ALONSO

Good Boteswain have care: where's the Ma ster? Play the men. I prithee spare. You cram these words into mine ears, against the stomach of my sense: would I had never Married my daughter there: For coming thence My son is lost, and (in my rate) she too, Who is so far from Italy removed, I never again shall see her: Oh thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee? No, no, he's gone. Prithee peace. So is the doer'st oth' lose. Prithee no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. What, all so soon asleep? I wish mine eyes Would (with themselves) shut up my thoughts, I find they are inclined to do so. Thank you: Wondrous heavy. Prithee peace. Why how now hoa; awake? why are you drawn? Wherefore this ghastly looking? I herd nothing. Herd you this Gonzalo ? Led off this ground & let's make further search For my poor son. Led away. Give us kind keepers, heave ̄ S: what were these? Where thou be'st he or no, Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, (As late I have been) I not know: thy Pulse Beats as of flesh, and blood: and since I saw thee, the affliction of my mind amends, with which I fear a madness held me this must crave (And if this be at all) a most strange story. Thy Dukedom I resign, and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs: But how should Prospero Be living and be here? If thou be'st Prospero Give us particulars of thy preferuation, How thou hast met us here, whom three hours since Were wracked upon this shore? where I have lost (How sharp the point of this remembrance is) My deer son Ferdinand. Irreparable is the lose, and patience Says, it is passed her cure. You the Like lose? A daughter? O heavens, that they were living both in Nalpes The King and Queen there, that they were, I wish My self were mudded in that oo-zie bed Where my son lies: when did you loose your daughter? If this prove A vision of the Island, one deer Son Shall I twice lose. Now all the blessings Of a glad father, compass thee about: Arise, and say how thou camest here. What is this Maid, with whom thou was't at play? Your oldest acquaintance cannot be three hours: Is she the goddess that hath severed us, And brought us thus together? I am hers. But Oh, how oddly will it found, that I Must ask my child forgiveness? I say Amen, Gonzallo. Give me your hands: Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, That does not wish you joy. These are not natural evens, they strengthen From strange, to stranger: say, how came you hither? This is as strange a Maze, as ere men trod, And there is in this business, more then nature Was ever conduct of: some Oracle Must rectify our knowledge. Is not this Stephano, my drunken Butler? And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they Find this grand Liquour that hath gilded they? How camest thou in this pickle? This is a strange thing as ere I looked on. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. I long To hear the story of your life; which must Take the ear starngely. Old Lord, I cannot blame thee, Who, am my self attached with weariness To the dulling of my spirits: Fit down, and rest: Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it No longer for my Flatterer: he is drowned Whom thus we stray to find, and the Sea mocks Our frustrate search on land: well, let him go. What harmony is this? my good friends, hark. I cannot too much muse Such shapes, such gesture, and such found expressing (Although they want the use of tongue) a kind Of excellent dumb discourse. I will stand to, and feed, Although my last, no matter, since I feel The best is passed: brother: my Lord, the Duke, Stand too, and do as we. Oh, it is monstrous: monstrous: Me thought the billows spoke, and told me of it, The winds did sing it to me: and the Thunder (That deep and dreadful Organ-Pipe) pronounced The name of Prosper: it did base my Trespass, Therefore my Son in the Ooze is bedded; and I'll seek him deeper then ere plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded. Not I.