_Prosp._ No, murderer! she's, like thee, of mortal mould, But much too pure to mix with thy black crimes; Yet she has faults, and must be punished for them. Miranda and Dorinda! where are ye? The will of heaven's accomplished: I have now No more to fear, and nothing left to hope; Now you may enter. _Enter_ MIRANDA _and_ DORINDA. _Mir._ My love! is it permitted me to see You once again? _Prosp._ You come to look your last; I will for ever take him from your eyes. But, on my blessing, speak not, nor approach him. _Dor._ Pray, father, is not this my sister's man? He has a noble form; but yet he's not So excellent as my Hippolito. _Prosp._ Alas, poor girl! thou hast no man: Look yonder; There's all of him that's left. _Dor._ Why, was there ever any more of him? He lies asleep, sir; shall I waken him? [_She kneels by_ HIPPOLITO, _and jogs him_. _Ferd._ Alas! he's never to be waked again. _Dor._ My love, my love! wilt thou not speak to me? I fear you have displeased him, sir, and now He will not answer me; he's dumb and cold too; But I'll run straight, and make a fire to warm him. [_Exit_ DORINDA, _running_. _Enter_ ALONZO, GONZALO, ANTONIO; _and_ ARIEL _invisible_. _Alon._ Never were beasts so hunted into toils, As we have been pursued by dreadful shapes.-- But is not that my son? O Ferdinand! If thou art not a ghost, let me embrace thee. _Ferd._ My father! O sinister happiness! Is it decreed I should recover you Alive, just in that fatal hour, when this Brave youth is lost in death, and by my hand? _Ant._ Heaven! what new wonder's this? _Gonz._ This isle is full of nothing else. _Prosp._ You stare upon me, as you ne'er had seen me; Have fifteen years so lost me to your knowledge, That you retain no memory of Prospero? _Gonz._ The good old duke of Milan! _Prosp._ I wonder less, That thou, Antonio, knowest me not, because Thou didst long since forget I was thy brother Else I had ne'er been here. _Ant._ Shame choaks my words. _Alonz._ And wonder mine. _Prosp._ For you, usurping prince, [_To_ ALONZ. Know, by my art you were shipwrecked on this isle, Where, after I a while had punished you, My vengeance would have ended; I designed To match that son of yours with this my daughter. _Alonz._ Pursue it still, I am most willing to it. _Prosp._ So am not I. No marriages can prosper, Which are with murderers made; look on that corpse. This, whilst he lived, was young Hippolito; That infant duke of Mantua, sir, whom you Exposed with me; and here I bred him up, Till that blood-thirsty man, that Ferdinand---- But why do I exclaim on him, when justice Calls to unsheath her sword against his guilt? _Alonz._ What do you mean?