Gonzalo

 A tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard.
 Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain.
Master
Boatswain!
Boatswain
Here, master. What cheer?

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea
for an acre of barren ground: long heath, brown
furze, anything.

Master
Good,
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It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
When you are cloudy.
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Then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort
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Gonzalo, to Alonso
Beseech you, sir, be merry. You have cause—
So have we all—of joy, for our escape
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
Is common; every day some sailor’s wife,
The masters of some merchant, and the merchant
Have just our theme of woe. But for the miracle—
I mean our preservation—few in millions
Can speak like us.
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Gonzalo, to Alonso
Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as
the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.
Antonio
That “sort” was well fished for.
Gonzalo, to Alonso
When I wore it at your daughter’s marriage.

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
And time to speak it in.
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Antonio
Will you grant with me
That Ferdinand is drowned?
Sebastian
He’s gone.
Antonio
Then tell me,
Who’s the next heir of Naples?
Sebastian
Claribel.

We all were sea-swallowed, though some cast again,
And by that destiny to perform an act
Whereof what’s past is prologue

Antonio
She that is Queen of Tunis;
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Solemn and strange music, and
enter Prospero on the top invisible.

Alonso
What harmony is this? My good friends, hark.
Gonzalo
Marvelous sweet music!

Enter several strange shapes, bringing in a banquet, and
dance about it with gentle actions of salutations.

Alonso
Give us kind keepers,
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Gonzalo, to Alonso
I’ th’ name of something holy, sir, why stand you
In this strange stare?
Alonso
O, it is monstrous, monstrous!
Methought the billows spoke and told me of it;
The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder,
That deep and dreadful organ pipe, pronounced
The name of Prosper.
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Gonzalo, to Alonso
I’ th’ name of something holy, sir, why stand you
In this strange stare?
Alonso
O, it is monstrous, monstrous!
Methought the billows spoke and told me of it;
The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder,
That deep and dreadful organ pipe, pronounced
The name of Prosper.
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Prospero, to Alonso
Behold, sir king,
The wrongèd Duke of Milan, Prospero.
For more assurance that a living prince
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body,
 He embraces Alonso.
And to thee and thy company I bid
A hearty welcome.
Alonso
Whe’er thou be’st he or no,
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