Myrsky
1880
Myrsky
1880
Translated by Paavo Emil Cajander
The last play Shakespeare ever wrote, The Tempest is a masterpiece of forgiveness and power. Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, has spent twelve years on a remote island with his daughter Miranda, banished by his treacherous brother Antonio. When he summons a storm to shipwreck his enemies on the island's shore, he sets in motion a complex game of vengeance that will test his own capacity for mercy. But as the young Ferdinand and Miranda fall in love, and as the spirits Ariel and Caliban maneuver around their master, Prospero must choose between retribution and reconciliation. The play crackles with some of Shakespeare's most beautiful poetry, including the famous monologue 'We are such stuff as dreams are made on.' It interrogates colonialism through the fraught relationship between Prospero and the island's original inhabitant Caliban, while asking whether forgiveness is possible after betrayal. This is Shakespeare at his most personal and philosophical, a meditation on power, magic, and the transformative power of love.
Editions
X-Ray
“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.””
— William Shakespeare
“We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.””
— William Shakespeare
“What's past is prologue.””
— William Shakespeare
“Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.””
— William Shakespeare
“Me, poor man, my libraryWas dukedom large enough.””
— William Shakespeare
“O, wonder!How many goodly creatures are there here!How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,That has such people in't!””
— William Shakespeare
“Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.Sometimes a thousand twangling instrumentsWill hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,That, if I then had waked after long sleep,Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,The clouds methought would open, and show richesReady to drop upon me; that, when I waked,I cried to dream again.””
— William Shakespeare
“Full fathom five thy father lies;Of his bones are coral made;Those are pearls that were his eyes:Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea-changeInto something rich and strange.Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong Hark! now I hear them,”
— William Shakespeare
“This thing of darkness IAcknowledge mine.””
— William Shakespeare
