The Tempest. Уильям Шекспир

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          To credit his own lie-he did believe

          He was indeed the Duke; out o' th' substitution,

          And executing th' 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' th' 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 th' 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:

          This King of Naples, being an enemy

          To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;

          Which was, that he, in lieu o' th' 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 th' purpose, did Antonio open

          The gates of Milan; and, i' th' dead of darkness,

          The ministers for th' purpose hurried thence

          Me and thy crying self.

        MIRANDA. Alack, for pity!

          I, not rememb'ring 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 busines

          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 butt, not rigg'd,

          Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats

          Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us,

          To cry to th' sea, that roar'd to us; to sigh

          To th' winds, whose pity, sighing back again,

          Did us but loving wrong.

        MIRANDA. Alack, what trouble

          Was I then to you!

        PROSPERO. 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

          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, who 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 lov'd 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. [Puts on his mantle]

          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.

        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:

          By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,

          Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies

          Brought to this shore; and by my prescience

          I find my zenith doth depend upon

          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 dullness,

          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