Page 1126 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

EPILOGUE IT

Spoken by Prospero.

Now my charms are all o’erthrown,

And what strength I have’s mine own,
Which is most faint: now, ’tis true,
I must be here confin’d by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not, [5]

Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardon’d the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands

With the help of your good hands: [10]
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;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be reliev’d by prayer,
Which pierces so, that it assaults

Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon’d be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
Exit.