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    The Tempest: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
    The Tempest: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
    The Tempest: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
    Ebook185 pages2 hours

    The Tempest: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

    By Willam Shakespeare

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    The life of William Shakespeare, arguably the most significant figure in the Western literary canon, is relatively unknown. Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon in 1565, possibly on the 23rd April, St. George’s Day, and baptised there on 26th April. Little is known of his education and the first firm facts to his life relate to his marriage, aged 18, to Anne Hathaway, who was 26 and from the nearby village of Shottery. Anne gave birth to their first son six months later. Shakespeare’s first play, The Comedy of Errors began a procession of real heavyweights that were to emanate from his pen in a career of just over twenty years in which 37 plays were written and his reputation forever established. This early skill was recognised by many and by 1594 the Lord Chamberlain’s Men were performing his works. With the advantage of Shakespeare’s progressive writing they rapidly became London’s leading company of players, affording him more exposure and, following the death of Queen Elizabeth in 1603, a royal patent by the new king, James I, at which point they changed their name to the King’s Men. By 1598, and despite efforts to pirate his work, Shakespeare’s name was well known and had become a selling point in its own right on title pages. No plays are attributed to Shakespeare after 1613, and the last few plays he wrote before this time were in collaboration with other writers, one of whom is likely to be John Fletcher who succeeded him as the house playwright for the King’s Men. William Shakespeare died two months later on April 23rd, 1616, survived by his wife, two daughters and a legacy of writing that none have since yet eclipsed.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateFeb 1, 2016
    ISBN9781785435768
    The Tempest: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

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      Book preview

      The Tempest - Willam Shakespeare

      The Tempest by William Shakespeare

      The life of William Shakespeare, arguably the most significant figure in the Western literary canon, is relatively unknown.   

      Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon in 1565, possibly on the 23rd April, St. George’s Day, and baptised there on 26th April.

      Little is known of his education and the first firm facts to his life relate to his marriage, aged 18, to Anne Hathaway, who was 26 and from the nearby village of Shottery.  Anne gave birth to their first son six months later.

      Shakespeare’s first play, The Comedy of Errors began a procession of real heavyweights that were to emanate from his pen in a career of just over twenty years in which 37 plays were written and his reputation forever established.

      This early skill was recognised by many and by 1594 the Lord Chamberlain’s Men were performing his works.  With the advantage of Shakespeare’s progressive writing they rapidly became London’s leading company of players, affording him more exposure and, following the death of Queen Elizabeth in 1603, a royal patent by the new king, James I, at which point they changed their name to the King’s Men. 

      By 1598, and despite efforts to pirate his work, Shakespeare’s name was well known and had become a selling point in its own right on title pages.

      No plays are attributed to Shakespeare after 1613, and the last few plays he wrote before this time were in collaboration with other writers, one of whom is likely to be John Fletcher who succeeded him as the house playwright for the King’s Men.

      William Shakespeare died two months later on April 23rd, 1616, survived by his wife, two daughters and a legacy of writing that none have since yet eclipsed.

      Index of Contents

      DRAMATIS PERSONAE

      ACT I

      Scene I - On a Ship at Sea: A Tempestuous Noise

      Scene II - The island. Before Prospero’s Cell.

      ACT II

      Scene I - Another Part of the Island.

      Scene II - Another Part of the Island.

      ACT III

      Scene I - Before Prospero's Cell.

      Scene II - Another Part of the Island.

      Scene III -Another Part of the Island.

      ACT IV

      Scene I - Before Prospero’s Cell.

      ACT V

      Scene I - Before Prospero’s Cell.

      William Shakespeare – A Short Biography

      William Shakespeare – A Concise Bibliography

      Shakespeare; or, the Poet by Ralph Waldo Emerson

      William Shakespeare – A Tribute in Verse

      DRAMATIS PERSONAE

      ALONSO, King of Naples.

      SEBASTIAN, his Brother.

      PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan.

      ANTONIO, his Brother, the usurping Duke of Milan.

      FERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples.

      GONZALO, an honest old Counsellor.

      ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, Lords.

      CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave.

      TRINCULO, a Jester.

      STEPHANO, a drunken Butler.

      Master of a Ship, Boatswain, Mariners.

      MIRANDA, Daughter to Prospero.

      ARIEL, an airy Spirit.

      IRIS, CERES, JUNO, Nymphs, Reapers, presented by Spirits.

      Other Spirits attending on Prospero.

      SCENE.—The Sea, with a Ship; Afterwards an Island.

      ACT I

      SCENE I. On a Ship at Sea: A Tempestuous Noise of Thunder and Lightning Heard.

      Enter a MASTER and a BOATSWAIN

      MASTER

      Boatswain!

      BOATSWAIN

      Here, master: what cheer?

      MASTER

      Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.

