41

Raskalašenost ta i njeni grijesi
Katkad kad lik moj u srcu ti blijedi
Pristaju tebi što lijep i mlad jesi,
Jer iskušenje svud te stalno slijedi:
Osvajaju te zato jer si fin,
Salijeću zato jer si krasan zbilja;
Kad žena snubi koji majčin sin
Pobjeć' će dok ne dokopa se cilja?
Mogao nju poštedjet bi mi, vaj,
Prekorit čar i blud svoj što te na put
Razvrata gone, jer ćeš morat, znaj,
Zadani zavjet prekršiti dvaput. -
Njen, jer ćeš lijep je zavest mi je lako,
Svoj, jer si lijep a neiskren si tako.

42

Što ti je imaš, nije sve zlo moje,
Premda je vrlo voljeh, mogu reći;
Što ona ima tebe bol mi to je,
Gubitak što će najdublje me peći.
Prekršitelji, pravdam prijestup vama: —
Voliš je jer znaš da je volim i ja,
I zbog mene te ona tjera sama
Da snubiš je, to zbog mene joj prija.
Izgubim li te, sva je ljubav njena,
Izgubim nju li, s njom ćeš i nju steći:
Ja sam sam, skupa vi, i tog mi trena,
Zbog mene, križ taj stavljate na pleći.
Ali gle: jedno nas smo dva, to znamo.
- Ah! ona dakle ljubi mene samo!

Act I. Scene I.


On a Ship at Sea. A tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard.
   
 
Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain severally.
   
  Mast.  Boatswain!   
  Boats.  Here, master: what cheer?                                                                                           4
  Mast.  Good, speak to the mariners: fall to’t yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.  [Exit.   
 
Enter Mariners.
   
  Boats.  Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master’s whistle.—Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough!   
 
Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND, GONZALO, and others.
                                                                                                                                         8
  Alon.  Good boatswain, have care. Where’s the master? Play the men.   
  Boats.  I pray now, keep below.   
  Ant.  Where is the master, boson?   
  Boats.  Do you not hear him? You mar our labour, keep your cabins: you do assist the storm.           12
  Gon.  Nay, good, be patient.   
  Boats.  When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.   
  Gon.  Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.   
  Boats.  None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.—Cheerly, good hearts!—Out of our way, I say.  [Exit.                                   16
  Gon.  I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging! make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage! If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable.  [Exeunt.   
 
Re-enter Boatswain.
   
  Boats.  Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try with main-course. [A cry within.] A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather, or our office.—   
 
Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO.
                                                                                                                                       20
Yet again? what do you here? Shall we give o’er, and drown? Have you a mind to sink?   
  Seb.  A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!   
  Boats.  Work you, then.   
  Ant.  Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent noisemaker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.                                                                                                                                       24
  Gon.  I’ll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench.   
  Boats.  Lay her a-hold, a-hold! Set her two courses; off to sea again; lay her off.   
 
Enter Mariners, wet.
   
  Mar.  All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!  [Exeunt.                                                                  28
  Boats.  What, must our mouths be cold?   
  Gon.  The king and prince at prayers! let us assist them,   
For our case is as theirs.   
  Seb.        I am out of patience.                                                                                             32
  Ant.  We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.—   
This wide-chapp’d rascal,—would thou might’st lie drowning,   
The washing of ten tides!   
  Gon.        He’ll be hang’d yet,                                                                                               36
Though every drop of water swear against it,   
And gape at wid’st to glut him.   
[A confused noise within,—‘Mercy on us!’—   
‘We split, we split!’—‘Farewell, my wife and children!’—                                                             40
‘Farewell, brother!’—‘We split, we split, we split!’—]   
  Ant.  Let’s all sink wi’ the king.  [Exit.   
  Seb.  Let’s take leave of him.  [Exit.   
  Gon.  Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death.                                      44

Act I. Scene II.


The Island: before the Cell of PROSPERO.
   
 
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA.
   
