Mark his condition and th’ event

Prospero
Mark his condition and th’ event. Then tell me
If this might be a brother.
Miranda
I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother.
Good wombs have borne bad sons.

Good wombs have borne bad sons.

Prospero
Now the condition.
This King of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother’s suit,
Which was that he, in lieu o’ th’ premises
Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan,
With all the honors, on my brother; whereon,
A treacherous army levied, one midnight
Fated to th’ purpose did Antonio open
The gates of Milan, and i’ th’ dead of darkness
The ministers for th’ purpose hurried thence
Me and thy crying self.
Miranda
Alack, for pity!
I, not rememb’ring how I cried out then,
Will cry it o’er again. It is a hint
That wrings mine eyes to ’t.
Prospero
Hear a little further,
And then I’ll bring thee to the present business
Which now ’s upon ’s, without the which this story
Were most impertinent.
Miranda
Wherefore did they not
That hour destroy us?
Prospero
Well demanded, wench.
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
So dear the love my people bore me, nor set
A mark so bloody on the business, but
With colors fairer painted their foul ends.
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigged,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us
To cry to th’ sea that roared to us, to sigh
To th’ winds, whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.
Miranda
Alack, what trouble
Was I then to you!
Prospero
O, a cherubin
Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile,
Infusèd with a fortitude from heaven,
When I have decked the sea with drops full salt,
Under my burden groaned, which raised in me
An undergoing stomach to bear up
Against what should ensue.
Miranda
How came we ashore?
Prospero
By providence divine.
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity, who being then appointed
Master of this design, did give us, with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,
Which since have steaded much. So, of his gentleness,
Knowing I loved my books, he furnished me
From mine own library with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.
Miranda
Would I might
But ever see that man.
Prospero, standing
Now I arise.
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arrived, and here
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
Than other princes can, that have more time
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.
Miranda
Heavens thank you for ’t. And now I pray you, sir—
For still ’tis beating in my mind—your reason
For raising this sea storm?
Prospero
Know thus far forth:
By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
I find my zenith doth depend upon
A most auspicious star, whose influence
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions.
Thou art inclined to sleep. ’Tis a good dullness,
And give it way. I know thou canst not choose.
 Miranda falls asleep.