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Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:
I have done penance for contemning love,
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
For, in revenge of my contempt of love,

Love hath chac'd sleep from my enthralled eyes,
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord;
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
There is no woe to his correction,

Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth!
Now, no discourse, except it be oflove;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
Upon the very naked name of love.

Pro. Enough! I read your fortune in your eye:
Was this the idol that you worship so?

Val, Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?
Pro. No; but she is an earthly paragon.
Val. Call her divine.

Pro. I will not flatter her.

Val. O, flatter me! for love delights in praises. Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills; And I must minister the like to you.

Val. Then speak the truth by her! if not divine,
Yet let her be a principality,

Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth!
Pro. Except my mistress,

Val. Sweet, except not any;
Except thou wilt except against my love.

Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too:
She shall be dignified with this high honour,
To bear my lady's train; lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss,
And, of so great a favour growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly.

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?
Val. Pardon me, Proteus! all I can, is nothing
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing:
She is alone.

Pro. Then let her alone.

Her true perfection, or my false transgression,
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ?
She's fair; and so is Julia, that I love;
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold;
And that I love him not, as I was wont:
O! but I love his lady too, too much;
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice,
That thus without advice begin to love her?
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill.

Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel,
As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee,
Because thon seest me dote upon my love!
My foolish rival, that her father likes,
Only for his possessions are so huge,
Is gone with her along; and I must after,
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.
Pro. But she loves you?

Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd;
Nay, more, our marriage hour,

With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determin'd of: how I must climb her window;
The ladder made of cords; and all the means
Plotted, and 'greed on, for my happiness.
Good Protens, go with me to my chamber,
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel!
Pro. Go on before, I shall enquire you forth:
I must unto the road, to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use;
And then I'll presently attend you.
Val. Will you make haste?

SCENE V.- The same. A street.

Enter SPEED and LAUNCE.

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Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan! Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth! for I am not welcome. I reckon this always-that a man is never undone, till he be hanged; nor welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, wel

come.

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale-house with you presently; where, for one shot of fivepence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia?

Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest.

[Exit Val.

Or as one nail by strength drives out another,

Pro. I will.

Even as one heat another heat expels,

So the remembrance of my former love

Is by a newer object quite forgotten.

Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise,

Speed. But shall she marry him?

Laun. No.

Speed. How then? Shall he marry her?
Laun. No, neither.

Speed. What, are they broken?

Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish.
Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them?
Laun. Marry, thus; when it stauds well with him, it
stands well with her.

Speed. What an ass art thou? I understand thee not.
Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not?
My staff understands me.

Speed. What thou say'st?

Laun. Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll but lean, and my stall understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.

Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one. Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match? Laun. Ask my dog! if he say, ay, it will; if he say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will.

Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable.

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Speed. "Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover?

Laun. I never knew him otherwise.
Speed. Than how?

Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.
Speed. Why, thou whorson ass, thou mistakest me.
Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy

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Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee,

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as to go to the ale with a Christian: Wilt thou go? Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The same. An apartment in the
palace.
Enter PROTEUS.

Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;

To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;
And even that power, which gave me first my oath,
Provokes me to this threefold perjury.

Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear:
O sweet-suggesting love, if thou hast sinn'd,
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it.
At first I did adore a twinkling star,
But now I worship a celestial sun.
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will
To learn his wit to change the bad for better.
Fye, fye, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.
I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;

But there I leave to love, where I should love.
Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose:

If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss,
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.
Ito myself am dearer, than a friend;
For love is still more precious in itself:

And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair!
Shews Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.

I will forget, that Julia is alive,
Rememb'ring, that my love to her is dead;
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
I cannot now prove constant to myself,
Without some treachery used to Valentine:
This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window;
Myself in counsel, his competitor:
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended flight;
Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine;
For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter:
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross,
By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!

[Exit.

SCENE VII.- Verona. A room in Julia's house.
Enter JULIA and Lucetta.

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta! gentle girl, assist me!
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee,
Who art the table, wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly charácter'd and engrav'd,

To lesson me; and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.

Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.
Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly;
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus.
Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return.
Jul.O,know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food?
Pity the dearth, that I have pined in,
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
Luc. 1 do not seek to quench your love's hot fire;

But qualify the fire's extreme rage,
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns;
The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hindered,

He makes sweet musick with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course!
I'll be as patient, as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

Luc. But in what habit will you go along?
Jul. Not like a woman; for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men.
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds,
As may beseem some well-reputed page!
Luc. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair.
Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings,
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots:
To be fantastic may become a youth

Of greater time, than I shall show to be.