  Miro.  If by your art, my dearest father, you have   
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.      4
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,   
But that the sea, mounting to th’ welkin’s cheek,   
Dashes the fire out. O! I have suffer’d   
With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,      8
Who had, no doubt, some noble creatures in her,   
Dash’d all to pieces. O! the cry did knock   
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish’d.   
Had I been any god of power, I would     12
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e’er   
It should the good ship so have swallow’d and   
The fraughting souls within her.   
  Pro.        Be collected:     16
No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart   
There’s no harm done.   
  Mira.        O, woe the day!   
  Pro.        No harm.     20
I have done nothing but in care of thee,—   
Of thee, my dear one! thee, my daughter!—who   
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing   
Of whence I am: nor that I am more better     24
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,   
And thy no greater father.   
  Mira.        More to know   
Did never meddle with my thoughts.     28
  Pro.        ’Tis time   
I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand,   
And pluck my magic garment from me.—So:  [Lays down his mantle.   
Lie there, my art.—Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.     32
The direful spectacle of the wrack, which touch’d   
The very virtue of compassion in thee,   
I have with such provision in mine art   
So safely order’d, that there is no soul—     36
No, not so much perdition as an hair,   
Betid to any creature in the vessel   
Which thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink. Sit down;   
For thou must now know further.     40
  Mira.        You have often   
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp’d,   
And left me to a bootless inquisition,   
Concluding, ‘Stay; not yet.’     44
  Pro.        The hour’s now come,   
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;   
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember   
A time before we came unto this cell?     48
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not   
Out three years old.   
  Mira.  Certainly, sir, I can.   
  Pro.  By what? by any other house or person?     52
Of anything the image tell me, that   
Hath kept with thy remembrance.   
  Mira.        ’Tis far off;   
And rather like a dream than an assurance     56
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not   
Four or five women once that tended me?   
  Pro.  Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it   
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else     60
In the dark backward and abysm of time?   
If thou remember’st aught ere thou cam’st here,   
How thou cam’st here, thou may’st.   
  Mira.        But that I do not.     64
  Pro.  Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,   
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and   
A prince of power.   
  Mira.        Sir, are not you my father?     68
  Pro.  Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and   
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father   
Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir   
A princess,—no worse issued.     72
  Mira.        O, the heavens!   
What foul play had we that we came from thence?   
Or blessed was’t we did?   
  Pro.        Both, both, my girl:     76
By foul play, as thou say’st, were we heav’d thence;   
But blessedly holp hither.   
  Mira.        O! my heart bleeds   
To think o’ the teen that I have turn’d you to,     80
Which is from my remembrance. Please you, further.   
  Pro.  My brother and thy uncle, call’d Antonio,—   
I pray thee, mark me,—that a brother should   
Be so perfidious!—he whom next thyself,     84
Of all the world I lov’d, and to him put   
The manage of my state; as at that time,   
Through all the signiories it was the first,   
And Prospero the prime duke; being so reputed     88
In dignity, and for the liberal arts,   
Without a parallel: those being all my study,   
The government I cast upon my brother,   
And to my state grew stranger, being transported     92
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle—   
Dost thou attend me?   
  Mira.        Sir, most heedfully.   
  Pro.  Being once perfected how to grant suits,     96
How to deny them, who t’advance, and who   
To trash for over-topping; new created   
The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang’d ’em,   
Or else new form’d ’em: having both the key    100
Of officer and office, set all hearts i’ the state   
To what tune pleas’d his ear; that now he was   
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,   
And suck’d my verdure out on’t.—Thou attend’st not.    104
  Mira.  O, good sir! I do.   
