University of Virginia Library

ANGELICA;

OR, THE RAPE OF PROTEUS.

Proteus speaks.
Ye doleful mountains, and ye shagged caves,
Whose echoes with the mournful wave are fill'd,
And your sad locks still dripping briny tears,
To you I come, to lay my sorrows down
In this waste nook, and angle of the world.
For pity may empierce your rugged breasts,
But not the flinty, hard Angelica.
Angelica, thou golden deity!
And wond'rous daughter of the elements!
The earth has had her brood; and the mere air,
Enliven'd by the birth-begetting Sun;
(For so was Ariel born, that fatal spirit,
Who does our enemy's behests, and yet
His beauty is more pregnant, than the beam;)
Nay, and the swelling flood, whereof is sprung
The wonder of the sky, whose dripping locks
Neptune fell down, and worshipp'd on the wave:
But thou surpassest all, as much as light
Outgoes Cimmerian darkness, or the beam
Of Phosphor the mere lanthern of a swain.
O thou divine, and passing pageant,
Thou smiling monster of ambrosial seed,
Would I had never seen thee, nor had known
What Nature may give challenge to the Gods.
O, O accursed fair, and fairest curse,
The woes, which I endure, no words can tell,
Nor horrid fables of Proserpine's world,
Where evil at the height is all her bliss.
Farewell, my herds! now may ye browse at large
Through all the wat'ry space; whom I have led,
With reedy pipe, sweet-speaking to your ears,
To pleasant pastures, oft beneath the moon,
And oft beneath the silver light of morn,
But lead no more, for now my hope is dead.
Yet have I seen the wonders of our world,
Oft passing to their hymeneal beds,
When Summer smooth'd the seas, whose awful charms
Compell'd the dolphins from their wat'ry holds,
And struck the shrilling Tritons with delight:
Nay, and their accents of persuasive love
Drew down the starry sparkles from their sphere.
But yet I never lov'd, nor now had lov'd,
Had all the treasury of Venus' court
Been pour'd before my eyes, with lib'ral gift
Of Jove, to make them my peculiar fee.
Thou, only thou, Angelica, could melt
My stony heart, and mould it to despair.
O son of Saturn, pierce me with thy fire,
That may undo my nature, else forbid;
Or give me great Nepenthè, that shall drown
All thoughts of this abhorred angel's form.
No: O divine Angelica, accept
The garland of my love; sweet-smelling pinks,
That in the garden of stern Neptune's queen
Delight the sense; and roses, such as deck
Her coral pavement, with the wat'ry flags,
And lilies, white and golden, and the flow'r
De-luce, of purple, and imperial stem.
Soft violets, and verdant asphodel,
And the flood-crocus, and the brimming wealth
Of all the cups of Flora, 'neath the sea.
These with the pallid ivy will I bind.
That crawls beside the margin of her throne,
Which Amphitrite loves, and add beside
The wat'ry jasmine, and the silver buds
Of myrtle, breathing through the crystal wave
A fragrant, and divine intelligence.
Thy golden forehead, and Sun-blaming hair,
More lovely than the Morn, I will embind
With weeds, more delicate than earthly flow'rs,
And make thee the bright Ocean's paragon.
Or, if thou choose it rather, thou shalt have
The glossy pearl, for which the Æthiop dives,
Or the green em'rald, or the turkis blue,
Which is Aurora's love, or amethysts,
Whose colour is the light of Hebe's robe,
Or purple sapphire, or the opal keen,
Fire-flashing like the day, or king of all,
The brilliant di'mond, rival of the sun.
These shall adorn thee, and, like stars in heav'n,
Discover all thy beauties to the world.
But, O, thou wilt despise them, if from me
Their wealth is offer'd, and my only choice
Is, to lie down, and perish on the beach.
Who am I, whom you scorn? no less a God,
Than Neptune's son, and keeper of his herds,
And mighty prophet of the murm'ring shore.
The Nymphs have lov'd me, and have oft untied
Their saffron belts within the darksome caves,
And yielded their pure virgin patents up
To my divine enforcement, with free will,
And lovely dalliance, prodigal of joy.
O, but this thought is fire, when I pursue
The like with thee, and know impossible
The fatal pleasure of thy radiant bed!
Impossible? why so? thy cruel pride
Shall have the like return: if Hell should gape,
And all the monsters of my father's world,
With hideous throats, uprising from the deep,
Deny my passage, yet would I fulfill
My glorious purpose, and the golden sand
Shall take the print of thy immortal form.
Angelica shall be Angelica,
But with her zone unloos'd, and flowing hair
Dishevell'd in delight; and reign the queen
Of the dark-weedy shore, and charm the caves
With prodigal demeanour to her God,
When disabus'd of her virginity.

A Mermaid rises, and sings.
Proteus, list; I sing to thee,
Daughter of the foaming sea:
In the centre late I lay,
Where the springs of ocean play,
Twenty thousand fathom down,
And gaz'd on Amphitrite's crown,
All inlaid with em'rald stones,
And opal, such as earth ne'er owns.
The jasper floor with songs was sweet,
And the Nymphs, with silver feet,
Of fragrant weed divinely wove
A silken counterpane of love;
All emboss'd with orient pearls,
Fit for the angel of chaste girls,
And saffron buds, to keep her sense
From the night-witch's foul offence:
And, as they wove, I list them say,
Love be to sweet Angelica,
And household faith, and golden nights,
And a brim ocean of delights:
And ev'ry one, in order due,
The marriage anthem did pursue,
As waves on waves in sequence flow,
When to the sands in love they go,
With musick, for a mermaid's ears,
Fit to charm the drowsy spheres.
In the 'midst of all their song,
A Nymph came in, to speak of wrong,
Done to Amphitrite's meads,
Where her herd, in charter, feeds,
Of water-elks, and ocean-deer,
By some of these you pasture here:
And in the silv'ry marshes too,
Where disports her dolphin crew,
Whose lilied banks are all o'er-thrown,
And purple blossoms trodden down:
And in her blooming orchard's fence,
Where her steeds delight their sense,
Her scaly horses, snorting forth,
In token of their love, and worth,
And lashing still their finned tails;
For there the outrage too prevails:
Her tender plants are bruis'd, and torn,
And fragrant apples cropp'd in scorn.
The wat'ry calves, O queen, came in,
With a lowing rush, and din,
Escap'd from Proteus' hoary care,
As when, between the Trojan straits,
Great Neptune rushes through the gates:
The Nymph then wept, her message sped,
And hid in woe her amber head.
Amphitrite, rising straight,
From her chair of glassy state,
Like the orbed Moon, in pride,
Held her pearly sceptre wide,
Tipp'd with em'rald, and she swore
A fatal oath, ne'er heard before
In a mermaid's dulcet ears,
To be aveng'd her servant's tears:
And sent a nymph to Neptune straight,
On whose swift feet depends thy fate.

Proteus speaks.
This is the fault of Caliban: 'twas but
The beaming of last Hesper, as we fed
Beneath Sigæum, by the lonely tomb
Of stern Achilles, who in golden arms
Oft flashes on the frighted mariner,
With privilege of woe, and points his wounds,
I gave the monster strict enforced charge,
To gather with sure staff his scaly herds:
For oft I saw them drop into the sea,
As stars of summer from the welkin shoot:
But in his drowsy ear the precept slept,
Which I will well avenge: ungracious monster!

The Mermaid sings.
Caliban i' th' eclipse was got,
When the night-shade pines with drought,
And then takes a deadlier hue,
And was dropp'd, to plague our view,
Underneath the iron shade
Of Hell's gates, and thence convey'd
To a witch, who brought him up,
And gave him of dame Hecat's cup,
Which has made him plaguesome thus:
What was his sire? a Succubus.
Was not Sycorax his dam?

Proteus speaks.
Well, I will penn the monster to a rock,
And let him howl nine moons into the deep,
Or bid the Tritons whip him, till his roar
Outgoes the copulating whale: what, wretch!
Forego my precept, and forsake his herd
Of porpusses, and fanged wat'ry calves?
But I will well requite thee.

