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It would control my dam's god, Setebos,

And make a vassal of him.


So, slave; hence! [Exit Caliban.

Enter FERDINAND, and ARIEL (invisible), playing and singing.


Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands:

Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd

The wild waves whist,

Foot it featly here and there;

And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.

Burthen [dispersedly]. Hark, hark!



The watch-dogs bark:

ARIEL. Hark, hark! I hear

The strain of strutting chanticleer

Cry, Cock-a-didle-dow.

Ferdinand. Where should this music be? i' th' air or th'

It sounds no more ;-and, sure, it waits upon
Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wrack,
This music crept by me upon the waters,
Allaying both their fury and my passion.
With it's sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone.—
No, it begins again.


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-change

Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell :

[Burthen.] Ding-dong.

Hark! now I hear them-Ding-dong, bell.

Ferdinand. The ditty does remember my drown'd father.

This is no mortal business, nor no sound

That the earth owes.-I hear it now above me.

Prospero. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,

And say what thou seest yond.


What is't? a spirit?

Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,

It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.

Prospero. No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such As we have such. This gallant which thou seest [senses Was in the wrack; and, but he's something stain'd

With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mighst call him
A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows,

And strays about to find 'em.


A thing divine; for nothing natural

I ever saw so noble.

Prospero [Aside].

I might call him

It goes on, I see,

As my soul prompts it.—Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee
Within two days for this.


Most sure, the goddess

On whom these airs attend!--Vouchsafe my prayer

May know if you remain upon this island;

And that you will some good instruction give
How I may bear me here: my prime request,
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
If you be maid or no?

But certainly a maid.

No wonder, sir;


My language! heavens !—

I am the best of them that speak this speech,
Were I but where 'tis spoken.


How? the best?

What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?

Ferdinand. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me ;
And that he does I weep: myself am Naples,

Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld

The king my father wrack'd.


Alack, for mercy!

Ferdinand. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan And his brave son being twain.

Prospero [Aside].

The Duke of Milan,

And his more braver daughter, could control thee,

If now 'twere fit to do't.—At the first sight

They have chang'd eyes.—Delicate Ariel,

I'll set thee free for this.-[To him.] A word, good sir;
I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.
Miranda. Why speaks my father so ungently? This
Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first

That e'er I sigh'd for; pity move my father
To be inclin'd my way!




O, if a virgin,

affection not gone forth, I'll make you

The queen of Naples.


Soft, sir! one word more.—

[Aside.] They are both in either's powers: but this swift


I must uneasy make, lest too light winning

Make the prize light.-[To him.] One word more; I charge

That thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp

The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself
Upon this island as a spy, to win it

From me, the lord on't.



No, as I am a man.

Miranda. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:

If the ill spirit have so fair a house,

Good things will strive to dwell with't.

Prospero. [To Ferdinand.]

Follow me.—

Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.-Come;
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:

Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

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My foot my tutor?-Put thy sword up, traitor ;

Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy conscience

Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward;

For I can here disarm thee with this stick,

And make thy weapon drop.


Prospero. Hence! hang not on my garments.


I'll be his surety.


Beseech you, father!

Sir, have pity;

Silence! one word more


Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee.

An advocate for an impostor! hush!

Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he,

Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!

To th' most of men this is a Caliban,

And they to him are angels.


My affections

Are, then, most humble; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.

Prospero. [To Ferdinand.] Come on ; obey:
Thy nerves are in their infancy again,

And have no vigour in them.


So they are:

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.

My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,

The wrack of all my friends, nor this man's threats
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,

Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid. All corners else o' th' earth

Let liberty make use of; space enough

Have I in such a prison.

Prospero [Aside]. It works. [To Ferdinand.] Come on.—

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel !-Follow me.—

[To Ariel.] Hark what thou else shalt do me.


My father's of a better nature, sir,

Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted
Which now came from him.


Be of comfort.

Thou shalt be as free

As mountain winds: but then exactly do
All points of my command.


To the syllable.

Prospero. Come, follow.-Speak not for him.


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