  Pro.        I pray thee, mark me.   
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated   
To closeness and the bettering of my mind    108
With that, which, but by being so retir’d,   
O’erpriz’d all popular rate, in my false brother   
Awak’d an evil nature; and my trust,   
Like a good parent, did beget of him    112
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,    116
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    120
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?    124
  Mira.  Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.   
  Pro.  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    128
Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties    
He thinks me now incapable; confederates,—   
So dry he was for sway,—wi’ the king of Naples   
To give him annual tribute, do him homage;    132
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend   
The dukedom, yet unbow’d,—alas, poor Milan!—   
To most ignoble stooping.   
  Mira.        O the heavens!    136
  Pro.  Mark his condition and the event; then tell me   
If this might be a brother.   
  Mira.        I should sin   
To think but nobly of my grandmother:    140
Good wombs have borne bad sons.   
  Pro.        Now the condition.   
This King of Naples, being an enemy   
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother’s suit;    144
Which was, that he, in lieu o’ the premises   
Of homage and I know not how much tribute,   
Should presently extirpate me and mine   
Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan,    148
With all the honours on my brother: whereon,   
A treacherous army levied, one midnight   
Fated to the purpose did Antonio open   
The gates of Milan; and, i’ the dead of darkness,    152
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence   
Me and thy crying self.   
  Mira.        Alack, for pity!   
I, not rememb’ring how I cried out then,    156
Will cry it o’er again: it is a hint,   
That wrings mine eyes to ’t.   
  Pro.        Hear a little further,   
And then I’ll bring thee to the present business    160
Which now’s upon us; without the which this story   
Were most impertinent.   
  Mira.        Wherefore did they not   
That hour destroy us?    164
  Pro.        Well demanded, wench:   
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,   
So dear the love my people bore me, nor set   
A mark so bloody on the business; but    168
With colours fairer painted their foul ends.   
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,   
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar’d   
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg’d,    172
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats   
Instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us,   
To cry to the sea that roar’d to us; to sigh   
To the winds whose pity, sighing back again,    176
Did us but loving wrong.   
  Mira.        Alack! what trouble   
Was I then to you!   
  Pro.        O, a cherubin    180
Thou wast, that did preserve me! Thou didst smile,   
Infused with a fortitude from heaven,   
When I have deck’d the sea with drops full salt,   
Under my burden groan’d; which rais’d in me    184
An undergoing stomach, to bear up   
Against what should ensue.   
  Mira.        How came we ashore?   
  Pro.  By Providence divine.    188
Some food we had and some fresh water that   
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,   
Out of his charity,—who being then appointed   
Master of this design,—did give us; with    192
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,   
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,   
Knowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d me,   
From mine own library with volumes that    196
I prize above my dukedom.   
  Mira.        Would I might   
But ever see that man!   
  Pro.        Now I arise:—  [Resumes his mantle.    200
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.   
Here in this island we arriv’d; and here   
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit   
Than other princes can, that have more time    204
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.   
  Mira.  Heavens thank you for’t! And now, I pray you, sir,—   
For still ’tis beating in my mind,—your reason   
For raising this sea-storm?    208
  Pro.        Know thus far forth.   
By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,   
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies   
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience    212
I find my zenith doth depend upon   
A most auspicious star, whose influence   
If now I court not but omit, my fortunes   
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions;    216
Thou art inclin’d to sleep; ’tis a good dulness,   
And give it way;—I know thou canst not choose.—  [MIRANDA sleeps.   
Come away, servant, come! I’m ready now.   
Approach, my Ariel; come!    220
 
