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 retir'd,
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother
Awak'd 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' the 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 play'd
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man--my library
Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties