Cover image for The tempest
The tempest
Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616.
Publication Information:
London : Ginn, 1969.
Physical Description:
1 unnumbered page, 62 pages ; 30 cm.
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PR2833.A2 H55 Adult Non-Fiction Central Closed Stacks-Oversize

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Author Notes

William Shakespeare, 1564 - 1616 Although there are many myths and mysteries surrounding William Shakespeare, a great deal is actually known about his life. He was born in Stratford-Upon-Avon, son of John Shakespeare, a prosperous merchant and local politician and Mary Arden, who had the wealth to send their oldest son to Stratford Grammar School.

At 18, Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway, the 27-year-old daughter of a local farmer, and they had their first daughter six months later. He probably developed an interest in theatre by watching plays performed by traveling players in Stratford while still in his youth. Some time before 1592, he left his family to take up residence in London, where he began acting and writing plays and poetry.

By 1594 Shakespeare had become a member and part owner of an acting company called The Lord Chamberlain's Men, where he soon became the company's principal playwright. His plays enjoyed great popularity and high critical acclaim in the newly built Globe Theatre. It was through his popularity that the troupe gained the attention of the new king, James I, who appointed them the King's Players in 1603. Before retiring to Stratford in 1613, after the Globe burned down, he wrote more than three dozen plays (that we are sure of) and more than 150 sonnets. He was celebrated by Ben Jonson, one of the leading playwrights of the day, as a writer who would be "not for an age, but for all time," a prediction that has proved to be true.

Today, Shakespeare towers over all other English writers and has few rivals in any language. His genius and creativity continue to astound scholars, and his plays continue to delight audiences. Many have served as the basis for operas, ballets, musical compositions, and films. While Jonson and other writers labored over their plays, Shakespeare seems to have had the ability to turn out work of exceptionally high caliber at an amazing speed. At the height of his career, he wrote an average of two plays a year as well as dozens of poems, songs, and possibly even verses for tombstones and heraldic shields, all while he continued to act in the plays performed by the Lord Chamberlain's Men. This staggering output is even more impressive when one considers its variety. Except for the English history plays, he never wrote the same kind of play twice. He seems to have had a good deal of fun in trying his hand at every kind of play.

Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets, all published on 1609, most of which were dedicated to his patron Henry Wriothsley, The Earl of Southhampton. He also wrote 13 comedies, 13 histories, 6 tragedies, and 4 tragecomedies. He died at Stratford-upon-Avon April 23, 1616, and was buried two days later on the grounds of Holy Trinity Church in Stratford. His cause of death was unknown, but it is surmised that he knew he was dying.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 5

Booklist Review

*Starred Review* In the Shakespearean graphic novel crowd, if Gareth Hinds' adaptations are subtle and thoughtful artists, and the Manga Shakespeare series are wild, unpredictable rock stars, then the Classical Comics series might be the no-nonsense teachers of the group. With straightforward draftsmanship and three text versions (original, plain, and quick), Classical Comics titles are ready-made to lure intimidated students and aid in curricular comparisons that highlight the levels on which Shakespeare works. But with the publication of the original version of The Tempest, this solid, practical series has just added its first superstar. In vibrant color that far outmatches the standard, somber historical palette, the bitter and over-protective Prospero, looking like an extra-psychedelic Doctor Strange, maroons King Alonso and his men on his magical island. All the great strengths of the sequential art form are brought to bear, with creative panel shape and size, border textures, word balloon effects, dynamic motion, and magical figure work that makes the fairies sparkle and the harpy blaze like an inferno. It's such a resounding success that readers may actually forget they're learning something. Of the multitudinous Shakespeare graphic adaptations now available, this is the first to take total advantage of the medium's full potential, appropriately aligned to the Bard's most fantastical work.--Karp, Jesse Copyright 2010 Booklist

Publisher's Weekly Review

Prospero-like in their artistry, Spirin's dazzling watercolors dominate this retelling of Shakespeare's final play. Shaped like altar panels fit for a Renaissance church or palace, the illustrations are romantic, regal and magical, richly interpreting the play's themes of betrayal, revenge and all-conquering love. A wispy ethereal air pervades island scenes, beautifully suggesting the atmosphere of enchantment, while Antonio and the King of Naples are pictured in brocade and velvet, the stench of power upon them. The other characters, too, are both otherworldly and very much flesh and blood. Especially well rendered is the monster Caliban, shown here as part man, part beast, part mythical creature, a sense of evil glee lighting his features. While this prose adaptation does not, of course, retain the full magic of the Bard's work, Beneduce nonetheless provides an intelligent, gripping story. Several passages from Shakespeare introduced at key points give a taste of the original. Symbols and small pictures integrated into the text further enhance the lavish presentation. All ages. (Mar.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Library Journal Review

Two of the bard's heavy dramas join Yale's wonderful "Annotated Shakespeare" series. Along with a heavily annotated text, each volume includes a scholarly introduction plus notes on the annotations. All that for the price of a Happy Meal; how can you go wrong? (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

School Library Journal Review

Gr 3 Up‘The play is set circa 1610. Spirin expands Beneduce's retelling by basing his lavish watercolors on Italian Renaissance paintings. Though the pages are carefully framed, highly ornate, and formally structured, there is plenty of leeway for individual imagination to make itself felt. Ariel is a decorative Renaissance angel. Caliban is given piscine characteristics and expressions that evoke the longing as much as the brutishness in his character. And the human characters have the complexity of portraits. Spirin's illustrations highlight the fantastic while Ruth Sanderson's landscapes for Bruce Coville's version of the play (Doubleday, 1994) focus on the effects of nature. Both are valid. Coville's simpler retelling is easier to follow. Beneduce, too, eliminates some of the subplots in order to avoid confusion, but her fuller text manages to incorporate most of the romantic, magical, and political elements. Within the main text, she modernizes the dialogue. This works smoothly for the most part, though it's hard to see how "What a wonderful new world I am about to enter..." is an improvement over "O brave new world..." A few passages of original text are set off in isolated frames, for a sense of the poetry. Readers and potential playgoers will need to see the play performed to experience the comic scenes of Caliban and his cronies. Brief appendixes explain the context in which the play was written and the reteller's choices and give an overview of Shakespeare's life. This is a case in which an acceptably graceful text plays a supporting role to the illustrations. They are worth the price of admission.‘Sally Margolis, formerly at Deerfield Public Library, IL (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Choice Review

Dymkowski's volume marks the fifth in the estimable "Shakespeare in Production" series. In her ample introduction, the editor (Univ. of London) ably chronicles salient differences among interpretive treatments of The Tempest on international stages. She draws on accounts of more than 100 productions from the 17th through the 20th centuries to delineate a broad range of performative representations, remarking that The Tempest "is a play whose 'charms crack not' (5.1.2), its protean nature finding ever new ways to voice contemporary social, political and cultural concerns and to voice them powerfully." The marrow of this potent resource tool resides in Dymkowski's bounteous footnotes keyed to printed text of the full play. The notes enrich understanding of the play's performance possibilities by providing concise and informative glosses detailing how selected productions staged particular moments (e.g., the opening storm at sea), framed interpretive emphasis (like treatment of Ariel's liberation), cut or transposed lines, substituted words, integrated music, or somehow inflected alternative meanings on the script with gesture or other signifying devices (variations on Caliban's "business" abound). Though Dymkowski astutely allocates more annotation space to problematic cruxes, the overall coverage of detail will impress readers. A valuable tool for readers of Shakespeare as well as stage practitioners and playgoers. Highly recommended for all collections. P. D. Nelsen; Marlboro College



Chapter 1 list of parts PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan MIRANDA, his daughter ALONSO, King of Naples SEBASTIAN, his brother ANTONIO, Prospero's brother, the usurping Duke of Milan FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples GONZALO, an honest old councillor ADRIAN and FRANCISCO, lords TRINCULO, a jester STEPHANO, a drunken butler MASTER, of a ship BOATSWAIN MARINERS CALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave ARIEL, an airy spirit IRIS, CERES, JUNO, spirits commanded by Prospero playing roles of NYMPHS, REAPERS The Scene: an uninhabited island Act 1 Scene 1 running scene 1 A tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard. Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain MASTER Boatswain! BOATSWAIN Here, master. What cheer? MASTER Good: speak to th'mariners. Fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground! Bestir, bestir! Exit Enter Mariners BOATSWAIN Heigh, my hearts! Cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! Yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to th'master's whistle.- Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo and others ALONSO Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men. BOATSWAIN I pray now, keep below. ANTONIO Where is the master, boatswain? BOATSWAIN Do you not hear him? You mar our labour. Keep your cabins! You do assist the storm. GONZALO Nay, good, be patient. BOATSWAIN When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king? To cabin! Silence! Trouble us not. GONZALO Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. BOATSWAIN None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more: use your authority. If you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.- Cheerly, good hearts!- Out of our way, I say. Exeunt [Boatswain with Mariners, followed by Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio and Ferdinand] GONZALO I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him: his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. Exit Enter Boatswain BOATSWAIN Down with the topmast! Yare! Lower, lower! Bring her to try with main course. (A cry within) A plague upon this howling! They are louder than the weather or our office. Enter Sebastian, Antonio and Gonzalo Yet again? What do you here? Shall we give o'er and drown? Have you a mind to sink? SEBASTIAN A pox o'your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog! BOATSWAIN Work you then. ANTONIO Hang, cur! Hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. GONZALO I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an unstanched wench. BOATSWAIN Lay her ahold, ahold! Set her two courses off to sea again! Lay her off! Enter Mariners, wet MARINERS All lost! To prayers, to prayers! All lost! BOATSWAIN What, must our mouths be cold? GONZALO The king and prince at prayers: let's assist them, for our case is as theirs. SEBASTIAN I'm out of patience. ANTONIO We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards. This wide-chopped rascal: would thou mightst lie drowning, the washing of ten tides! GONZALO He'll be hanged yet, Though every drop of water swear against it And gape at wid'st to glut him. [Exeunt Boatswain and Mariners] A confused noise within [VOICES OFF-STAGE] Mercy on us! - We split, we split! - Farewell, my wife and children! - Farewell, brother! - We split, we split, we split! ANTONIO Let's all sink wi'th'king. SEBASTIAN Let's take leave of him. Exeunt [Antonio and Sebastian] GONZALO Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground: long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! But I would fain die a dry death. Exit Act 1 Scene 2 running scene 2 Enter Prospero and Miranda MIRANDA If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to th'welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel - Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her - Dashed all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perished. Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth, or ere It should the good ship so have swallowed, and The fraughting souls within her. PROSPERO Be collected: No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart There's no harm done. MIRANDA O, woe the day! PROSPERO No harm: I have done nothing but in care of thee - Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter - who Art ignorant of what thou art: nought knowing Of whence I am, nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father. MIRANDA More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. PROSPERO 'Tis time I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand And pluck my magic garment from me. So: Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes, have his magic cloak comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touched The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely ordered that there is no soul - No, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down, [Miranda sits] For thou must now know further. MIRANDA You have often Begun to tell me what I am, but stopped And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding 'Stay: not yet.' PROSPERO The hour's now come, The very minute bids thee ope thine ear: Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell? I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not Out three years old. MIRANDA Certainly, sir, I can. PROSPERO By what? By any other house or person? Of any thing the image, tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance. MIRANDA 'Tis far off, And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four or five women once that tended me? PROSPERO Thou hadst; and more, Miranda. But how is it That this lives in thy mind? What see'st thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time? If thou rememb'rest aught ere thou cam'st here, How thou cam'st here thou mayst. MIRANDA But that I do not. PROSPERO Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan and A prince of power. MIRANDA Sir, are not you my father? PROSPERO Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir And princess, no worse issued. MIRANDA O the heavens! What foul play had we, that we came from thence? Or blessèd wast we did? PROSPERO Both, both, my girl. By foul play - as thou say'st - were we heaved thence, But blessedly holp hither. MIRANDA O, my heart bleeds To think o'th'teen that I have turned you to, Which is from my remembrance. Please you, further. PROSPERO My brother and thy uncle, called Antonio - I pray thee, mark me - that a brother should Be so perfidious - he whom next thyself Of all the world I loved, and to him put The manage of my state, as at that time Through all the signories it was the first, And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parallel; those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle - Dost thou attend me? MIRANDA Sir, most heedfully. PROSPERO Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, who t'advance and who To trash for over-topping, new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em, Or else new formed 'em; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i'th'state To what tune pleased his ear, that now he was The ivy which had hid my princely trunk And sucked my verdure out on't.