Shakespeare's Comedy of The Tempest

by William Shakespeare

And the remainder mourning over them,

Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly

Him that you term'd, sir, 'The good old lord, Gonzalo';

His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops

From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em,

That if you now beheld them, your affections

Would become tender.

Pros. Dost thou think so, spirit?

Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human.

Pros. And mine shall.