"You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, — That hath to instrument this lower world And what is in't, —the never-surfeited sea Hath caus'd to belch up you; and on this island Where man doth not inhabit, you 'mongst men Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; And even with such-like valour, men hang and drown Their proper selves. [Alonso, Sebastian, etc., draw their swords] You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate; the elements, Of whom your swords are temper'd may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that's in my plume."