Act 5, Scene 1

Original Text

*Before the cell of Prospero. Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and 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? ARIEL. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease. PROSPERO. I did say so, When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the king and's followers? ARIEL. Confined together In the same fashion as you gave in charge, Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell; They cannot budge till your release.

Modern English

*Before Prospero's dwelling. Prospero enters in his magic robes, with Ariel.* PROSPERO. Now my plan is coming to a head. My spells hold firm, my spirits obey, and everything is running on schedule. What time is it? ARIEL. Almost six o'clock -- the hour, my lord, when you said our work would be finished. PROSPERO. I did say that, when I first raised the storm. Tell me, spirit -- how are the king and his companions doing? ARIEL. Locked up together exactly as you ordered, just as you left them -- all prisoners, sir, in the grove of linden trees that shelters your dwelling. They can't move until you release them.

Original Text

ARIEL. The king, His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, 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. PROSPERO. Dost thou think so, spirit? ARIEL. Mine would, sir, were I human. 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 the 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.

Modern English

ARIEL. The king, his brother, and yours are all three out of their minds, and the rest are grieving over them, overflowing with sorrow and despair -- especially the one you called "the good old lord Gonzalo." His tears run down his beard like winter rain dripping from a thatched roof. Your spell has gripped them so hard that if you could see them now, you'd feel your heart soften. PROSPERO. Do you really think so, spirit? ARIEL. Mine would, sir, if I were human. PROSPERO. Then mine will too. You, who are nothing but air, feel a stirring, a sense of their suffering -- and shouldn't I, who am one of their kind, who feel everything as sharply and grieve as deeply as they do, be moved to greater kindness than you? Though their terrible wrongs against me cut to the bone, I'll side with my better judgment against my rage. The nobler choice lies in mercy, not in revenge. Since they are sorry, my plan's only purpose now extends no further than a frown. Go set them free, Ariel. I'll undo my spells, restore their senses, and they'll be themselves again.

Original Text

PROSPERO. 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 bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds. And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves at my command Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth By my so potent art. But this rough magic I here abjure; and, when I have required Some heavenly music,--which even now I do,-- To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book.

Modern English

PROSPERO. You elves of hills, streams, still lakes, and woodlands, and you who chase the retreating tide across the sand with feet that leave no prints, then run from it when it comes rolling back -- you tiny fairies who make those bitter green rings in the grass by moonlight that sheep won't eat -- and you whose hobby is growing mushrooms at midnight, who love to hear the solemn evening bell -- with your help, weak servants though you are, I have dimmed the noonday sun and called up rebellious winds. Between the green sea and the blue sky I have set roaring war. To the terrible, crashing thunder I have given fire, and split Jove's mighty oak with his own lightning bolt. I have shaken the solid headlands and pulled up by the roots the pine and cedar. At my command, graves have woken their sleepers, opened, and released them -- such is my powerful art. But this rough magic I now renounce. And once I've called forth some heavenly music -- which I do right now -- to work its healing on their senses, which is what this final spell is for, I'll snap my staff, bury it deep in the earth, and deeper than any measuring line ever reached, I'll drown my book of spells.

Original Text

MIRANDA. Sweet lord, you play me false. FERDINAND. No, my dear'st love, I would not for the world. MIRANDA. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, And I would call it fair play. ALONSO. If this prove A vision of the island, one dear son Shall I twice lose. MIRANDA. O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't! PROSPERO. 'Tis new to thee.

Modern English

MIRANDA. Sweet lord, you're cheating. FERDINAND. No, my dearest love -- I wouldn't, not for the whole world. MIRANDA. Oh yes, for twenty kingdoms you'd fight dirty, and I'd still call it fair play. ALONSO. If this turns out to be another illusion of this island, I'll have lost my dear son twice. MIRANDA. Oh, how wonderful! How many fine-looking people there are here! How beautiful humanity is! Oh brave new world that has such people in it! PROSPERO. It's new to you.

Original Text

PROSPERO. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave, His mother was a witch; and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, And deal in her command, without her power. These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil-- For he's a bastard one--had plotted with them To take my life. Two of these fellows you Must know and own; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine. CALIBAN. I shall be pinch'd to death.

Modern English

PROSPERO. Look at the insignia on these men, my lords, and tell me if they can be trusted. This misshapen creature -- his mother was a witch, and a powerful one, who could control the moon, make the tides rise and fall, and wield the moon's own power against it. These three robbed me. And this half-devil -- for he's only a bastard one -- conspired with them to kill me. Two of these fellows you must recognize and claim as yours. This thing of darkness I acknowledge as mine. CALIBAN. I'll be pinched to death for this.

Original Text

CALIBAN. 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!

Modern English

CALIBAN. Yes, I will. And from now on I'll be wiser and try to earn forgiveness. What a triple idiot I was, to mistake this drunkard for a god and worship this brainless fool!

Original Text

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

Modern English

PROSPERO. Sir, I invite your highness and your company to my humble dwelling, where you'll rest for this one night. Part of the evening I'll fill with a story that, I'm sure, will make the time fly by -- the tale of my life and everything that has happened to me since I came to this island. In the morning I'll take you to your ship and on to Naples, where I hope to see the wedding of these two beloved young people properly celebrated. And from there, I'll retire to my Milan, where every third thought will be of my own death.

The Tempest

Act 5, Scene 1

Act 5, Scene 1