Ar monologue — The Tempest

You are three men of sinne, whom destiny That hath to instrument this lower world, And what is in't: the neuer surfeited Sea, Hath caus'd to belch vp you: and on this Island, Where man doth not inhabit, you 'mongst men, Being most vnfit to liue: I haue made you mad; And euen with such like valour, men hang, and drowne Their proper selues: you fooles, I and my fellowes Are ministers of Fate, the Elements Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well Wound the loud windes, or with bemockt-at-Stabs Kill the still closing waters, as diminish One dowle that's in my plumbe: My fellow ministers Are like-invulnerable: if you could hurt, Your swords are now too massie for your strengths, And will not be vplifted: But remember (For that's my businesse to you) that you three From Millaine did supplant good Prospero, Expos'd vnto the Sea (which hath requit it) Him, and his innocent childe: for which foule deed, The Powres, delaying (not forgetting) haue Incens'd the Seas, and Shores; yea, all the Creatures Against your peace: Thee of thy Sonne, Alonso They haue bereft; and doe pronounce by me Lingring perdition (worse then any death Can be at once) shall step, by step attend You, and your wayes, whose wraths to guard you from, Which here, in this most desolate Isle, else fals Vpon your heads, is nothing but hearts-sorrow, And a cleere life ensuing.