Enter ARIEL.
   
  Ari.  All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come   
To answer thy best pleasure; be’t to fly,   
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride    224
On the curl’d clouds: to thy strong bidding task   
Ariel and all his quality.   
  Pro.        Hast thou, spirit,   
Perform’d to point the tempest that I bade thee?    228
  Ari.  To every article.   
I boarded the king’s ship; now on the beak,   
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,   
I flam’d amazement: sometime I’d divide    232
And burn in many places; on the topmast,   
The yards, and boresprit, would I flame distinctly,   
Then meet, and join: Jove’s lightnings, the precursors   
O’ the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary    236
And sight-outrunning were not: the fire and cracks   
Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune   
Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,   
Yea, his dread trident shake.    240
  Pro.        My brave spirit!   
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil   
Would not infect his reason?   
  Ari.        Not a soul    244
But felt a fever of the mad and play’d   
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners,   
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,   
Then all a-fire with me: the king’s son, Ferdinand,    248
With hair up-staring,—then like reeds, not hair,—   
Was the first man that leap’d; cried, ‘Hell is empty,   
And all the devils are here.’   
  Pro.        Why, that’s my spirit!    252
But was not this nigh shore?   
  Ari.        Close by, my master.   
  Pro.  But are they, Ariel, safe?   
  Ari.        Not a hair perish’d;    256
On their sustaining garments not a blemish,   
But fresher than before: and, as thou bad’st me,   
In troops I have dispers’d them ’bout the isle.   
The king’s son have I landed by himself;    260
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs   
In an odd angle of the isle and sitting,   
His arms in this sad knot.   
  Pro.        Of the king’s ship    264
The mariners, say how thou hast dispos’d,   
And all the rest o’ the fleet.   
  Ari.        Safely in harbour   
Is the king’s ship; in the deep nook, where once    268
Thou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew   
From the still-vex’d Bermoothes; there she’s hid:   
The mariners all under hatches stow’d;   
Who, with a charm join’d to their suffer’d labour,    272
I have left asleep: and for the rest o’ the fleet   
Which I dispers’d, they all have met again,   
And are upon the Mediterranean flote,   
Bound sadly home for Naples,    276
Supposing that they saw the king’s ship wrack’d,   
And his great person perish.   
  Pro.        Ariel, thy charge   
Exactly is perform’d: but there’s more work:    280
What is the time o’ th’ day?   
  Ari.Past the mid season.   
  Pro.  At least two glasses. The time ’twixt six and now   
Must by us both be spent most preciously.    284
  Ari.  Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,   
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis’d   
Which is not yet perform’d me.   
  Pro.        How now! moody?    288
What is ’t thou canst demand?   
  Ari.        My liberty.   
  Pro.  Before the time be out? no more!   
  Ari.        I prithee    292
Remember, I have done thee worthy service;   
Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv’d   
Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise   
To bate me a full year.    296
  Pro.        Dost thou forget   
From what a torment I did free thee?   
  Ari.        No.   
  Pro.  Thou dost; and think’st it much to tread the ooze    300
Of the salt deep,   
To run upon the sharp wind of the north,   
To do me business in the veins o’ th’ earth   
When it is bak’d with frost.    304
  Ari.        I do not, sir.   
  Pro.  Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot   
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy   
Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?    308
  Ari.  No, sir.   
  Pro.  Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me.   
  Ari.  Sir, in Argier.   
  Pro.        O! was she so? I must,    312
Once in a month, recount what thou hast been,   
Which thou forget’st. This damn’d witch, Sycorax,   
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible   
To enter human hearing, from Argier,    316
Thou know’st, was banish’d: for one thing she did   
They would not take her life. Is not this true?   
  Ari.  Ay, sir.   
  Pro.  This blue-ey’d hag was hither brought with child    320
And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,   
As thou report’st thyself, wast then her servant:   
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate   
To act her earthy and abhorr’d commands,    324
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,   
By help of her more potent ministers,   
And in her most unmitigable rage,   
Into a cloven pine; within which rift    328
Imprison’d, thou didst painfully remain   
A dozen years; within which space she died   
And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans   
As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island,—    332
Save for the son that she did litter here,   
A freckled whelp hag-born,—not honour’d with   
A human shape.   
  Ari.        Yes; Caliban her son.    336
  Pro.  Dull thing, I say so; he that Caliban,   
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st   
What torment I did find thee in; thy groans   
Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts    340
Of ever-angry bears: it was a torment   
To lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax   
Could not again undo; it was mine art,   
When I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gape    344
The pine, and let thee out.   
  Ari.        I thank thee, master.   
  Pro.  If thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak   
And peg thee in his knotty entrails till    348
Thou hast howl’d away twelve winters.   
  Ari.        Pardon, master;   
I will be correspondent to command,   
And do my spiriting gently.    352
  Pro.        Do so; and after two days   
I will discharge thee.   
  Ari.        That’s my noble master!   
What shall I do? say what? what shall I do?    356
  Pro.  Go make thyself like a nymph of the sea: be subject   
To no sight but thine and mine; invisible   
To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape,   
And hither come in’t: go, hence with diligence!  [Exit ARIEL.    360
Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;   
Awake!   
  Mira.  [Waking.] The strangeness of your story put   
Heaviness in me.    364
  Pro.        Shake it off. Come on;   
We’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never   
Yields us kind answer.   
  Mira.        ’Tis a villain, sir,    368
I do not love to look on.   
  Pro.        But, as ’tis,   
We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,   
Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices    372
That profit us.—What ho! slave! Caliban!   
Thou earth, thou! speak.   
  Cal.  [Within.] There’s wood enough within.   
  Pro.  Come forth, I say; there’s other business for thee:    376
Come, thou tortoise! when?   
 
