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As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, (Save for the son that she did litter here,
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with
first, A human shape.
Thou strok'st me, and mad'st much of me; would's Ari. Yes; Caliban, her son.
give me Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, Water with berries in't; and teach me how Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st To name the bigger light, and how the less, What torment I did find thee in : thy groans That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee, Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts And show'd thee all the qualities o'th' isle, Of ever-angry bears. It was a torment
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
fertile. Could not again undo: it was mine art,
Cursed be I that did so !- All the charms When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! The pine, and let thee out.
For I am all the subjects that you have, Ari.
I thank thee, master. Which first was inine own king; and here you Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak,
sty me, And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me Thou hast howld away twelve winters.
The rest o'th' island.
Thou most lying slave,
Whom stripes may move, not kindness, I have us'd And do my spriting gently.
Do so, and after two days Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodg'd thee I will discharge thee.
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate Ari.
That's my noble master! The honour of my child. What shall I do? say what? what shall I do?
Cal. O ho! O ho !-would it had been done! Pro. Go, make thyself like a nymph o' the sea : Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else be subject
This isle with Calibans. To no sight but thine and mine; invisible
Abhorred slave, To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape, Which any print of goodness will not take, And hither come in't: go; hence, with diligence. Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
(Erit ARIEL. Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee caci Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;
One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage Mira. The strangeness of your story put Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like Heaviness in me.
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes Pro. Shake it off. Come on:
With words that made them known; but tby vile We'll visit Caliban, my slave, wbo never
race, Yields us kind answer.
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good Mira.
'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on.
Could not abide to be with: therefore wast thon
Deservedly confin'd into this rock,
Cal. You taught me language; and my profit ont That profit us.—What ho! slave! Caliban!
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you, Thou earth, thou! speak.
For learning me your language ! Cal. [Within.] There's wood enough within. Pro.
Hag-seed, hence! Pro. Come forth, I say: there's other business | Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou’rt best, for thee.
To answer other business.' Shrug'st thou, malice? Come, thou tortoise! when ?
If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps : Re-enter Ariel, like a water-nymph.
Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar, Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. Hark in thine ear.
My, lord it shall be done. [Erit. I must obey: his art is of such power, Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil It would control my dam's god, Setebos, himself
And make a vassal of him. Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!
So, slave; hence! Enter CALIBAN.
Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing: Cal. As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brush'd
FERDINAND following him.
Come unto these yellow sands, Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have
And then take hands : cramps,
Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins
T'he wild waves whist, Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
Foot it featly here and there; All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
The watch-dogs bark:
Ari. Hark, hark! I hear
With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st The strain of strutting chanticlere
call him Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo.
A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows,
And strays about to find 'em. Fer. Where should this music be? i' th' air, or Mira.
I might call him
A thing divine, for nothing natural
It goes on, I see, [Aside. Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
As my soul prompts it.—Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free This music crept by me upon the waters,
thee Allaying both their fury, and my passion,
Within two days for this. With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
Most sure, the goddess
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, Full fathom five thy father lies;
Which I do last pronounce, is, Ò you wonder!
If you be maid, or no ?
No wonder, sir;
But, certainly a maid.
My language! heavens ! Into something rich and strange.
I am the best of them that speak this speech,
Were I but where 'tis spoken.
How! the best?
thee? Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders father.
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me, This is no mortal business, nor no sound
And that he does I weep: myself am Naples ; That the earth owes.-I hear it now above me. Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld
Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance The king, my father, wreck’d. And say, what thou seest yond'.
Alack, for mercy! Mira.
What is't? a spirit ? Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
Milan, It carries a brave form :—but 'tis a spirit.
And his brave son, being twain. Pro. No, wench: it eats and sleeps, and hath Pro.