The Mermaid sings.
Proteus, Love, who skims the seas,
And on the sands does what he please,
Not Caliban, 'though he be vile,
Hath work'd against thee with this guile.
A waning moon ago, I lay,
And comb'd my hair in Corinth bay,
Singing in my coral bower,
And mark'd young Cupid squeeze a flower,
Born of Helen's lively blood,
Which blushes sanguine by the flood:
With Ida's shepherd she at play
On the beach of Sparta lay;
A prickly thistle made a wound,
Which ting'd the shore with nectar round,
And of that crimson milk the flow'r
Was nurtur'd in that charmed hour.
With this he dipp'd his sharpest dart,
And quench'd it's fire in Proteus' heart.
Thou know'st it well; and this has made
The herdsman-God forsake his trade:
What dost thou since, but lie and groan,
And make the rocks repeat thy moan,
And all the winds of th' Ocean play
In praise of sweet Angelica?
The very sea-gulls know thy song—
Why Love has done thee this great wrong,
And Love must cure the wound he made,
By rape of this hard-hearted maid.
Now, Proteus, to thy eyes I lift
The mirrour, which is Neptune's gift,
And show thee, wreck'd upon the strand,
The barque of royal Ferdinand:
His large big-bellied sails are full,
And swelling waves wash on his hull
To th' island of old Prospero,
To do, what thou too well dost know.
But I will sing him to decay,
And wreck his wishes in the bay,
If thou wilt give the boy to me,
To hold him in the hoary sea,
And make stern Neptune grant the same,
And she, his amber-crowned dame.

Proteus speaks.
That which thou say'st, is true: my tears have worn
The iron rocks, and over-charg'd the sea:
But I will be reveng'd: is Ferdinand
So soon come back from Naples to his wife?
O, thou good maiden, whelm him in the flood,
And think his lips fine coral, and his eyes
Blue sapphires, and his locks, O, cursed locks!
The vegetable amber, ere he wed
Angelica, and ruin both our loves.
But I will go to Neptune, and assuage
His rugged brow, and Amphitrite's ire,
Walking beneath the sea with smoothed staff:
And, if my prayers can do it, he shall grant
Thy amorous suit, and charter thee the boy;
With whom in marriage rites thou shalt be laid,
And all the mermaids sing around thy bed,
And all the sea-nymphs dance; the Tritons blow
Their wreathed conchs, and I myself be there.
But since the States of Naples have assign'd
Angelica, the wife of Ferdinand,
For which he now returns, to bear her home,
I will awaken all the deity
To save my cause from ruin, and prevent
The liberal maid from marriage with a man.
Farewell, Celatis; true be to thyself,
To me, and to the Ocean.

The Mermaid speaks.

THE SCENE CHANGES TO PROSPERO'S ISLAND.
The Mermaid speaks.
But who is that? a queen upon the shore,
In azure robes, and pearled coronet?
A Goddess, not a queen: 'tis Juno, sure;
Or Hebe, more enlarged, than she wont,
To absolute perfection of her state;
The kiss of Jove hath work'd this miracle,
And she stands there, for men to worship her.
Men? there are no men here, but Prospero;
And he is old, and wedded to cold thoughts.
That, that must be Angelica: O me!
A rival, that the queen of Heav'n may fear,
If she should stand before her, as she does now,
In natural proportion of her soul,
The golden heavens clipping her around,
As much as say, behold a paragon!
Why, I shall love, who came to ruin her;
And love her with a nat'ral innocence,
Being the guardian angel of her steps.
Proteus is not to blame, if he prefer
Her garter to the belt of all the world.
She is herself a world, a complete world,
Where all the wealth of Nature is display'd:
The fire of Jove doth lighten in her eyes,
And blazes through her crystal limbs, to show
Her fine proportion, and pure temperament.
She touches me with awe: I must away;
Nor lose myself in her. Divine Angelica,
I whisper to the waves, thou dost outgo
The crowned queen of Neptune: those brave legs
Are not of mortal mould: O Ferdinand,
Thy choice is noble: but it shall not be:
I am thy wife, and not this prodigal,
And I will put it to th' arbitrament
Of fate, despite of Neptune: I will kill her,
Tempt her with songs into the smiling deep,
Then strangle in the waves: O devil, devil,
Full of seduction, and abandonment,
Were women all like thee, then the whole world
Were surely mad with Venus: I will kill her,
Or give to Proteus: yet it pities me,
So fair should kiss so foul: so true a bosom
Be leagu'd to one, made rough with wint'ry storms,
And hard as rocks: yet love will have it so,
Or I shall lose my Ferdinand: my bed
Be barren and unfruitful; my whole life
But one unshaped winter: O chaste maid,
All innocent, and happy, as thou seem'st,
Thou tread'st upon the verge; and shalt be lost,
Ere yet thou think'st thy footing is unsure.

Angelica speaks.
Why look'st thou so on me? thy eyes devour me;
And thy whole visage now is wint'ry pale,
And now, like flame, is crimson. I ne'er harm'd thee:
But rather, O Sea-maid, would do thee love.

The Mermaid speaks.
I love thee, and not hate thee; chaste delight,
And angel of this shore: and, so I might,
Would entertain thine ears: for I am sent
To charm thee with a loving argument.

Angelica.
Who sent thee to this shore, to sing to me?

The Mermaid.
No less than Neptune, God of all the Sea.

Angelica.
I cannot choose, but tremble at his name;
To be the object of so great a flame:
Yet mortal with immortal may not join;
Nor can my simple beauties be divine.
Besides, I cannot love: I am a wife,
And sworn to pure affection for my life.

The Mermaid.
Farewell to pity; for that word is fire.
Thou say'st not true, Angelica: I know
Thou art not married, though betroth'd to one,
Who, yet I weep to say it, lieth drown'd
Within the bay of Naples, and is wed
To the cold sea: the mermaids ring his knell.
Amazement hath undone her: see, she falls.
Angelica! awake, Angelica!
Perhaps, he is not drown'd: I saw him beat
The angry surge: he may not yet be drown'd,
For he was strong, and valiant in the wave.

Angelica.
Away, dissembling monster! he is dead.

The Mermaid.
He is not dead, Angelica: I saw
Him reach the shore: I said it, but to make
A trial of thy love: it has prov'd crystal.
But you must hear me further: when he reach'd
The shore, worn out with struggling with the wave,
And lying, like Leander, on the beach,
Lais, who knows not Lais? Naples-born,
More soft, and flatt'ring than the Summer's sea,
By which she dwells, this Lais took him up,
And had him to her own enchanting bed,
Wherein she laid him, wherein now he lies,
Clipp'd in her wanton arms: for she sate by him,
With, O, such heart-drawn sighs, and silv'ry tears,
Her lilied hands still tending on his clothes,
With many melting tales of loving maids,
Who were undone by false men in their youth,
And died of passion, interweaving songs,
Which would make Philomel die, that first he kiss'd,
And then—but I forbear it: does not this move thee?
Well, thou art wise; for, the temptation weigh'd,
The boy may yet be true.

Angelica.
It moves me not:
And I am firm to this, as is the continent
To the beseiging wave: I'm sure, 'tis false.

The Mermaid.
Alas, it is not: and, I ask thee then,
Are there not golden pleasures, which in nature
Are to be priz'd, and lov'd for their own sake,
Jove being the author, by whose gift we use them?
And most so, when Revenge doth add her sting,
To sharpen the free will, already apt:
O, 'tis a banquet for a God, to charm
Thy longing soul, and do so good requital
To him, who first had wrong'd thee: think on't, Angelica,
And be both wise, and happy.

Angelica.
I know thee now,
And scorn thee with the knowledge; thou art vile,
And a most false dissembler: get thee hence,
Or I will call my father, to avenge
Th' illusion of thy shallow eloquence,
And heap thy honied evils on thy head.
What, would'st thou tempt my virtue, and abuse
My yet untasted youth? hence, hideous fiend!
Go, take thy fawning tales to other ears,
Which may accept them: for myself, I scorn thee.

The Mermaid.
Alas, and wilt thou loose th' imperial rule
Of all the seas, and Neptune's em'rald sceptre,
All, for few words of pale philosophy?
Who is't, Angelica, whose lessons blind
The yet unsated youth? why men, who, dull
With old and crabbed age, envy the joy,
Which the ripe maid is heir to: thou art young,
And Neptune courts thee to partake his bed,
No less a God, than Neptune.

Angelica.
Say no more;
But take thy voyage to another isle.
I fear thee: for my father oft has said,
The Angels may be won by eloquence:
Nay, Angels have been won by eloquence
To gross revolt against the crystal bowers.
But think me thus; if Ferdinand yet live,
I may become his wife; if he be gone,
Farewell to marriage, and the natural joy,
Which maids are heir to, as thou wisely say'st,
But say'st with ill intent: I'll be a rose,
To waste my blushes on the desert air,
And fade, as undistilled of my sweets.

The Mermaid.
She's gone, and gone an Angel: yet I hate,
And yet I pity; such a thing is love:
Made up of fire, and wanton-spirited air,
Dull earth, and chilling water: contradictions,
All, that can be in Nature: now resolv'd,
And now dispers'd in a too weak compassion:
At least 'tis so in me. But Proteus comes,
Whose rugged breast has no access to pity,
Hard as the rocks, on which he feeds his herd,
And cold, as the pale sands. My eye can pierce him,
Though flying, as a sea-kite, o'er the waves,
For oft he changes to a separate form,
And now he beats the land, and now is Proteus.
I'll speak to him:
He looks inflam'd with anger, sunk in woe.

Proteus.
Well, I return, Celatis: 'tis in vain;
The God would grant it, but the queen is marble.
The blue-ey'd devil, nymph Autolyca,
Stands at her elbow, minding her her wrongs,
And wiping her salt tears with amber hair.
Autolyca, whom Neptune's self adores,
Yet Amphitrite loves her to perdition.
Perdition catch her! for her fatal beauty
Shall be my only ruin: Ferdinand
Shall have, in spousal bed, Angelica,
And I forsake my hopes of happiness,
And all, because Autolyca is fair.

The Mermaid.
Why then the maid will marry Ferdinand?

Proteus.
'Tis like for he will wed Angelica.

The Mermaid.
Then I am lost: O Proteus, I am lost.

Proteus.
Am I not lost too? lost beyond redemption,
If once I lose Angelica? O winds,
Blow up the mountain billows to dread Heav'n,
And let the flashing light'nings singe their tops,
To make the world one Tartarus! ye waves,
Obey no more the trident of your king,
But mix in great rebellion with the winds,
And drown the world, or drown this Ferdinand!
O, I will have the maid, should Neptune face me,
And Jove, with arm uplifted, sit above,
To blast me into Erebus!

The Mermaid.
Alas, we must submit, if Neptune frown,
And Amphitrite will the marriage bed:
We must submit to ruin.

Proteus.
Aye, you're recall'd to Amphitrite's throne:
And the sea-nymphs shall whip you, they shall whip you,
For thrice-sev'n seasons, 'till this partial fire
Be all expung'd, and raz'd; I heard the mandate;
Autolyca is bade to see it done.

The Mermaid.
Autolyca is bad, that I well know;
For I have felt her whips: the smiling Venus
Lash'd me to purpose in her mistress' cell,
Where the Sea-maids must suffer penalty,
For faults conceiv'd or acted: bade not spare me:
What was my fault? I stole but the fair horn
Of a sea-unicorn, which Thetis priz'd,
And us'd it, as her shell.

Proteus.
Well, she shall whip you,
And worse than that, you shall lose Ferdinand,
Lose him, Celatis; lose the prince for ever!

The Mermaid.
O Proteus, shall this be, and can I live?
Is there no help, to give me Ferdinand?
Can you not prophecy, how this may be?

