The Tempest

by William Shakespeare

perfidious!—he,

Good wombs have borne bad sons.

This island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother, Which thou takest from me.

You taught me language; and my profit on’t Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language!

Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: 465 Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

I might call him A thing divine; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.

A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; And as with age his body uglier grows, 210 So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,

With the help of your good hands: Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please. Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; 15 And my ending is despair, Unless I be relieved by prayer, Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon’d be, 20 Let your indulgence set me free.