November 1 The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
Last Strokes of Shakespeare’s Pen
Monsters of the earth, weird creatures of the air, magic romance, and shipwreck are mingled by a master hand in his thrilling drama. The fanciful, enchanting “Tempest” is the last work of the great bard of Stratford.
- “The Tempest” performed at Queen Elizabeth’s court, Nov. 1, 1611.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
The Tempest
William Shakespeare
THE TEMPEST
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE]
ALONSO, king of Naples.SEBASTIAN, his brother.PROSPERO, the right duke of Milan.ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping duke of Milan.FERDINAND, son to the king of Naples.GONZALO, an honest old Counsellor.ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, Lords.CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave.TRINCULO, a Jester.STEPHANO, a drunken Butler.Master of a Ship.Boatswain.Mariners.MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero.ARIEL, an airy Spirit.IRIS, CERES, JUNO, Nymphs, Reapers, Spirits.
[Other Spirits attending on Prospero]
SCENE: [A SHIP AT SEA;] AN UNINHABITED ISLAND
ACT I
SCENE I. [On a ship at sea:] a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard
Enter a Ship-Master and a Boatswain
Master
BOATSWAIN!
Boats. Here, master; what cheer?
Mast. Good; speak to the mariners. Fall to ’t, yarely,1 or we run ourselves aground. Bestir, bestir. Exit.
Enter Mariners
Boats. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare,1 yare! Take in the topsail. 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 cares 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 will not hand a rope more; use your authority. If you cannot, give thanks you have liv’d 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, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hang’d, our case is miserable. Exeunt.
Re-enter Boatswain
Boats. Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try2 wi’ the main-course. A plague A cry within.
Enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO
upon this howling! They are louder than the weather or our office.—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 noisemaker! We are less afraid to be drown’d than thou art.
Gon. I’ll warrant him for drowning though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell and as leaky as an unstanched wench.
Boats. Lay her a-hold,3 a-hold! Set her two courses4 off to sea again! Lay her off.
Enter Mariners wet
Mariners. All lost! To prayers, to prayers! All lost!
Boats. What, must our mouths be cold?
Gon. The King and Prince at prayers! Let’s assist them,For our case is as theirs.Seb. I’m out of patience.Ant. We are merely5 cheated of our lives by drunkards.This wide-chapp’d rascal—would thou mightst lie drowningThe washing of ten tides!Gon. He’ll be hang’d yet,Though every drop of water swear against itAnd 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 wi’ the King.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, anything. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death. Exeunt.
SCENE II. [The island. Before Prospero’s cell]
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA
Mir. If by your art, my dearest father, you havePut 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 sufferedWith those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel,Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,Dash’d all to pieces! O, the cry did knockAgainst my very heart. Poor souls, they perish’d.Had I been any god of power, I wouldHave sunk the sea within the earth or ereIt should the good ship so have swallow’d andThe fraughting6 souls within her.Pros. Be collected;No more amazement. Tell your piteous heartThere’s no harm done.Mir. O, woe the day!Pros. No harm.I have done nothing but in care of thee,Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, whoArt ignorant of what thou art, nought knowingOf whence I am, nor that I am more betterThan Prospero, master of a full poor cell,And thy no greater father.Mir. More to knowDid never meddle with my thoughts.Pros. ’Tis timeI should inform thee farther. 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’dThe very virtue of compassion in thee,I have with such provision in mine artSo safely ordered that there is no soul—No, not so much perdition as an hairBetid to any creature in the vesselWhich thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink. Sit down;For thou must now know farther.Mir. You have oftenBegun to tell me what I am, but stopp’dAnd left me to a bootless inquisition,Concluding, “Stay, not yet.”Pros. The hour’s now come;The very minute bids thee ope thine ear.Obey and be attentive. Canst thou rememberA time before we came unto this cell?I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast notOut three years old.Mir. Certainly, sir, I can.Pros. By what? By any other house or person?Of anything the image tell me, thatHath kept with thy remembrance.Mir. ’Tis far offAnd rather like a dream than an assuranceThat my remembrance warrants. Had I notFour or five women once that tended me?Pros. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is itThat this lives in thy mind? What seest thou elseIn the dark backward and abysm7 of time?If thou rememb’rest aught ere thou cam’st here,How thou cam’st here thou may’st.Mir. But that I do not.Pros. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,Thy father was the Duke of Milan andA prince of power.Mir. Sir, are not you my father?Pros. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, andShe said thou wast my daughter; and thy fatherWas Duke of Milan, and his only heirAnd princess no worse issued.Mir. O the heavens!What foul play had we, that we came from thence?Or blessed was ’t we did?Pros. Both, both, my girl.By foul play, as thou say’st, were we heav’d thence,But blessedly holp hither.Mir. O, my heart bleedsTo think o’ the teen8 that I have turn’d you to,Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.Pros. My brother and thy uncle, call’d Antonio—I pray thee, mark me—that a brother shouldBe so perfidious!