Actus quintus: Scoena Prima.
Enter Prospero (in his Magicke robes) and Ariel.
Pro. Now do's my Proiect gather to a head: My charmes cracke not: my Spirits obey, and Time Goes vpright with his carriage: how's the day?
Ar. On the sixt hower, at which time, my Lord You said our worke should cease
Pro. I did say so, When first I rais'd the Tempest: say my Spirit, How fares the King, and's followers?
Ar. Confin'd together In the same fashion, as you gaue in charge, Iust as you left them; all prisoners Sir In the Line-groue which weather-fends your Cell, They cannot boudge till your release: The King, His Brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, And the remainder mourning ouer them, Brim full of sorrow, and dismay: but chiefly Him that you term'd Sir, the good old Lord Gonzallo, His teares runs downe his beard like winters drops From eaues of reeds: your charm so strongly works 'em That if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender
Pro. Dost thou thinke so, Spirit?
Ar. Mine would, Sir, were I humane
Pro. And mine shall. Hast thou (which art but aire) a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not my selfe, One of their kinde, that rellish all as sharpely, Passion as they, be kindlier mou'd then thou art? Thogh with their high wrongs I am strook to th' quick, Yet, with my nobler reason, gainst my furie Doe I take part: the rarer Action is In vertue, then in vengeance: they, being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frowne further: Goe, release them Ariell, My Charmes Ile breake, their sences Ile restore, And they shall be themselues
Ar. Ile fetch them, Sir.
Enter.
Pro. Ye Elues of hils, brooks, sta[n]ding lakes & groues, And ye, that on the sands with printlesse foote Doe chase the ebbingNeptune, and doe flie him When he comes backe: you demy-Puppets, that By Moone-shine doe the greene sowre Ringlets make, Whereof the Ewe not bites: and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight-Mushrumps, that reioyce To heare the solemne Curfewe, by whose ayde (Weake Masters though ye be) I haue bedymn'd The Noone-tide Sun, call'd forth the mutenous windes, And twixt the greene Sea, and the azur'd vault Set roaring warre: To the dread ratling Thunder Haue I giuen fire, and rifted Ioues stowt Oke With his owne Bolt: The strong bass'd promontorie Haue I made shake, and by the spurs pluckt vp The Pyne, and Cedar. Graues at my command Haue wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and let 'em forth By my so potent Art. But this rough Magicke I heere abiure: and when I haue requir'd Some heauenly Musicke (which euen now I do) To worke mine end vpon their Sences, that This Ayrie-charme is for, I'le breake my staffe, Bury it certaine fadomes in the earth, And deeper then did euer Plummet sound Ile drowne my booke.