Luc. What fashion,madam, shall I make your breeches?

Jul. That fits as well, as- tell me, good my lord, "What compass will you wear your farthingale?" Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. Luc. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd.
Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin,
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.

Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have
What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly?
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me,
For undertaking so unstaid a journey?

I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.
Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not!
Jul. Nay, that I will not.

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go!
If Proteus like your journey, when you come,
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone:
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.
Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances as infinite of love,
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect!
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth:
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth.
Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come

to him!

Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth;
Only deserve my love, by loving him,
And presently go with me to my chamber,
To take a note of what I stand in need of,

To furnish me upon my longing journey!
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
My goods, my lands, my reputation;
Only, in lieu thereof, despatch me hence!
Come, answer not, but to it presently!
I am impatient of my tarriance.

[Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I. - Milan. An anti-room in the Duke's

palace.

Enter Duke, THURIO, and PROteus. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile! We have some secrets to confer about.

[Exit Thurio. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that, which I would dis

cover,

The law of friendship bids me to conceal :

But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
Done to me, undeserving as I am,

My duty pricks me on to utter that,

Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know, you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stolen away from you,
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift,
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows, which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,
Which to requite, command me, while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep,
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court:
But, fearing, lest my jealous aim might err,
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
(A rashness, that I ever yet have shunn'd,)
I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find
That, which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing, that tender youth is soon suggested,
Inightly lodge her in an upper tower,
The key whereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean,
How he her chamber-window will ascend,
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aimed at!
For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
Hath made me publisher of this pretence.
Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
That I had any light from thee of this.

Beseeming such a wife, as your fair daughter:
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?
Duke. No, trust me, she is peevish, sullen, fro-
ward,

Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Neither regarding, that she is my child,
Nor fearing me, as if I were her father:
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;
And, where I thought, the remnant of mine age
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty,
I now am full resolved to take a wife,
And turn her out to who will take her in:
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.

Pro. Adieu, my lord; sir Valentine is coming. [Exit.
Enter VALENTINE.

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?
Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger,
That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
And I am going to deliver them.

Duke. Be they of much import?

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify
My health, and happy being at your conrt.
Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while!
I am to break with thee of some affairs,
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought
To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter.
Val. I know it well, my lord; and sure, the match
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities

Val. What would your grace have me to do in this? Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here, Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, And nought esteems my aged eloquence. Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, (For long agone I have forgot to court: Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd ;) How, and which way, I may bestow myself, To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words! Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. Duke. But she did scorn a present, that I sent her. Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her.

Send her another; never give her o'er !

For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,
But rather to beget more love in you:
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say!
For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away:
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces!
Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces.
That man, that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth,
And kept severely from resort of men,
That no man hath access by day to her.

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night.
Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept
safe,

That no man hath recourse to her by night.

Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window? Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life.

Val. Why then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords,
To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower,
So bold Leander would adventure it.
Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood,
Advise me, where I may have such a ladder!
Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that!
Duke. This very night; for love is like a child,
That longs for every thing, that he can come by.
Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.
Duke. But, hark thee! I will go to her alone;
How shall I best convey the ladder thither?
Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it
Under a cloak, that is of my lenght.

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?
Val. Ay, my good lord.

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak!

I'll get me one of such another length.

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.

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[Reads.

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me!What letter is this same? What's here? - To Silvia? And here an engine fit for my proceeding! I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; And slaves they are to me, that send them flying: O, could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them; While I, their king, that thither them importune, Do curse the grace, that with such grace hath bless'd them,

Because my self do want my servants' fortune: Icurse myself, for they are sent by me,

That they should harbour where their lord should be.
What's here?

Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee:
'Tis so, and here's the ladder for the purpose.
Why, Phaeton, (For thou art Merops 'son,)
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
And with thy daring folly burn the world?

Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?
Go, base intruder! over-weening slave!
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates!
And think, my patience, more than thy desert,
Is privilege for thy departure hence.

Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee!
But if thou linger in my territories
Longer, than swiftest expedition

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Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love,
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Be gone! I will not hear thy vain excuse;
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence!
[Exit Duke.
Val. And why not death, rather than living torment?
To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from self; a deadly banishment!
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be, to think that she is by,
And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
There is no musick in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon.
She is my essence, and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
Ifly not death, to fly his deadly doom:
Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE.

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out!

Laun. So-ho! so-ho!

Pro. What seest thou?

Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. Val. Is Silvia dead? Pro. No, Valentine..

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia! Hath she forsworn me? Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me! What is your news?

Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation, that you are va

nish'd.

Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news;
From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend.
Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already,
And now excess of it will make me surfeit.
Doth Silvia know, that I am banished?

Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom,
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,)
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears:
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd,
With them, upon her knees, her humble self;
Wringing her hands,whose whiteness so became them,
As if but now they waxed pale for woe:

But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her,
With many bitter threats of 'biding there.

Val. No more! unless the next word, that thou speak'st,

Have some malignant power upon my life.
If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,
As ending anthem of my endless dolour!
Pro. Cease to lament for that, thou canst not help,
And study help for that, which thou lament'st!
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that,
And manage it against despairing thoughts!
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.
The time now serves not to expostulate:
Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate;
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
Of all, that may concern thy love-affairs.
As thou lov❜st Silvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me!

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate. Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out!- Come, Valentine! Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine!

[Exeunt Valentine and Proteus.

Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's head, Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the

but'tis a Valentine.

Pro. Valentine?

Val. No.

Pro. Who then? his spirit?

Val. Neither.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? Pro. Whom would'st thou strike?

Laun. Nothing.

Pro. Villain, forbear!

Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you,
Pro. Sirrah,I say, forbear!-Friend Valentine, a word

wit to think, my master is a kind of knave: but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now, that knows me to be in love; yet I am in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman: but what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milk-maid: yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips: yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities, than a water spaniel, which is much in a bare christian. Here is the cat-log [Pulling out a paper] of her conditions. Imprimis, She can fetch and carry. Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore, is she

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Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel; I shall miss thee; That they devour their reason; and scarce think
But yet thou shalt have freedom; so, so, so.—
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art :
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep

Under the hatches; the master, and the boatswain,
Being awake, enforce them to this place;
And presently, I pr'ythee.

Ari. I drink the air before me, and return
Or e'er your pulse twice beat.

[Exit Ariel.

Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement
Inhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us
Out of this fearful country!

Pro. Behold, sir king,

The wronged duke of Milan, Prospero:

For more assurance that a living prince
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;
And to thee, and thy company, I bid

A hearty welcome.

Alon. Whe'r thou beest he, or no,

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me,

As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse

Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,

The affliction of my mind amends, with which,

I fear, a madness held me: this must crave

(An if this be at all,) a most strange story.
Thy dukedom I resign; and do entreat,

Thou pardon me my wrongs: - But how should Pro-
Be living, and be here?

Pro. First, noble friend,

spero

Let me embrace thine age; whose honour cannot
Be measur'd or confin'd.

Gon. Whether this be,

Or be not, I'll not swear.

Pro. You do yet taste

Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
Are natural breath: but, howsoe'er you have
Been justled from your senses, know for certain,
That I am Prospero, and that very duke
Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely
Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed,
To be the lord on't. No more yet of this!
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;
This cell's my court: here have I few attendants,
And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in!
My dukedom since you have given me again,
I will requite you with as good a thing;

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Alon. Now all the blessings
Of a glad father compass thee about!
Arise, and say, how thou cam'st here!
Mira. O wonder!

How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't!

Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?
Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords
At this encounter do so much admire,

Pro. 'Tis new to thee.

Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at
play?

Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours:
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,

And brought us thus together?

Fer. Sir, she's mortal;

But, by immortal providence, she's mine;
I chose her, when I could not ask my father
For his advice; nor thought I had one: she
Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan,
Of whom so often I have heard renown,
But never saw before; of whom I have
Receiv'd a second life, and second father
This lady makes him to me.

Alon. I am her's:

But O, how oddly will it sound, that I
Must ask my child forgiveness!

Pro. There, sir, stop;

Let us not burden our remembrances
With a heaviness that's gone!

Gon. I have inly wept,

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,
And on this couple drop a blessed crown!

For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way
Which brought us hither!

Alon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo!

Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue
Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice
Beyond a common joy; and set it down
With gold on lasting pillars: In ouc voyage
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis;
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife,
Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom,

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