Re-enter ARIEL, like a water-nymph.
   
Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,   
Hark in thine ear.    380
  Ari.        My lord, it shall be done.  [Exit.   
  Pro.  Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself   
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!   
 
Enter CALIBAN.
    384
  Cal.  As wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d   
With raven’s feather from unwholesome fen   
Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye,   
And blister you all o’er!    388
  Pro.  For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,   
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins   
Shall forth at vast of night, that they may work   
All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch’d    392
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging   
Than bees that made them.   
  Cal.        I must eat my dinner.   
This island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother,    396
Which thou tak’st from me. When thou camest first,   
Thou strok’dst me, and mad’st much of me; wouldst give me   
Water with berries in’t; and teach me how   
To name the bigger light, and how the less,    400
That burn by day and night: and then I lov’d thee   
And show’d thee all the qualities o’ th’ isle,   
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and fertile.   
Cursed be I that did so!—All the charms    404
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!   
For I am all the subjects that you have,   
Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me   
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me    408
The rest o’ th’ island.   
  Pro.        Thou most lying slave,   
Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us’d thee,   
Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodg’d thee    412
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate   
The honour of my child.   
  Cal.   Oh ho! Oh ho!—would it had been done!   
Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else    416
This isle with Calibans.   
  Pro.        Abhorred slave,   
Which any print of goodness will not take,   
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,    420
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour   
One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,   
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like   
A thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes    424
With words that made them known: but thy vile race,   
Though thou didst learn, had that in’t which good natures   
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou   
Deservedly confin’d into this rock,    428
Who hadst deserv’d more than a prison.   
  Cal.  You taught me language; and my profit on’t   
Is, I know how to curse: the red plague rid you,   
For learning me your language!    432
  Pro.        Hag-seed, hence!   
Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou ’rt best,   
To answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?   
If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly    436
What I command, I’ll rack thee with old cramps,   
Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar,   
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.   
  Cal.        No, pray thee!—    440
[Aside.] I must obey: his art is of such power,   
It would control my dam’s god, Setebos,   
And make a vassal of him.   
  Pro.        So, slave; hence!  [Exit CALIBAN.    444
 
Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing and singing; FERDINAND following.
   
 
ARIEL’S SONG.
            
     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 burden bear.
         Hark, hark!  [Burden: Bow, wow, dispersedly.
         The watch-dogs bark:  [Burden: Bow, wow, dispersedly.
         Hark, hark! I hear
   The strain of strutting Chanticleer  [Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.
   
  Fer.  Where should this music be? i’ th’ air, or th’ earth?   
It sounds no more;—and sure, it waits upon    448
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,    452
With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it,—   
Or it hath drawn me rather,—but ’tis gone.   
No, it begins again.   
 
