Sebas. Why, how now, Stephano!

Steph. O, touch me not! I am not Stephano, but a cramp.

60

Pros. You'd be king o' the isle, sirrah? Steph. I should have been a sore one, then. Alon. [Pointing to CAL.] This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on.

Pros. He is as disproportion'd in his manners As in his shape.-Go, sirrah, to my cell; Take with you your companions; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.

Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter,

And seek for grace. What a thrice double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,

And worship this dull fool!

Pros.

Go to; away!

Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where

you found it.

Sebas. Or stole it, rather.

[Exeunt CAL., STEPH., and TRIN. Pros. Sir, I invite your Highness and your train

To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest
For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste
With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it
Go quick away, the story of my life,
And the particular accidents gone by,
Since I came to this isle: and in the morn
I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,
Where I have hope to see the nuptial

60. Stephano is sore from his torments, but as the word sore also means harsh and severe, he makes a good pun in his speech.

Of these our dear-belovèd solemnized;
And thence retire me to my Milan, where
Every third thought shall be my grave.2

Alon.
I long
To hear the story of your life, which must
Take the ear strangely.

Pros.

I'll deliver all;

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch

Your royal fleet far off. [Aside to ARI.] My
Ariel, chick,

That is thy charge: then to the elements

Be free, and fare thou well!-Please you, draw

near.

[Exeunt.

EPILOGUE 63

SPOKEN BY PROSPERO

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,-
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,'
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got,

61. Retire me means withdraw myself.

65

64

62. Prospero has accomplished his purposes: he has recovered his dukedom, has found a suitable husband for his daughter, and now feels that life has little in store for him. So every third thought will be in preparation for his death.

63. The Epilogue is a part spoken by one of the actors after the play is over, and is addressed to the audience. Here Prospero steps forward and speaks.

64. He has dismissed Ariel and laid aside all his magic arts.

65. The audience may hold him on the island or send him to Naples, for he is still under a spell.

And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands,
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please: now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer;
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

B. He asks the audience to applaud, to clap their hands, for noise always breaks charms, and will release him from the enchantment so that he may return to his dukedom.

STUDIES FOR THE TEMPEST

HE AUTHOR. Many times we have had occasion to say that an acquaintance with an author has much to do with our liking for his works, and as we read the great plays of our greatest poet, we wish we might know him more intimately. However, when we look for information concerning him, we quickly find that comparatively little is known of the man beyond what we can draw from his writings, and few authors have shown themselves less vividly. After doing our best, we can find only a great, shadowy Author who must have had a broad knowledge, a rare invention, a profound insight into human nature, a penetrating sympathy and a marvelous power of expression. As seen through his works, he appears more than human, but when we look into our histories, we wonder that so great a man could have lived and died, and left so light an impression on his times. In fact, some wise men have felt that the William Shakespeare we know could never have written the great plays that bear his name. That is a question, however, we need not discuss; it is better to leave the credit where it has rested for centuries, and believe that the plays are better evidence of Shakespeare's greatness than his own life is evidence of his ability to write them.