: All Corners elfe o' th' Earth
Let Liberty make ufe of; Space enough
Have I, in fuch a Prison.

Pro. It works: Come on.

Thou haft done well, fine Ariel: Follow me
Hark what thou elfe fhalt do me.

Mira. Be of Comfort,
My Father's of a better Nature, Sir,

Than he appears by Speech: This is unwonted
Which now came from him.

Pro. Thou shalt be as free

As Mountain Winds; but then exactly do

All Points of my Command.

Ari. To th' Syllable.

Pro. Come follow: Speak not for him.

C 2

[Exeunt.

ACT

ACT II. SCENE I

Enter Alonfo, Sebaftian, Anthonio, Gonzalo, Adrian,
Francifco, and others.

Efeech you Sir, be merry:

Gonz. BE

: You have Cause,

(So have we all) of Joy; for our Escape
Is much beyond our Lofs; our Hint of Wo
Is common, every Day, fome Sailor's Wife,
The Masters of fome Merchant, and the Merchant
Have juft our Theam of Wo: But for the Miracle,
(I mean our Prefervation) few in Millions

Can fpeak like us: Then wifely, good Sir, weigh
Our Sorrow with our Comfort.

Alon. Prethee Peace.

Seb. He receives Comfort like cold Porridge.
Ant. The Vifitor will not give o'er fo.

Seb. Look, he's winding up the Watch of his Wit,

By and by it will strike.

Gen. Sir.

Seb. On: Tell.

Gon. When every Grief is entertain'd That's offer'd; comes to the Entertainer

Seb. A Dollor.

Gon. Dolour comes to him indeed, you have spoken truer than you purpos'd.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you fhould. Gon. Therefore, my Lord.

Ant. Fie, what a Spend-thrift is he of his Tongue?

Alon. I prethee fpare.

Gon. Well, I have done: But yet

Seb. He will be talking..

Ant. Which of he, or Adrian, for a good Wager,

Firft begins to crow?

Seb. The old Cock.

Ant. The Cockrell.

Seb. Done: The Wager?

Ant. A Laughter.

Seb. A Match.

Adr. Though this Island feem to be defert

Seb. Ha, ha, ha

Ant

Ant. So: You're paid.

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almoft inacceffible.

Seb. Yet.

Adr. Yet

Ant. He could not mifs't.

}

Adr. It must needs be of fubtle, tender, and delicate Temperance.

Ant. Temperance was a delicate Wench.

Seb. Ay, and a fubtle, as he most learnedly deliver❜d.
Adr. The Air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
Seb. As if it had Lungs, and rotten ones.

Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a Fen,

Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to Life.
Ant. True, fave Means to live.

Seb. Of that there's none, or little.

Gon. How lush and lufty the Grass looks?

How green?

Ant. The Ground indeed is tawny.

Seb. With an Eye of green in't,

Ant. He miffes not much.

Seb. No: He doth but mistake the Truth totally. Gon. But the Rarity of it is, which is indeed almoft beyond Credit

Seb. As many voucht Rarities are,

Gon. That our Garments, being (as they were) drencht in the Sea, hold notwithstanding their Freshness and Glosses, being rather new dy'd than ftain'd with falt Water.

Ant. If but one of his Pockets could fpeak, would it not fay he lies?

Seb. Ay, or very falfely pocket up his Report,

Gen. Methinks our Garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Affrick, at the Marriage of the King's fair Daughter Claribel, to the King of Tunis.

Seb. 'Twas a sweet Marriage, and we profper well in our Return.

Adri. Tunis was never grac'd before with fuch a Paragon to their Queen.

Gon. Not fince Widow Dido's time.

Ant. Widow? a Pox o'that: How came that Widow in? Widow Dido!

Seb. What if he had faid Widower Æneas too?

Good Lord, how you take it!

Adr. Widow Dido, faid you? You make me ftudy of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

Gon. This Tunis, Sir, was Carthage,

Adri. Carthage.

Gon. I affure you Carthage.

Ant. His Word is more than the miraculous Harp,
Seb. He hath rais'd the Wall, and Houfes too,

Ant. What impoffible matter will he make eafie next? Seb. I think he will carry this Island home in his Pocket, and give it his Son for an Apple.

Ant. And fowing the Kernels of it in the Sea, bring forth more Iflands.

Gon. Ay.

Ant. Why in good time.

Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our Garments feem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the Marriage of your Daughter, who is now Queen,

Ant. And the rareft that e'er came there,
Seb. Bate, I befeech you, Widow Dido.
Ant. O, Widow Dido? Ay, Widow Dido.

Gon. Is not my Doublet, Sir, as fresh as the first Day I wore it? I mean in a fort.

Ant. That fort was well fish'd for.

Gon. When I wore it at your Daughter's Marriage,
Alon. You cram thefe Words into mine Ears against
The Stomach of my Senfe. Would I had never
Married my Daughter there! For coming thence
My Son is loft, and, in my rate, fhe too,
Who is fo far from Italy removed,

I ne'er again fhall fee her: O thou mine Heir
Of Naples and of Millan, what strange Fish
Hath made his Meal on thee?

Fran. Sir, he

may live,

I faw him beat the Surges under him,

And ride upon their Backs; he trod the Water,2

Whose Enmity he flung afide; and breasted

The Surge moft fwollen that met him: His bold Head,
'Bove the contentious Waves he kept, and oared
Himself with his good Arms in lufty Strokes

To th' Shore; that o'er his wave-worn Bafis bow'd

As