ARIEL sings.
               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:  [Burden: ding-dong.
     Hark! now I hear them,—ding-dong, bell.
    456
  Fer.  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.   
  Pro.  The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,    460
And say what thou seest yond.   
  Mira.        What is’t? a spirit?   
Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,   
It carries a brave form:—but ’tis a spirit.    464
  Pro.  No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses   
As we have, such; this gallant which thou see’st,   
Was in the wrack; and, but he’s something stain’d   
With grief,—that’s beauty’s canker,—thou might’st call him    468
A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows   
And strays about to find ’em.   
  Mira.        I might call him   
A thing divine; for nothing natural    472
I ever saw so noble.   
  Pro.  [Aside.] It goes on, I see,   
As my soul prompts it.—Spirit, fine spirit! I’ll free thee   
Within two days for this.    476
  Fer.        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    480
How I may bear me here: my prime request,   
Which I do last pronounce, is,—O you wonder!—   
If you be maid or no?   
  Mira.        No wonder, sir;    484
But certainly a maid.   
  Fer.        My language! heavens!—   
I am the best of them that speak this speech,   
Were I but where ’tis spoken.    488
  Pro.        How! the best?   
What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?   
  Fer.  A single thing, as I am now, that wonders   
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;    492
And, that he does, I weep: myself am Naples,   
Who with mine eyes,—ne’er since et ebb,—beheld   
The king, my father wrack’d.   
  Mira.    Alack, for mercy!    496
  Fer.  Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan,   
And his brave son being twain.   
  Pro.  [Aside.] The Duke of Milan,   
And his more braver daughter could control thee,    500
If now ’twere fit to do’t.—At the first sight  [Aside.]   
They have changed eyes:—delicate Ariel,   
I’ll set thee free for this!—[To FER.] A word, good sir;   
I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.    504
  Mira.  [Aside.] 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!    508
  Fer.        [Aside.] O! if a virgin,   
And your affection not gone forth, I’ll make you   
The Queen of Naples.   
  Pro.        Soft, sir: one word more—    512
[Aside.] They are both in either’s powers: but this swift business   
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning   
Make the prize light.—[To FER.] One word more: I charge thee   
That thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp    516
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.   
  Fer.        No, as I am a man.    520
  Mira.  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.   
  Pro. [To FER.] Follow me.—    524
[To MIRA.] Speak not you for him; he’s a traitor.—[To FER.] 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    528
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.   
  Fer.        No;   
I will resist such entertainment till   
Mine enemy has more power.    532
[He draws, and is charmed from moving.   
  Mira.        O dear father!   
Make not too rash a trial of him, for   
He’s gentle, and not fearful.    536
  Pro.        What! I say,   
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,    540
For I can here disarm thee with this stick   
And make thy weapon drop.   
  Mira.  Beseech you, father!   
  Pro.  Hence! hang not on my garments.    544
  Mira.        Sir, have pity:   
I’ll be his surety.   
  Pro.        Silence! one word more   
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!    548
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 the most of men this is a Caliban    552
And they to him are angels.   
  Mira.        My affections   
Are then most humble; I have no ambition   
To see a goodlier man.    556
  Pro.        [ToFER.] Come on; obey:   
Thy nerves are in their infancy again,   
And have no vigour in them.   
  Fer.        So they are:    560
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, or this man’s threats,   
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,    564
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.    568
  Pro.  [Aside.] It works.—[To FER.] Come on.—   
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!—[To FER.] Follow me.—   
[To ARIEL.] Hark, what thou else shalt do me.   
  Mira.        Be of comfort;    572
My father’s of a better nature, sir,   
Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted,   
Which now came from him.   
  Pro.        Thou shalt be as free    576
As mountain winds; but then exactly do   
All points of my command.   
  Ari.  To the syllable.   
  Pro.  [To FER.] Come, follow.—Speak not for him.  [Exeunt.    580

Act II. Scene I.


Another Part of the Island.
   
 
Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others.
   
