|
 |
|
| Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes and
ARIEL |
|
| PROSPERO enters in his magic robes,
with ARIEL. |
|
| | PROSPERO |
| |
Now does my project gather to a head. |
| |
My charms crack not, my spirits obey, and time |
| |
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day? |
|
| PROSPERO |
|
My plans are almost at their climax. My spells are working well,
my spirits are obeying me, and everything is right on schedule. What
time is it? |
|
| | ARIEL |
| |
On the sixth hour, at which time, my lord, |
| 5 |
You said our work should cease. |
|
| ARIEL |
|
It's after six o'clock, my lord, when you
said our work would be finished. |
|
| | PROSPERO |
| |
I did
say so |
| |
When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit, |
| |
How fares the king and 's followers? |
|
| PROSPERO |
|
That's what I said when I first conjured the tempest.
Tell me, spirit, how's the king and his entourage? |
|
| | ARIEL |
| |
Confined
together |
| |
In the same fashion as you gave in charge, |
| |
Just as you left them, all prisoners, sir, |
| 10 |
In the line grove which weather-fends your cell. |
| |
They cannot budge till your release. The king, |
| |
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, |
| |
And the remainder mourning over them, |
| |
Brimful of sorrow and dismay. But chiefly |
| 15 |
Him that you termed, 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. |
|
| ARIEL |
|
All cooped up together, just as you ordered, all imprisoned in the
grove of linden trees that protects your room from bad weather. They
can't move till you release them. The king, his brother,
and your brother are all waiting there in a crazed state of mind,
and the rest are grieving over them, sad and astonished.
“Good old lord Gonzalo,” as you call him, is
saddest of all, with tears running down his beard. Your magic spell
has such an effect on them that if you saw them now,
you'd feel sorry for them. |
|
| | PROSPERO |
| |
Dost thou think
so, spirit? |
|
| PROSPERO |
|
Do you think so, spirit? |
|
| | ARIEL |
| 20 |
Mine would, sir, were I human. |
|
| ARIEL |
|
I'd feel sorry for them, if I were human. |
|
|
|
| |
 |
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