Proteus.
We, prophets, are not prophets for ourselves.
But there is help, Celatis, there is help,
If thou wilt do my meaning: what forbids,
But thou should sink the barque of Ferdinand
Into the golden ruin of the sand,
And clasp the boy in thy especial arms?
I say, what hinders? since, for Amphitrite,
She, who forsakes her subject, cannot blame
Her subject for forsaking: she forsook thee;
Nay, she has touch'd thy health with penalty:
And then, perhaps, she sleeps; perhaps, she walks
With her most dear Autolyca i' th' garden,
Conversing of their loves, dreaming of flowers,
Not minding thy fine action: why the bliss
Is certain, and the evil yet obscure:
Courage has still this patent to go through,
As licens'd, to the goal: then, think the bliss,
The pure, compendious bliss; infinite essence,
Which shall unlock the gates of satisfaction:
Think Ferdinand already in thy arms.
Besides, how many women, merely mortal,
Will go to certain ruin for their loves;
And weigh it not a hair? And, can'st thou sing,
'Till the pale moon, and stars shall grow enamour'd,
And look with double pleasure on the wave,
And thus be foil'd of marriage? Fame, Celatis,
Fame is delight to the pure spiritual ear,
But yet the wealth of Nature must be sought;
For soul, and body mutually are link'd:
Thy queen will praise thy songs, and starve thy nature;
Why, I say no: she should be all thy queen,
Or be no queen to thee: 'tis known, Celatis,
That thy thrice-golden song can stay the moon,
When she is, bearward, west'ring to the pole,
And all the twinkling essences of light
Sleep round her shadowy wheels. Thou art the star,
The primal star of Amphitrite's crown:
And shall she, then, deny thee Ferdinand?
Besides, she shall not see thee, shall not hear,
For we will drug Autolyca: for Neptune,
Be sure, he'll wink: besides, thou art foredoom'd,
Can'st not be worse, and may be peerless happy,
Happy, beyond infinity of thought.
Then do't, Celatis; for thy own sake, do it;
Drag down the boy into thy coral cave,
And charm thy soul with gladness: else thou lov'st not,
If thou wilt not do this for Ferdinand.

The Mermaid.
Thou speakest, like a God; most like a God,
Most like the Son of Neptune: I will do it;
O Proteus, I will do it. Give me Ferdinand,
And all the world I weigh not at a cinder.

Proteus.
Bravely resolv'd; thou art the maid I took thee:
The noble-minded, and most chaste Celatis!
Take thou thy stand, before that promontory,
Where the false wave is shallow; when the Sun
Shall dip his hair into the briny wave,
And leave a golden mem'ry of himself,
The fire of Hesper rising, sing thy utmost;
For then the sails of Ferdinand shall near:
And, in that intervening space, when day
Has walk'd from out the world, and night not yet
Planted her silent foot, then Prospero's art
Can nothing touch, or natural, or divine.
But let not Ariel hear me.

The Mermaid.
Hark! it thunders.
I fear, O Proteus, for our evil speech.

Proteus.
Fear nothing; this is Caliban's mere howl,
Whom I have chain'd to the rocks: there is an island,
Set, like a barren gem, within the deep,
Whose bowels all are marble; and the winds,
And restless surge make musick to no ear;
There have I chain'd him, and the sea-wolves round
Gape hideous in his eyes: he roars, like Ætna:
Men call the island, Elba.

The Mermaid.
It is well;
He'll lose you no more calves; though Ariel drew them
From out the speckled welkin with his pipe,
And did with fine seduction tumble down
Into the sleeping sea: this Ariel did,
To torture Caliban, who left his master,
To follow at the treading of thy herd.

Proteus.
Well, it may be so.

The Mermaid.
Yet, I think, it thunder'd.

Proteus.
No, it did not: nor shall, to our disquiet.
But, I behold old Prosper with his daughter,
In deep discourse upon the shelving shore:
I'll listen, as a bird; and suck his doctrine,
Which shall not save her virtue, or I err.

The Mermaid.
Be sure, if thou address her, call thyself
No less a God, than Neptune: so I styl'd thee,
When I preferr'd thy passion to her ear.

Proteus.
Did she relent, Celatis?

The Mermaid.
Yes, as marble,
When April show'rs would pierce it to the heart.