  Gon.  Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause,   
So have we all, of joy; for our escape      4
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe   
Is common: every day some sailor’s wife,   
The masters of some merchant and the merchant,   
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,      8
I mean our preservation, few in millions   
Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh   
Our sorrow with our comfort.   
  Alon.        Prithee, peace.     12
  Seb.   He receives comfort like cold porridge.   
  Ant.  The visitor will not give him o’er so.   
  Seb.  Look, he’s winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.   
  Gon.  Sir,—     16
  Seb.  One: tell.   
  Gon.  When every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d,   
Comes to the entertainer—   
  Seb.  A dollar.     20
  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.  Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!     24
  Alon.  I prithee, spare.   
  Gon.  Well, I have done: but yet—   
  Seb.  He will be talking.   
  Ant.  Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?     28
  Seb.  The old cock.   
  Ant.  The cockerel.   
  Seb.  Done. The wager?   
  Ant.  A laughter.     32
  Seb.  A match!   
  Adr.  Though this island seem to be desert,—   
  Seb.  Ha, ha, ha! So you’re paid.   
  Adr.  Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—     36
  Seb.  Yet—   
  Adr.  Yet—   
  Ant.  He could not miss it.   
  Adr.  It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.     40
  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.   
  Seb.  As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.     44
  Ant.  Or as ’twere perfumed by a fen.   
  Gon.  Here is everything advantageous to life.   
  Ant.  True; save means to live.   
  Seb.  Of that there’s none, or little.     48
  Gon.  How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!   
  Ant.  The ground indeed is tawny.   
  Seb.  With an eye of green in ’t.   
  Ant.  He misses not much.     52
  Seb.  No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.   
  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.     56
  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.     60
  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!     64
  Adr.  Widow Dido, said you? you make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.   
  Gon.  This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.   
  Adr.  Carthage?   
  Gon.  I assure you, Carthage.     68
  Ant.  His word is more than the miraculous harp.   
  Seb.  He hath rais’d the wall, and houses too.   
  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.     72
  Ant.  And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.   
  Alon.   Ay?   
  Ant.  Why, in good time.   
  Gon.  [To ALON.] 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.     76
  Ant.  And the rarest that e’er came there.   
  Seb.  Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.   
  Ant.  O! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.   
  Gon.  Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.     80
  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     84
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     88
Of Naples and of Milan! what strange fish   
Hath made his meal on thee?   
  Fran.        Sir, he may live:   
I saw him beat the surges under him,     92
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     96
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.    100
  Alon.        No, no; he’s gone.   
  Seb.  Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,   
That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,   
But rather lose her to an African;    104
Where she at least is banish’d from your eye,   
Who hath cause to wet the grief on’t.   
  Alon.        Prithee, peace.   
  Seb.  You were kneel’d to and importun’d otherwise    108
By all of us; and the fair soul herself   
Weigh’d between loathness and obedience, at   
Which end o’ the beam should bow. We have lost your son,   
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have    112
More widows in them of this business’ making,   
Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault’s   
Your own.   
  Alon.  So is the dearest of the loss.    116
  Gon.   My lord Sebastian,   
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness   
And time to speak it in; you rub the sore,   
When you should bring the plaster.    120
  Seb.        Very well.   
  Ant.  And most chirurgeonly.   
  Gon.  It is foul weather in us all, good sir,   
When you are cloudy.    124
  Seb.        Foul weather?   
  Ant.  Very foul.   
  Gon.  Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,—   
  Ant.  He’d sow’t with nettle-seed.    128
  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    132
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,    136
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;   
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;   
No occupation; all men idle, all;   
And women too, but innocent and pure;    140
No sovereignty,—   
  Seb.        Yet he would be king on’t.   
  Ant.  The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.   
  Gon.  All things in common nature should produce    144
Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,   
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,   
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,   
Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,    148
To feed my innocent people.   
  Seb.  No marrying ’mong his subjects?   
  Ant.  None, man; all idle; whores and knaves.   
  Gon.  I would with such perfection govern, sir,    152
To excel the golden age.   
  Seb.        Save his majesty!   
  Ant.   Long live Gonzalo!   
  Alon.        And,—do you mark me, sir?    156
  Alon.  Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.   
  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 still.    160
  Ant.  What a blow was there given!   
  Seb.  An it had not fallen flat-long.   
  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.
    164
  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 my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?   
  Ant.  Go sleep, and hear us.  [All sleep but ALON., SEB., and ANT.    168
  Alon.  What! all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes   
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find   
They are inclin’d to do so.   
  Seb.        Please you, sir,    172
Do not omit the heavy offer of it:   
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth   
It is a comforter.   
  Ant.        We two, my lord,    176
Will guard your person while you take your rest,   
And watch your safety.   