—he whom next thyselfOf all the world I lov’d, and to him putThe manage9 of my state; as at that timeThrough all the signories10 it was the first,And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputedIn dignity, and for the liberal artsWithout a parallel; those being all my study,The government I cast upon my brotherAnd to my state grew stranger, being transportedAnd rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle—Dost thou attend me?Mir. Sir, most heedfully.Pros. Being once perfected how to grant suits,How to deny them, who to advance and whoTo trash for overtopping,11 new createdThe creatures that were mine, I say, or chang’d ’em,Or else new form’d ’em; having both the keyOf officer and office, set all hearts i’ the stateTo what tune pleas’d his ear; that now he wasThe ivy which had hid my princely trunk,And suck’d my verdure out on ’t. Thou attend’st not.Mir. O, good sir, I do.Pros. I pray thee, mark me.I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicatedTo closeness12 and the bettering of my mindWith that which, but by being so retir’d,O’er-priz’d all popular rate,13 in my false brotherAwak’d an evil nature; and my trust,Like a good parent, did beget of himA falsehood, in its contrary as greatAs my trust was; which had indeed no limit,A confidence sans14 bound. He being thus lorded,Not only with what my revenue yielded,But what my power might else exact,—like oneWho having into truth, by telling of it,Made such a sinner of his memoryTo credit his own lie,—he did believeHe was indeed the Duke. Out o’ the substitution,15And executing the outward face of royalty,With all prerogative, hence his ambition growing—Dost thou hear?Mir. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.Pros. To have no screen between this part he play’dAnd him he play’d it for, he needs will beAbsolute Milan. Me, poor man!—my libraryWas dukedom large enough—of temporal royaltiesHe thinks me now incapable; confederates—So dry16 he was for sway—wi’ the King of NaplesTo give him annual tribute, do him homage,Subject his coronet to his crown, and bendThe dukedom yet unbow’d—alas, poor Milan!—To most ignoble stooping.Mir. O the heavens!Pros. Mark his condition and the event, then tell meIf this might be a brother.Mir. I should sinTo think but nobly of my grandmother.Good wombs have borne bad sons.Pros. Now the condition.This King of Naples, being an enemyTo me inveterate, hearkens my brother’s suit;Which was, that he, in lieu o’ the premises17Of homage and I know not how much tribute,Should presently extirpate me and mineOut of the dukedom, and confer fair MilanWith all the honours on my brother; whereon,A treacherous army levied, one midnightFated to the purpose did Antonio openThe gates of Milan; and, i’ the dead of darkness,The ministers for the purpose hurried thenceMe and thy crying self.Mir. Alack, for pity!I, not rememb’ring how I cried out then,Will cry it o’er again. It is a hint18That wrings mine eyes to ’t.Pros. Hear a little further,And then I’ll bring thee to the present businessWhich now’s upon ’s, without the which this storyWere most impertinent.19Mir. Wherefore did they notThat hour destroy us?Pros. Well demanded, wench;My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not(So dear the love my people bore me) setA mark so bloody on the business; butWith colours fairer painted their foul ends.In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,Bore us some leagues to sea; where they preparedA rotten carcass of a butt,20 not rigg’d,Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very ratsInstinctively have quit it. There they hoist us,To cry to the sea that roar’d to us, to sighTo the winds whose pity, sighing back again,Did us but loving wrong.Mir. Alack, what troubleWas I then to you!Pros. O, a cherubinThou 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 meAn undergoing21 stomach, to bear upAgainst what should ensue.Mir. How came we ashore?Pros. By Providence divine.Some food we had and some fresh water thatA noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,Out of his charity, who being then appointedMaster of this design, did give us, withRich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,Which since have steaded much;22 so, of his gentleness,Knowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d meFrom mine own library with volumes thatI prize above my dukedom.Mir. Would I mightBut ever see that man!Pros. Now I arise. [Puts on his robe.]Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.Here in this island we arriv’d; and hereHave I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profitThan other princess can that have more timeFor vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.Mir. Heavens thank you for ’t! And now, I pray you, sir,For still ’tis beating in my mind, your reasonFor raising this sea-storm?Pros. Know thus far forth.By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,Now my dear lady, hath mine enemiesBrought to this shore; and by my prescienceI find my zenith23 doth depend uponA most auspicious star, whose influenceIf now I court not but omit, my fortunesWill ever after droop. Here cease more questions.Thou art inclin’d to sleep; ’tis a good dulness,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
Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I comeTo answer thy best pleasure, be ’t to fly,To swim, to dive into the fire, to rideOn the curl’d clouds. To thy strong bidding taskAriel and all his quality.24Pros. Hast thou, spirit,Perform’d to point25 the tempest that I bade thee?Ari. To every article.I boarded the king’s ship; now on the beak,Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,I flam’d amazement. Sometime I’d divide,And burn in many places. On the topmast,The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,Then meet and join. Jove’s lightnings, the precursorsO’ the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentaryAnd sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracksOf sulphurous roaring the most mighty NeptuneSeem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,Yea, his dread trident shake.Pros. My brave spirit!Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil26Would not infect his reason?Ari. Not a soulBut felt a fever of the mad, and play’dSome tricks of desperation. All but marinersPlung’d in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,Then all afire with me. The King’s son, Ferdinand,With hair up-staring,—then like reeds, not hair,—Was the first man that leap’d; cried, “Hell is empty,And all the devils are here.”Pros. Why, that’s my spirit!But was not this nigh shore?Ari. Close by, my master.Pros. But are they, Ariel, safe?Ari. Not a hair perish’d;On their sustaining garments not a blemish,But fresher than before; and, as thou bad’st me,In troops I have dispers’d them ’bout the isle.The King’s son have I landed by himself,Whom I left cooling of the air with sighsIn an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,His arms in this sad knot.Pros. Of the King’s shipThe mariners say how thou hast dispos’d,And all the rest o’ the fleet.Ari. Safely in harbourIs the King’s ship; in the deep nook, where onceThou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dewFrom the still-vex’d Bermoothes, there she’s hid;The mariners all under hatches stow’d,Who, with a charm join’d to their suff’red labour,I have left asleep; and for the rest o’ the fleet,Which I dispers’d, they all have met again,And are upon the Mediterranean float27Bound sadly home for Naples,Supposing that they saw the King’s ship wreck’dAnd his great person perish.Pros. Ariel, thy chargeExactly is perform’d; but there’s more work.What is the time o’ the day?Ari. Past the mid season.Pros. At least two glasses. The time ’twixt six and nowMust by us both be spent most preciously.Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,Let me remember thee what thou hast promis’d,Which is not yet perform’d me.Pros. How now? moody?What is ’t thou canst demand?Ari. My liberty.Pros. Before the time be out? No more!Ari. I prithee,Remember I have done thee worthy service,Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv’dWithout or grudge or grumblings. Thou did promiseTo bate28 me a full year.Pros. Dost thou forgetFrom what a torment I did free thee?Ari. No.Pros. Thou dost, and think’st it much to tread the oozeOf the salt deep,To run upon the sharp wind of the north,To do me business in the veins o’ the earthWhen it is bak’d with frost.Ari. I do not, sir.Pros. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgotThe foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envyWas grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?Ari. No, sir.Pros. Thou hast. Where was she born? Speak; tell me.Ari. Sir, in Argier.29Pros. O, was she so? I mustOnce in a month recount what thou hast been,Which thou forget’st. This damn’d witch Sycorax,For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terribleTo enter human hearing, from Argier,Thou know’st, was banish’d; for one thing she didThey would not take her life. Is not this true?Ari. Ay, sir.Pros. This blue-ey’d hag was hither brought with child,And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,As thou report’st thyself, was then her servant;And, for thou wast a spirit too delicateTo act her earthy and abhorr’d commands,Refusing her grand hests,30 she did confine thee,By help of her more potent ministersAnd in her most unmitigable rage,Into a cloven pine; within which riftImprison’d thou didst painfully remainA dozen years; within which space she diedAnd left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groansAs fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island—Save for the son that she did litter here,A freckl’d whelp, hag-born,—not honour’d withA human shape.Ari. Yes, Caliban her son.Pros. Dull thing, I say so; he, that CalibanWhom now I keep in service. Thou best know’stWhat torment I did find thee in; thy groansDid make wolves howl, and penetrate the breastsOf ever angry bears. It was a tormentTo lay upon the damn’d, which SycoraxCould not again undo. It was mine art,When I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gapeThe pine, and let thee out.Ari. I thank thee, master.Pros. If thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oakAnd peg thee in his knotty entrails tillThou hast howl’d away twelve winters.Ari. Pardon, master;I will be correspondent31 to commandAnd do my spiriting gently.Pros. Do so, and after two daysI will discharge thee.Ari. That’s my noble master!What shall I do? say what. What shall I do?Pros. Go make thyself like a nymph o’ the sea; be subjectTo no sight but thine and mine, invisibleTo every eyeball else. Go take this shapeAnd hither come in ’t. Go, hence with diligence! Exit ARIEL.Awake, dear heart, awake! Thou hast slept well;Awake!Mir. The strangeness of your story putHeaviness in me.Pros. Shake it off. Come on,We’ll visit Caliban my slave, who neverYields us kind answer.Mir. ’Tis a villain, sir,I do not love to look on.Pros. But, as ’tis,We cannot miss him. He does make our fire,Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices;That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban!Thou earth, thou! speak.Cal. (Within.) There’s wood enough within.Pros. Come forth, I say! there’s other business for thee.Come, thou tortoise! when?
Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph
Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,Hark in thine ear.Ari. My lord, it shall be done. Exit.Pros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himselfUpon thy wicked dam, come forth!
Enter CALIBAN
Cal. As wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’dWith raven’s feather from unwholesome fenDrop on you both! A south-west blow on yeAnd blister you all o’er!Pros. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins32Shall, for that vast33 of night that they may work,All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch’dAs thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stingingThan bees that made ’em.
Volume 46, pages 397–410 · See the scanned page on archive.org
This is the reading for November 1 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 84. There the assignment reads “Vol. 46, pp. 397–410.” Read it in the guide.