Proteus.
Well then, her tears, and not her smiles must serve me:
Which might e'en melt the marble, but not me.
Each to our work, and to our separate joys:
For, what we yet have known of bliss, shall be
To this divinest consummation,
But as the least, and most particular star,
That burns in heav'n, when skirting on the sphere
Of the bright-orbed moon, to that large planet.
O, we are not yet born!

The Mermaid.
Proteus, farewell:
Thou art my God; I will be thine for ever.

Proteus.
And I protect, and love thee, as a daughter.

The Mermaid sings.

Proteus speaks.
Hist! hist! lest Prosper hear you: away! away!
I am a bird: I hear you, Prospero.

Prospero speaks.
What I have said, my daughter, may suffice,
If your chaste ear were barren yet to virtue,
And your whole soul untutor'd: 'tis not so,
And all my solitary hours have been
Expended, in the fashioning my child:
Thou hast been to me more, than Summer Suns,
Or the pure light of Morn; for which I thank thee,
And thank the Gods, that made thee dutiful:
What I have more to say, is brief: this Ferdinand
Is a right-noble prince, and loves you dearly,
And from my arms unto his bed you shall
Go with a double blessing: keep thy nature,
Which is, my fair one, chaste as untouch'd snow,
Humble as lowly herbs, modest as eve
Within her amber veil, but free as fire
To fight her virtuous cause, never her ill:
Naples may say, that she accepts a woman,
Whose like the world can't furnish: this is all.
Here are thy mother's jewels; 'tis her coronet,
Which I have kept, forelooking to this day,
Instructed by my art: I have sent Ariel,
For accident hath stole one princely gem,
To silver-footed Thetis, to extract
The precious emerald, which fires her zone,
Which she oft promis'd should be thine on marriage:
Thereon the eye of Naples shall be set,
The star of her allegiance. Now ere eve
Awake the silent nightingale, the ship,
Which carries Ferdinand, shall breast our port,
And his sharp anchor bite our golden sand.
Then must the fire be lighted, which shall shine
Upon your equal vows: farewell, my daughter!
For one short hour, farewell! my books are clos'd,
And all my task is done: for the brief space,
That yet remains before the king's arrival,
I fain would pass within my wonted cell,
In contemplation of this dear event,
May all your life be happy.

Angelica.
Farewell, my father!
For that short time, farewell! when I forget
Thy gentle learned care of all my youth,
And doctrine of my soul, 'till now I walk
Upon the eve of marriage, may the sweet heavens,
Whose fav'ring mercy still has shone on me,
Forget me also, an ungracious child:
But it shall ne'er be so.

Prospero.
I dare believe it.

Angelica sings.

Proteus speaks.

First Sailor.
Now then we near the land; the swallows come,
To bid us welcome.

Second Sailor.
Land! I see the land.
Go tell the Captain, Nich'las sees the land.

The Captain.
Yes, boys, the chart is true: South-east by south,
And we shall fetch our port: 't must be the land,
To which we are destin'd: Nicholas, here's money:
Some gentleman, whose star is fortunate,
Go tell the prince, that we have fetch'd the shore,
Where all his heart is treasur'd.

Gentleman.
I will go,
For I have need of fortune, and she's here.

The Captain.
Put her upon the tack, nearer the wind:
Now she scuds bravely: 'tis a gallant wench.
Methinks, the wind's enamour'd of my ship,
And the waves run in love.

Ferdinand.
Antonio,
Brave Captain, good Antonio, for thy care,
And seaman-like concurrence with our course,
And gallant 'haviour, thou art fit to rule
The decks of all the ocean: Naples thanks thee.
And for our love, large though it be, 'tis poor,
Most poor to thy deserts. Ask what thou wilt.

Antonio.
My lord, I'll ask this favour: let the princess,
The ever-fair Angelica, but say,
Antonio, thou hast nobly serv'd my lord:
'T shall be enough: I'll ask no golden patent,
But be in that a duke: her voice is honour.

Ferdinand.
Nobly declar'd: and, like thyself, Antonio.
But honour must be done thee, worldly honour;
The other is divine: both shalt thou have:
Gonzales, take thou charge, the crew be thank'd
With a full purse of guineas.

Gonzales.
Good, my lord.

