_Ari._ Confined together In the same fashion as you gave in charge: Just as you left them; all are prisoners, sir, In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;[450-2] They cannot budge till your release.[450-3] The King, His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted; And the remainder mourning over them, Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly He that you term'd _The good old lord, Gonzalo_: His tears run down his beard, like winter-drops From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em, That, if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender. _Pros._ Dost thou think so, spirit? _Ari._ Mine would, sir, were I human. _Pros._ And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply Passion as they,[451-4] be kindlier moved than thou art? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick, Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel: My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, And they shall be themselves. _Ari._ I'll fetch them, sir. [_Exit._ _Pros._ Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune,[451-5] and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets[451-6] make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms;[452-7] that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew;[452-8] by whose aid-- Weak masters[452-9] though ye be--I have be-dimm'd The noon-tide Sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And twixt the green sea and the azure vault Set roaring war: to the dread-rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's[452-10] stout oak With his own bolt: the strong-based promontory Have I made shake, and by the spurs[452-11] pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves at my command Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth By my so potent art. But this rough magic I here abjure; and, when I have required Some heavenly music,--which even now I do,-- To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book. [_Solemn music._