The Tempest (Dover Thrift Editions: Plays)

MIR. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.

If you but knew how you the purpose cherish Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, You more invest it!

the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further.

MIR. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

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.

PROS. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick;

FER. Sir, she is mortal; But by immortal Providence she ’s mine:

PROS. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw To the fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious, Or else, good night your vow!

what a sleep were this For your advancement!