Ferdinand.
That, when the anchor falls, no heart be sad;
But all rejoice with Ferdinand.

Sailors.
All, all
Pray God to bless your highness!

Antonio.
Open the ports, and let our bristled cannon
Show forth their flaming breath; and tell the Island,
The sovereign Son of Naples is at hand.
In a few moments we will wake the welkin.

Ferdinand.
The sun goes sweetly down upon the sea;
And his large golden sphere gives ample promise
Of a bright ruddy morning: all is calm,
And the moist Zephyr hardly bends the wave:
Angelica, O sweet Angelica!
If all the nat'ral tribute of the seas
Could be disburs'd before me, I'd not change
One hair of thine for the prodigious wealth:
The sun now dips i' th' ocean: he'll be gone,
Ere we can say, farewell: gone is the flame,
And now 'tis time for shadows!

Antonio.
Throw forth the anchor; here is goodly sand.

Ferdinand.
Ha! what is that? Gonzales, saw you it?
What is that shape, Antonio? overthwart
The vessel's bow?

Antonio.
Save me, my lord! I know not:
Have we a priest aboard?

Ferdinand.
A priest, Antonio?
'Tis but a silly Mermaid, such as swim
Around the seas, in summer, to beguile
The eyes of wand'ring mariners: half fish
It is, half-maid; I oft have read of them,
But never saw, till now.

Antonio.
Nor I, my lord;
Nor like her not, now I have seen, assure you.

Ferdinand.
Alas, she'll do no harm; she is not fatal.

Antonio.
Hold up the anchor: 'tis not seasonable.

Ferdinand.
Nay, I have heard, they oft have counsell'd men
To best expedience, in the jaws of danger,
And have disburs'd the sea of many a wreck.

Antonio.
O, hark! my lord, she sings.

The Mermaid sings.
Come, come away,
You, that float i' th' shallow bay:
Let not the iron anchor fall;
For to wreck you shall be thrall:
Coral rocks beneath your bow,
And waves of peril threat you now:
Let Naples know, the sands are deep!
Take heed; or else your wives will weep.

First Sailor.
The witch has a good voice. what say'st thou, Nicholas?

Ferdinand.
Antonio, hark! again: 'tis very sweet;
'Tis melancholy sweet, and yet it charms me.

The Mermaid sings.

Proteus.
Good, faithful maid, how wisely doth she sing!

Ferdinand.
Well, we'll believe her: which way shall we steer?

The Mermaid.
A mile a-head, upon the westward bow.

Antonio.
My lord, she will deceive us: see, the chart
Declares expressly, there the sand-bank lies.

Ferdinand.
Nay, we will trust.

Antonio.
Ho! helmsman, steer a mile,
A mile a-head upon the western bow.

Proteus.
The Ship strikes upon the sand-bank: and the Mermaid sings.

Ferdinand speaks, as the ship sinks.
Farewell! there is no help: my friends, adieu!
Adieu, O world! adieu, Angelica!
My kingdom, and my only love, adieu!

Angelica cries out from the shore.
Help, Ferdinand, help! the Sea-God will compel me!

Neptune rises, with Amphitrite, and strikes the ocean with his trident.
Neptune speaks.
Blow, Tritons, blow!
And let this traitor-God my presence know.
Bind him in secular chains:
And with the wolf, and bear
Let him in sorrow pair,
Where night, beneath my throne, eternal reigns.
Blow, Tritons, blow!

Amphitrite speaks.

Autolyca sings.

Amphitrite.
'Tis well, 'tis well, Autolyca!

Neptune.
Tritons, bear up the ship; and give good musick,
To speed her sails into the wish'd-for port.
Autolyca, now sing to Prospero!

Autolyca sings.

Ariel enters, and sings.
Here I bring the em'rald stone,
That burn'd in Thetis' blazing zone:
I have paid my duty's debt,
And my wings with waves are wet;
For I div'd down, how deep! how deep!
Where the green-hair'd Nereids sleep:
But I have brought the prize away,
Whose verdant beams shall far outshine the day.
Awake! Awake!
I am weary for thy sake.