      Exit

      Enter Mariners

      BOATSWAIN

      Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough!

      Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND, GONZALO, and others

      ALONSO

      Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?

      Play the men.

      BOATSWAIN

      I pray now, keep below.

      ANTONIO

      Where is the master, boatswain?

      BOATSWAIN

      Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do assist the storm.

      GONZALO

      Nay, good, be patient.

      BOATSWAIN

      When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

      GONZALO

      Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

      BOATSWAIN

      None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if you can command these elements to

      silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you

      cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out of our way, I say.

      Exit

      GONZALO

      I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable,

      for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable.

      Exeunt

      Re-enter BOATSWAIN

      BOATSWAIN

      Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try with main-course.

      A cry within

      A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather or our office.

      Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO

      Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

      SEBASTIAN

      A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!

      BOATSWAIN

      Work you then.

      ANTONIO

      Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!

      We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

      GONZALO

      I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an

      unstanched wench.

      BOATSWAIN

      Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to sea again; lay her off.

      Enter MARINERS wet

      MARINERS

      All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

      BOATSWAIN

      What, must our mouths be cold?

      GONZALO

      The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them,

      For our case is as theirs.

      SEBASTIAN

      I'm out of patience.

      ANTONIO

      We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:

      This wide-chapp'd rascal—would thou mightst lie drowning

      The washing of ten tides!

      GONZALO

      He'll be hang'd yet,

      Though every drop of water swear against it

      And gape at widest to glut him.

      A confused noise within: 'Mercy on us!'— 'We split, we split!'—'Farewell, my wife and children!'— 'Farewell, brother!'—'We split, we split, we split!'

      ANTONIO

      Let's all sink with the king.

      SEBASTIAN

      Let's take leave of him.

      Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN

      GONZALO

      Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an

      acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any

      thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain

      die a dry death.

      Exeunt

      SCENE II. The Island. Before Prospero's Cell.

      Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA

      MIRANDA

      If by your art, my dearest father, you have

      Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

      The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

      But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,

      Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered

      With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,

      Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,

      Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock

      Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.

      Had I been any god of power, I would

      Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere

      It should the good ship so have swallow'd and

      The fraughting souls within her.

      PROSPERO

      Be collected:

      No more amazement: tell your piteous heart

      There's no harm done.

      MIRANDA

      O, woe the day!

      PROSPERO

      No harm.

      I have done nothing but in care of thee,

      Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who

      Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing

      Of whence I am, nor that I am more better

      Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,

      And thy no greater father.

      MIRANDA

      More to know

      Did never meddle with my thoughts.

      PROSPERO

      'Tis time

      I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,

      And pluck my magic garment from me. So:

      Lays down his mantle

      Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.

      The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd

      The very virtue of compassion in thee,

      I have with such provision in mine art

      So safely ordered that there is no soul—

      No, not so much perdition as an hair

      Betid to any creature in the vessel

      Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;

      For thou must now know farther.

      MIRANDA

      You have often

      Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd

      And left me to a bootless inquisition,

      Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

      PROSPERO

      The hour's now come;

      The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;

      Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember

      A time before we came unto this cell?

      I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not

      Out three years old.

      MIRANDA

      Certainly, sir, I can.

      PROSPERO

      By what? by any other house or person?

      Of any thing the image tell me that

      Hath kept with thy remembrance.

      MIRANDA

      'Tis far off

      And rather like a dream than an assurance

      That my remembrance warrants. Had I not

      Four or five women once that tended me?

      PROSPERO

      Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it

      That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else

      In the dark backward and abysm of time?

      If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,

      How thou camest here thou mayst.

      MIRANDA

      But that I do not.

      PROSPERO

      Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,

      Thy father was the Duke of Milan and

      A prince of power.

      MIRANDA

      Sir, are not you my father?

      PROSPERO

      Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and

      She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father

      Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir

      And princess no worse issued.

      MIRANDA

      O the heavens!

      What foul play had we, that we came from thence?

      Or blessed was't we did?

      PROSPERO

      Both, both, my girl:

      By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,

      But blessedly holp hither.

      MIRANDA

      O, my heart bleeds

      To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,

      Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

      PROSPERO

      My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio—

      I pray thee, mark me—that a brother should

      Be so perfidious!—he whom next thyself

      Of all the world I loved and to him put

      The manage of my state; as at that time

      Through all the signories it was the first

      And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed

      In dignity, and for the liberal arts

      Without a parallel; those being all my study,

      The government I cast upon my brother

      And to my state grew stranger, being transported

      And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle—

      Dost thou attend me?

      MIRANDA

      Sir, most heedfully.

      PROSPERO

      Being once perfected how to grant suits,

      How to deny them, who to advance and who

      To trash for over-topping, new created

      The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em,

      Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key

      Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state

      To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was

      The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,

      And suck'd my verdure out

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