The duke of Milan, such senses
And his more braver daughter, could control thee, As we have ; such. This gallant which thou If now 'twere fit to do't.—[Aside.]—At the first seest,
sight Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain’a | They have chang'd eyes :—delicate Ariel,
I'll set thee free for this !-[ To him.]-A word, Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward, good sir;
For I can here disarm thee with this stick, I fear, you have done yourself some wrong: a And make thy weapon drop. word.
Beseech you, father Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This Pro. Hence! hang not on my garments. Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first
Sir, have pity : That e'er I sigh’d for. Pity move my father
I'll be his surety. To be inclin'd my way!
Silence! one word more
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What affection not gone forth, I'll make you An advocate for an impostor? hush! The queen of Naples.
Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as be, Pro.
Soft, sir: one word more. Having seen but him and Caliban : foolish weuch [Aside.] They are both in either's powers: but To the most of men this is a Caliban, this swift business
And they to him are angels. I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
My affections Make the prize light.—[To him.)-One word more: Are then most humble: I have no ambition I charge thee,
To see a goodlier man.
Come on; obey: The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself Thy nerves are in their infancy again, Upon this island as a spy, to win it
And have no vigour in them. From me, the lord on't.
So they are:
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, temple :
The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threat: If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, Good things will strive to dwell with't.
Might I but through my prison once a day Pro. Follow me.
Behold this maid; all corners else o' th' earth Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.—Come. Let liberty make use of; space enough I'll manacle thy neck and feet together;
Have I in such a prison. Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be
It works.-Come on.The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks Thou hast done well, fine Ariel !-Follow me.Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.
[T. FERD., and Miks Fer.
Hark, what thou else shall do me. I will resist such entertainment, till
Be of comfort. Mine enemy has more power.
My father's of a better nature, sir, [He draws, and is charmed from moving. Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted Mira.
0, dear father!
Which now came from him. Make not too rash a trial of him, for
Thou shalt be as free He's gentle, and not fearful.
As mountain winds; but then, exactly do
All points of my command.
To the syllable. Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy con Pro. Come, follow.—Speak not for him.
SCENE 1.—Another Part of the Island. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo,
ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others. Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have
(So have we all) of joy, for our escape
Seb. Look; he's winding up the watch of his wit: by and by it will strike.
Seb. A dollar.
Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed.
Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.
Gon. Therefore, my lord, -
Ant. Which of them, he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?
Seb. The old cock.
Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.
Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.
Seb. Ay, and a subtle, as he most learnedly delivered.
Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life.
Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit,
Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are.
Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness, and glosses; being rather new dyed, than stain'd with salt water.
Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, he lies ?
Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis.
Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.
Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen.
Gon. Not since widow Dido's time.
Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! How came that widow in? Widow Dido!
Seb. What if he had said, widower Æneas too? good lord, how you take it!
Adr. Widow Dido, said you ? you make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.
Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.
Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next?
Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple.
Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.
Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen.
Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there.
Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fish'd for.
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage ? Alon. You cram these words into mine ears,
against The stomach of my sense. Would I had never Married my daughter there! for, coming thence, My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy remov'd, I ne'er again shall see her. O thou, mine heir Of Naples and of Milan! what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee?
Sir, he may live. I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs: he trod the water, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt, He came alive to land. Alon.
No, no; he's gone.
Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great
loss That would not bless our Europe with your
Pr’ythee, peace. Seb. You were kneeld to, and importun'd other
wise By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weigh’d, between lothness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost
Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.
My lord Sebastian,
Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
Foul weather ?
Very foul. Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, – Ant. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed. Seb.
Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the king on't, what would I do? Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine.
Gon. I'the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things, for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate ; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil :
Seb. Yet he would be king on't.
Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
Gon. All things in common nature should produce,
Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ?
Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir,
Save his majesty!
And, do you mark me, sir !-
Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing.
Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.
Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you: so you may continue, and laugh at nothing stijl.
Ant. What a blow was there given!
Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle : you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. Enter Ariel, (invisible,) playing solemn music. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure