Mira. Wherefore did they not
That hour destroy us?
Pros. Well demanded, wench:[377-44]
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not—
So dear the love my people bore me—set
A mark so bloody on the business; but
With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
In few,[377-45] they hurried us aboard a bark,
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg’d,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist[377-46] 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.
Mira. Alack, what trouble
Was I then to you!
Pros. O, a cherubim
Thou wast that did preserve me! Thou didst smile,
Infusèd with a fortitude from Heaven,
When I have degg’d[378-47] the sea with drops full salt,
Under my burden groan’d; which raised in me
An undergoing stomach,[378-48] to bear up
Against what should ensue.
Mira. How came we ashore?
Pros. By Providence divine.
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity,—being then appointed
Master of this design,—did give us; with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,
Which since have steaded[378-49] much; so, of his gentleness,
Knowing I loved my books, he furnish’d me,
From mine own library, with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.
Mira. Would I might
But ever see that man!
Pros. Now I arise:[378-50]
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arrived; and here
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit[378-51]
Than other princesses can, that have more time
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.
Mira. Heavens thank you for’t! And now, I pray you, sir,—
For still ’tis beating in my mind,—your reason
For raising this sea-storm?
Pros. Know thus far forth:
By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune—
Now my dear lady—hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
I find my zenith[379-52] doth depend upon
A most auspicious star, whose influence
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop.[379-53] Here cease more questions:
Thou art inclined to sleep; ’tis a good dulness,
And give it way: I know thou canst not choose.[379-54]
[Miranda sleeps.
Come away, servant, come! I’m ready now:
Approach, my Ariel; come!