- Thou attend'st not. MIRANDA O good sir, I do. PROSPERO I pray thee, mark me: I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind With that, which but by being so retired, O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother Awaked an evil nature, and my trust, Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood in its contrary, as great As my trust was, which had indeed no limit, A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded, But what my power might else exact: like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory To credit his own lie, he did believe He was indeed the duke, out o'th'substitution And executing th'outward face of royalty With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing - Dost thou hear? MIRANDA Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. PROSPERO To have no screen between this part he played, And him he played it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. Me - poor man - my library Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable. Confederates - So dry he was for sway - wi'th'King of Naples To give him annual tribute, do him homage, Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend The dukedom yet unbowed - alas, poor Milan - To most ignoble stooping. MIRANDA O the heavens! PROSPERO Mark his condition and th'event, then tell me If this might be a brother. MIRANDA I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons. PROSPERO Now the condition. This King of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit, Which was, that he, in lieu o'th'premises Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, Should presently extirpate me and mine Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan, With all the honours, on my brother: whereon, A treacherous army levied, one midnight Fated to th'purpose, did Antonio open The gates of Milan, and i'th'dead of darkness The ministers for th'purpose hurried thence Me and thy crying self. MIRANDA Alack, for pity! I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint That wrings mine eyes to't. PROSPERO Hear a little further, And then I'll bring thee to the present business Which now's upon's: without the which, this story Were most impertinent. MIRANDA Wherefore did they not That hour destroy us? PROSPERO Well demanded, wench: My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, So dear the love my people bore me: nor set A mark so bloody on the business: but With colours fairer, painted their foul ends. In few, they hurried us aboard a barque, Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigged, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast: the very rats Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us, To cry to th'sea that roared to us; to sigh To th'winds, whose pity sighing back again, Did us but loving wrong. MIRANDA Alack, what trouble Was I then to you! PROSPERO O, a cherubin Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile, Infusèd with a fortitude from heaven, When I have decked the sea with drops full salt, Under my burden groaned, which raised in me An undergoing stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue. MIRANDA How came we ashore? PROSPERO By providence divine. Some food we had, and some fresh water, that A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity - who being then appointed Master of this design - did give us, with Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries, Which since have steaded much. So, of his gentleness, Knowing I loved my books, he furnished me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. MIRANDA Would I might But ever see that man. PROSPERO Now I arise: Prospero stands Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Here in this island we arrived, and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princes can that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. MIRANDA Heavens thank you for't. And now, I pray you, sir, For still 'tis beating in my mind: your reason For raising this sea-storm? PROSPERO Know thus far forth: By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune - Now my dear lady - hath mine enemies Brought to this shore: and by my prescience I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions: Thou art inclined to sleep. 'Tis a good dullness, And give it way: I know thou canst not choose.- Miranda Come away, servant, come. I am ready now. sleeps Approach, my Ariel, come. Enter Ariel ARIEL All hail, great master! Grave sir, hail! I come To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curled clouds: to thy strong bidding task Ariel and all his quality. PROSPERO Hast thou, spirit, Performed to point the tempest that I bade thee? ARIEL To every article. I boarded the king's ship: now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flamed amazement: sometime I'd divide And burn in many places; on the topmast, The yards and bowsprit would I flame distinctly, Then meet and join. Jove's lightning, the precursors O'th'dreadful thunderclaps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble, Yea, his dread trident shake. PROSPERO My brave spirit! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason? ARIEL Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad and played Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring - then like reeds, not hair - Was the first man that leaped; cried 'Hell is empty And all the devils are here.' PROSPERO Why, that's my spirit! But was not this nigh shore? ARIEL Close by, my master. PROSPERO But are they, Ariel, safe? ARIEL Not a hair perished: On their sustaining garments not a blemish, But fresher than before: and, as thou bad'st me, In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle. The king's son have I landed by himself, Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, His arms in this sad knot. [Folds his arms] Excerpted from The Tempest by William Shakespeare All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.