The Tempest- Key Speeches

What have

we here? A man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish:

he smells like a fish. A very ancient fish-like

smell. A kind of, not of the newest Poor-John. A

strange fish. Were I in England now, as once I was,

and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool

there would give a piece of silver. There

would make this monster a man. Any strange beast

there makes a man.

Be not afeard, the isle is full of noises,

Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurtnot.

Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments

Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,

That if I had waked after long sleep,

Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,

The clouds methought would open, and show riches

Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked,

I cried to dream again.

You are three men of sin, whom Destiny,

That hath to instrument this lower world

And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea

Has caused to belch up you, and on this island

Where man doth not inhabit, you 'mongst men

Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;

And even with such-like valour men hang, and drown

Their proper selves.

• You do look, my  son, in a moved sort,
• Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
• As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
• Are melted into air, into thin air;
• And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
• The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
• The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
• Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
• And like this insubstantial pagent faded,
• Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
• As dreams are made on, and our little life
• Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vexed;
• Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled.
• Be not disturbed by my infirmity.
• If you be pleased, retire to my cell,
• And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk
• To still my beating mind.

• Now my charms are 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,
• And pardoned the deceiver, dwell
• In this bare island by your spell;
• But release me from my bonds
• 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 assults
• Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
• As you from crimes would pardoned be,
• Let your indulgence set me free.