I'll fet thee free for this.A word, good Sir,
I fear, you've done yourself some wrong: a word
Mira. Why speaks my father fo urgently? this
Is the third man, that I e'er faw; the first,
That e'er I figh'd for. Pity move my father
To be inclin'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're both in either's power: but this fwift bufinefs I must uneafy make, left too light winning

[Afide. Make the prize light.-Sir, one word more; I charge

thee,

That thou attend me :-thou dost here ufurp
The name thou ow'ft not, and haft put thyfelf
Upon this Inland, as a spy, to win it

From me, the lord on't.

Fer. No, as I'm a man.

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill fpirit have fo fair an house,

Good things will ftrive to dwell with't.

Pro. [To Ferd.] Follow me

[To Mirand.] Speak not you for him; he's a traitor Come,

I'll manacle thy neck and feet together;

Sea-water fhalt thou drink; thy food fhall be

The fresh-brook mufcels, wither'd roots, and husks Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

Fer. No,

I will refift fuch entertainment, 'till

Mine enemy has more power.

[He draws, and is charm'd from moving.

Mira. O dear father,

Make not too rafh a tryal of him; for

He's gentle, and not fearful.

Pro. What I fay,

My foot my tutor? put thy fword

up

traitor,

Who mak'st a fhew, but dar'ft not ftrike; thy con

science

Is fo poffeft with guilt: come from thy ward, 4
For I can here difarm thee with this stick,
And make thy weapon drop.

Mira. Befeech you, father,

Pro. Hence: hang not on my garment.
Mira. Sir, have pity;

I'll be his furety.

Pro. Silence: one word more

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What,
An advocate for an impoftor? hufh!

Thou think'it, there are no more fuch fhapes as he,
Having feen but him and Caliban; foolish wench!
To th' most 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; [To Ferdinand.]

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,

And have no vigour in them.

Fer. So they are:

My fpirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father's lofs, the weakness which I feel,

The wreck of all my friends, and this man's threats,
To whom I am fubdu'd, were but light to me,
Might I but through my prifon once a day
Behold this maid: all corners elfe o'th' earth
Let liberty make use of; fpace enough
Have I, in fuch a prison.

Pro. It works: come on.

[To Ariel] 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,

4 Defift from any hope of awing me by that pofture of defence.

Than

Than he appears by fpeech: 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' fyllable.

fpeak not for him.

Pro. [To Ferdinand.] Come, follow: [To Mir.]

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Another Part of the Ifland.

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

BE

GONZAL O.

ESEECH you, Sir, be merry: you have cause
(So have we all) of joy! for our escape

Is much beyond our lofs: our hint of woe 5
Is common; every day, fome failor's wife,
The mafter of fome merchant, and the merchant,
Have just our theme of woe: but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions.

Can fpeak like us: then wifely, good Sir, weigh
Our forrow with our comfort.

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace.

5 Hint is that which recals to the memory. The caufe that fills our minds with grief is com. mon. Dr. Warburton reads fint

of woe.

6

Seb.

feems to Mr. Pope to have been an Interpolation by the Players. For my part, tho' I allow the Matter of the Dialogue to be very poor, I cannot be of opinion, that it is interpolated. For fhould we take out this intermediate Part, what would become of thefe Words of the King?

-Would I had never Married my Daughter there! W'bat

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge.
Ant. The vifitor will not give o'er fo. 7

Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit, by and by it will strike.

Gon. Sir,

Seb. One:

-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 fpoken truer than you purposed.

Seb. You have taken it wifelier than I meant you fhould.

Gon. Therefore, my lord,

Ant. Fie, what a fpend-thrift is he of his tongue! Alon. I pr'ythee, fpare.

Gon. Well, I have done: but yet

Seb. He will be talking.

Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?

Seb. The old cock.

Ant. The cockrel.

Seb. Done the wager?

Ant. A laughter.

Seb. A match.

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almoft inaccessible—

Seb. Yet

Adr. Yet

Ant. He could not mifs't.

Adr. It muft needs be of fubtle, tender, and delicate temperance.

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.

Seb. Ay, and a subtle, as he most learnedly delivered. Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.

Ant. Or, as 'twere perfum'd 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 grafs looks? how green? Ant. The ground indeed is tawny.

Scb. With an eye of green in't.

Ant. He miffes not much.

Seb. No: he does but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit

Seb. As many voucht rarities are.

Gon. That our garments being, as they were, drench'd in the fea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and gloffes: 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.

Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Africk, 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.

Adr. Tunis was never grac'd before with fuch a paragon to their Queen.

Gon. Not fince widow Dido's time,

Ant.