A Storm with Thunder and Lightning.

Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain.

Master. Boatswain,--

Boats. Here, master: What cheer?

Mast. Good: Speak to the mariners: fall to't yare

ly, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. [Exit.

Enter Mariners.

Boats. Heigh, my hearts; cheerly, cheerly, my hearts; yare, yare: Take in the top-sail; 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 care 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 shall 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.

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,

1

for our own doth little advantage! if he be not born

to be hanged, our case is miserable.

[Exeunt.

Re-enter Boatswain.

Boats. Down with the top-mast; yare; lower, lower; bring her to try with main-course. [Acry 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?

Seb. A pox o' your throat! you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!

Boats. Work you, then.

Ant. Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent noise-maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

Gon. I'll warrant him from drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky as an unstaunched wench.

Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold; set her two courses ; off to sea again, lay her off.

Enter Mariners wet.

Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Boats. What, must our mouths be cold?

[Exeunt.

Gon. The king and prince at prayers! let us assist

them,

For our case is as theirs.

Seb. I am out of patience.

Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.

This wide-chapped rascal;-'Would, thou might'st lie

drowning,

The washing of ten tides !

Gon. He'll be hanged 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 with the king.

[Exit.

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,

any thing: The wills above be done! but I would fain

die a dry death.

[Exit.

SCENE II.--The Island: before the cell of PROS

PERO.

Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA.

Mira. 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 suffer'd With those I saw suffer! a brave vessel, Who had no doubt some noble creatures 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 e'er

It should the good ship so have swallowed, and
The freighting souls within her.

Pro. Be collected;

No more amazement: tell your piteous heart,
There's no harm done.

Mira. O, woe the day !

Pro. No harım.

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.

Mira. More to know

Did never meddle with my thoughts.
Pro. 'Tis time

I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magick 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 order'd, 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;