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PROSPERO.

My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio-

I pray thee, mark me that a brother should

Be so perfidious. He, whom next thyself

Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put

The manage of my state; as at that time

Through all the signories it was the first,

And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed

In dignity, and for the liberal arts

Without a parallel, those being all my study-

The government I cast upon my brother

And to my state grew stranger, being transported

And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-

Dost thou attend me?

MIRANDA.

Sir, most heedfully.

PROSPERO.

Being once perfected how to grant suits,

How to deny them, who t' advance, and who

To trash for over-topping, new created

The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em,

Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key

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.

MIRANDA.

O, good sir, I do!

PROSPERO.

I pray thee, mark me.

I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated

To closeness and the bettering of my mind

With that which, but by being so retir'd,

O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother

Awak'd an evil nature; and my trust,

Like a good parent, did beget of him

A falsehood, in its contrary as great

As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,

A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,

Not only with what my revenue yielded,

But what my power might else exact, like one

Who having into truth, by telling of it,

Made such a sinner of his memory,

To credit his own lie-he did believe

He was indeed the Duke; out o' th' substitution,

And executing th' outward face of royalty

With all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing-

Dost thou hear?

MIRANDA.

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PROSPERO.

To have no screen between this part he play'd

And him he play'd it for, he needs will be

Absolute Milan. Me, poor man-my library

Was dukedom large enough-of temporal royalties

He thinks me now incapable; confederates,

So dry he was for sway, wi' th' King of Naples,

To give him annual tribute, do him homage,

Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend

The dukedom, yet unbow'd-alas, poor Milan!-

To most ignoble stooping.

MIRANDA.

O the heavens!

PROSPERO.

Mark his condition, and th' event, then tell me

If this might be a brother.

MIRANDA.

I should sin

To think but nobly of my grandmother:

Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO.

Now the condition:

This King of Naples, being an enemy

To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;

Which was, that he, in lieu o' th' premises,

Of homage, and I know not how much tribute,

Should presently extirpate me and mine

Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan

With all the honours on my brother. Whereon,

A treacherous army levied, one midnight

Fated to th' purpose, did Antonio open

The gates of Milan; and, i' th' dead of darkness,

The ministers for th' purpose hurried thence

Me and thy crying self.

MIRANDA.

Alack, for pity!

I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then,

Will cry it o'er again; it is a hint

That wrings mine eyes to't.

PROSPERO.

Hear a little further,

And then I'll bring thee to the present busines

Which now's upon 's; without the which this story

Were most impertinent.

MIRANDA.

Wherefore did they not

That hour destroy us?

PROSPERO.

Well demanded, wench!

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 colours fairer painted their foul ends.

In few, they hurried us aboard a bark;

Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared

A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg'd,

Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats

Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us,

To cry to th' sea, that roar'd to us; to sigh

To th' winds, whose pity, sighing back again,

Did us but loving wrong.

MIRANDA.

Alack, what trouble

Was I then