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25 30 |
PROSPERO
And
mine shall.
Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply
Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick,
Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury
Do I take part. The rarer action is
In virtue than in vengeance. They being penitent,
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel.
My charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll
restore,
And they shall be themselves.
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PROSPERO
I will too. You’re made of air, so if even you feel
sorry for them, imagine the pity that I’ll feel, being
one of their own human race. I suffer pain just as much as they do,
so I’ll sympathize far more than you. Though
I’m indignant about their evil deeds, I’ll go
with my nobler instincts, which tell me to feel some compassion for
them. It’s better to act virtuously rather than
vengefully. Now that they’re sorry, I don’t
want anything more. Go release them, Ariel. I’ll break my
spells and bring them back to their senses, and they’ll
feel like themselves again.
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ARIEL
I’ll
fetch them, sir.
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ARIEL
I’ll go get them, sir.
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Exit ARIEL
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ARIEL exits. |
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35 40 45 |
PROSPERO
(tracing a circle on the ground)
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves,
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimmed
The noontide sun, called forth the mutinous winds,
And ’twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war—to th' dread rattling
thunder
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak
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PROSPERO
(drawing a large circle on the stage with
his staff)
I’ve darkened the noontime sun with the aid of you elves
who live in the hills and brooks and groves, and you who chase the
sea on the beach without leaving footprints in the sand, and run
away when the waves come back; and you who make toadstools while the
moon shines; who make mushrooms as a hobby after the evening bell
has rung. With your help I’ve called up the angry winds,
and set the green sea and blue sky at war with each other.
I’ve given lightning to the thunderclouds, and burned up
Jupiter’s beloved oak.
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