The Tempest

Page 31

Iu. Honor, riches, marriage, blessing, Long continuance, and encreasing, Hourely ioyes, be still vpon you, Iuno sings her blessings on you. Earths increase, foyzon plentie, Barnes, and Garners, neuer empty. Vines, with clustring bunches growing, Plants, with goodly burthen bowing: Spring come to you at the farthest, In the very end of Haruest. Scarcity and want shall shun you, Ceres blessing so is on you

Fer. This is a most maiesticke vision, and Harmonious charmingly: may I be bold To thinke these spirits?

Pro. Spirits, which by mine Art I haue from their confines call'd to enact My present fancies

Fer. Let me liue here euer, So rare a wondred Father, and a wise Makes this place Paradise

Pro. Sweet now, silence: Iuno and Ceres whisper seriously, There's something else to doe: hush, and be mute Or else our spell is mar'd.

Iuno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment.

Iris. You Nimphs cald Nayades of y windring brooks, With your sedg'd crownes, and euer-harmelesse lookes, Leaue your crispe channels, and on this green-Land Answere your summons, Iuno do's command. Come temperate Nimphes, and helpe to celebrate A Contract of true Loue: be not too late.

Enter Certaine Nimphes.

You Sun-burn'd Sicklemen of August weary, Come hether from the furrow, and be merry, Make holly day: your Rye-straw hats put on, And these fresh Nimphes encounter euery one In Country footing.

Enter certaine Reapers (properly habited:) they ioyne with the Nimphes, in a gracefull dance, towards the end whereof, Prospero starts sodainly and speakes, after which to a strange hollow and confused noyse, they heauily vanish.

Pro. I had forgot that foule conspiracy Of the beast Calliban, and his confederates Against my life: the minute of their plot Is almost come: Well done, auoid: no more

Fer. This is strange: your fathers in some passion That workes him strongly

Mir. Neuer till this day Saw I him touch'd with anger, so distemper'd

Pro. You doe looke (my son) in a mou'd sort, As if you were dismaid: be cheerefull Sir, Our Reuels now are ended: These our actors, (As I foretold you) were all Spirits, and Are melted into Ayre, into thin Ayre, And like the baselesse fabricke of this vision The Clowd-capt Towres, the gorgeous Pallaces, The solemne Temples, the great Globe it selfe, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolue, And like this insubstantiall Pageant faded Leaue not a racke behinde: we are such stuffe As dreames are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleepe: Sir, I am vext, Beare with my weakenesse, my old braine is troubled: Be not disturb'd with my infirmitie, If you be pleas'd, retire into my Cell, And there repose, a turne or two, Ile walke To still my beating minde

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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