THE TEMPEST. The TEMPEST is supposed to be the last production of Shakspeare's mighty genius; as it is generally acknowledged to be the most original and perfect of his works. In this Play the Poet has literally "given to airy nothings a local habitation and a name," endowing them with qualities and furnishing them with a fitness of language, which invests these creatures of his imaginings with all the charm and semblance of reality. The story is simple in its construction, yet it is deeply interesting. Our selections pr sent the main incidents of the plot in consecutive succession. PERSONS REPRESENTED. ALONZO, King of Naples. SEBASTIAN, his brother. PROSPERO, the rightful Duke of Milan. ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples. GONZALO, an honest old counsellor of Naples. ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, lords. CALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave. TRINCULO, a jester. STEPHANO, a drunken butler. Master of a ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero. ARIEL, an airy spirit. IRIS, CERES, JUNO, Nymphs, Reapers, spirits. ACT I. SCENE. The Sea, with a Ship; afterwards an uninhabited Island. Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, has been dethroned by his brother Antonio, and banished from his dominions. Prospero seeks refuge in a desert island, with his daughter Miranda. and by magic arts, surrounds himself with "potent spirits," which are obedient to his wil. Having learned by his "magic" that his brother Antonio has embarked in a vessel for Naples, in company with Alonzo, King of Naples, the king's son, Ferdinand, together with certain lords of Milan and Naples, Prospero commands his trusty spirit Ariel, to wreck the vessel near the island, but to save the lives of the nobla passengers and crew, and bring them safely to shore. Prospero and his daughter Miranda witness the destruction of the vessel, SCENE II.-The Island: before the Cell of PROSPERO. Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel, The freighting souls within her. Pro. Be collected; No more amazement: tell your piteous heart, There's no harm done. Mira. Pro. O, woe the day! No harm. 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 magic 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 on in mine art So safely order'd, that there is no soul No, not so much perdition as a hair, Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink.-Sit down; For thou must now know further. Mira. You have often Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd The hour's now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; I do not think thou can'st; for then thou wast not Out three years old. Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. Pro. By what? by any other house, or person? Of any thing the image tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance. Mira. 'Tis far off: And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants: Had I not Four or five women once, that tended me? Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda: But how is it, That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, Mira. But that I do not. Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years since, Thy father was the duke of Milan, and A prince of power. Mira. Sir, are not you my father? Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was duke of Milan; and his only heir A princess, no worse issued. Mira. O, the heavens! What foul play had we, that we came from thence; Or blessed was't, we did? Pro. By foul play, as thou say'st, Both, both, my girl; O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teen* that I have turn'd you to, Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio, I pray thee, mark me, that a brother should * Sorrow The government I cast upon my brother, Dost thou attend me? Mira. Sir, most heedfully. Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them; whom to advance, and whom To trash* for over-topping; new created The creatures that were mine; I say, or chang'd them Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not: I pray thee, mark me. Mira. O good sir, I do. Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate To closeness, and the bettering of my mind To credit his own lie, he did believe He was indeed the duke; out of the substitution, And executing the outward face of royalty With all prerogative :- Hence his ambitior Growing, Dost thou hear? Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd, And him he play'd it for, he needs will be (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, To most ignoble stooping. Mira. O the heavens! Pro. Mark his condition, and the event; then tell me If this might be a brother. * Cut away. Mira. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother. Pro. Now the condition This king of Naples, being an enemy The gates of Milan; and, i' the dead of darkness. Me, and thy crying self. Mira. Alack, for pity! I, not rememb'ring how I cry'd out then, That wrings mine eyes to't. Pro. Hear a little farther, And then I'll bring thee to the present business Were most impertinent. Mira. That hour destroy us? Wherefore did they not Well demanded, girl; 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 colors fairer painted their foul ends. In few, they hurried us aboard a bark; Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigg'd, Did us but loving wrong. Mira. Was I then to you ! Alack! what trouble O! a cherubim Thou wast thou didst 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. Mira. Pro. By Providence divire. How came we ashore ? |