The Tempest. Уильям Шекспир

upon

          Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank,

          Weeping again the King my father's wreck,

          This music crept by me upon the waters,

          Allaying both their fury and my passion

          With its sweet air; thence I have follow'd it,

          Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone.

          No, it begins again.

ARIEL'S SONG

               Full fathom five thy father lies;

                 Of his bones are coral made;

               Those are pearls that were his eyes;

                 Nothing of him that doth fade

               But doth suffer a sea-change

               Into something rich and strange.

               Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

                 [Burden: Ding-dong.]

               Hark! now I hear them-Ding-dong bell.

        FERDINAND. The ditty does remember my drown'd father.

          This is no mortal business, nor no sound

          That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.

        PROSPERO. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,

          And say what thou seest yond.

        MIRANDA. What is't? a spirit?

          Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,

          It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.

        PROSPERO. No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses

          As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest

          Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd

          With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him

          A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows,

          And strays about to find 'em.

        MIRANDA. I might call him

          A thing divine; for nothing natural

          I ever saw so noble.

        PROSPERO. [Aside] It goes on, I see,

          As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee

          Within two days for this.

        FERDINAND. Most sure, the goddess

          On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my pray'r

          May know if you remain upon this island;

          And that you will some good instruction give

          How I may bear me here. My prime request,

          Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!

          If you be maid or no?

        MIRANDA. No wonder, sir;

          But certainly a maid.

        FERDINAND. My language? Heavens!

          I am the best of them that speak this speech,

          Were I but where 'tis spoken.

        PROSPERO. How? the best?

          What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?

        FERDINAND. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders

          To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;

          And that he does I weep. Myself am Naples,

          Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld