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Sweet lord, you play me false

Here Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda,
playing at chess.

Miranda, to Ferdinand
Sweet lord, you play me false.
No, my dearest love,
I would not for the world.
Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,
And I would call it fair play.

How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O, brave new world
That has such people in ’t!

If this prove
A vision of the island, one dear son
Shall I twice lose.
A most high miracle!
Ferdinand, seeing Alonso and coming forward
Though the seas threaten, they are merciful.
I have cursed them without cause.  He kneels.
Now, all the blessings
Of a glad father compass thee about!
Arise, and say how thou cam’st here.
 Ferdinand stands.
Miranda, rising and coming forward
O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O, brave new world
That has such people in ’t!
’Tis new to thee.
Alonso, to Ferdinand
What is this maid with whom thou wast at play?
Your eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours.
Is she the goddess that hath severed us
And brought us thus together?
Sir, she is mortal,
But by immortal providence she’s mine.
I chose her when I could not ask my father
For his advice, nor thought I had one. She
Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,
Of whom so often I have heard renown,
But never saw before, of whom I have
Received a second life; and second father
This lady makes him to me.
I am hers.
But, O, how oddly will it sound that I
Must ask my child forgiveness!
There, sir, stop.
Let us not burden our remembrances with
A heaviness that’s gone.
I have inly wept
Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,
And on this couple drop a blessèd crown,
For it is you that have chalked forth the way
Which brought us hither.
I say “Amen,” Gonzalo.
Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue
Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice
Beyond a common joy, and set it down
With gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis,
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife
Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom
In a poor isle; and all of us ourselves
When no man was his own.
Alonso, to Ferdinand and Miranda
Give me your hands.
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart
That doth not wish you joy!
Be it so. Amen

Act 5
Scene 1
Line 200

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