  Alon.        Thank you. Wondrous heavy.  [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL.   
  Seb.  What a strange drowsiness possesses them!    180
  Ant.  It is the quality o’ the climate.   
  Seb.        Why   
Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not   
Myself dispos’d to sleep.    184
  Ant.        Nor I: my spirits are nimble.   
They fell together all, as by consent;   
They dropp’d, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,   
Worthy Sebastian? O! what might?—No more:—    188
And yet methinks I see it in thy face,   
What thou should’st be. The occasion speaks thee; and   
My strong imagination sees a crown   
Dropping upon thy head.    192
  Seb.        What! art thou waking?   
  Ant.  Do you not hear me speak?   
  Seb.        I do; and surely,   
It is a sleepy language, and thou speak’st    196
Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?   
This is a strange repose, to be asleep   
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,   
And yet so fast asleep.    200
  Ant.        Noble Sebastian,   
Thou let’st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink’st   
Whiles thou art waking.   
  Seb.        Thou dost snore distinctly:    204
There’s meaning in thy snores.   
  Ant.  I am more serious than my custom: you   
Must be so too, if heed me; which to do   
Trebles thee o’er.    208
  Seb.        Well; I am standing water.   
  Ant.  I’ll teach you how to flow.   
  Seb.        Do so: to ebb,   
Hereditary sloth instructs me.    212
  Ant.        O!   
If you but knew how you the purpose cherish   
Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,   
You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed,    216
Most often do so near the bottom run   
By their own fear or sloth.   
  Seb.        Prithee, say on:   
The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim    220
A matter from thee, and a birth indeed   
Which throes thee much to yield.   
  Ant.        Thus, sir:   
Although this lord of weak remembrance, this    224
Who shall be of as little memory   
When he is earth’d, hath here almost persuaded,—   
For he’s a spirit of persuasion, only   
Professes to persuade,—the king, his son’s alive,    228
’Tis as impossible that he’s undrown’d   
As he that sleeps here swims.   
  Seb.        I have no hope   
That he’s undrown’d.    232
  Ant.  O! out of that ’no hope   
What great hope have you! no hope that way is   
Another way so high a hope that even   
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,    236
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant with me   
That Ferdinand is drown’d?   
  Seb.  He’s gone.   
  Ant.  Then tell me    240
Who’s the next heir of Naples?   
  Seb.        Claribel.   
  Ant.  She that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells   
Ten leagues beyond man’s life; she that from Naples    244
Can have no note, unless the sun were post—   
The man i’ th’ moon’s too slow—till new-born chins   
Be rough and razorable: she that, from whom?   
We all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again,    248
And by that destiny to perform an act   
Whereof what’s past is prologue, what to come   
In yours and my discharge.   
  Seb.  What stuff is this!—How say you?    252
’Tis true my brother’s daughter’s Queen of Tunis;   
So is she heir of Naples; ’twixt which regions   
There is some space.   
  Ant.        A space whose every cubit    256
Seems to cry out, ‘How shall that Claribel   
Measure us back to Naples?—Keep in Tunis,   
And let Sebastian wake!’—Say, this were death   
That now hath seiz’d them; why, they were no worse    260
Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples   
As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate   
As amply and unnecessarily   
As this Gonzalo; I myself could make    264
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore   
The mind that I do! what a sleep were this   
For your advancement! Do you understand me?   
  Seb.  Methinks I do.    268
  Ant.        And how does your content   
Tender your own good fortune?   
  Seb.        I remember   
You did supplant your brother Prospero.    272
  Ant.        True:   
And look how well my garments sit upon me;   
Much feather than before; my brother’s servants   
Were then my fellows; now they are my men.    276
  Seb.  But, for your conscience,—   
  Ant.  Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kibe,   
’Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not   
This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences,    280
That stand ’twixt me and Milan, candied be they,   
And melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother,   
No better than the earth he lies upon,   
If he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead;    284
Whom I, with this obedient steel,—three inches of it,—   
Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,   
To the perpetual wink for aye might put   
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who    288
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,   
They’ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;   
They’ll tell the clock to any business that   
We say befits the hour.    292
  Seb.        Thy case, dear friend,   
Shall be my precedent: as thou got’st Milan,   
I’ll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke   
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay st,    296
And I the king shall love thee.   
  Ant.        Draw together;   
And when I rear my hand, do you the like,   
To fall it on Gonzalo.    300
  Seb.  O! but one word.  [They converse apart.   
 
Music. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible.
   
  Ari.  My master through his art foresees the danger   
That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth—    304
For else his project dies—to keep thee living.  [Sings in GONZALO’S ear.
             While you here do snoring lie,
   Open-ey’d Conspiracy
       His time doth take.
   If of life you keep a care,
   Shake off slumber, and beware:
       Awake! awake!
   
  Ant.  Then let us both be sudden.   
  Gon.        Now, good angels   
Preserve the king!  [They wake.    308
  Alon.  Why, how now! ho, awake! Why are you drawn?   
Wherefore this ghastly looking?   
  Gon.  What’s the matter?   
  Seb.  Whiles we stood here securing your repose,    312
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing   
Like bulls, or rather lions; did’t not wake you?   
It struck mine ear most terribly.   
  Alon.  I heard nothing.    316
  Ant.  O! ’twas a din to fright a monster’s ear,   
To make an earthquake: sure it was the roar   
Of a whole herd of lions.   
  Alon.  Heard you this, Gonzalo?    320
  Gon.  Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,   
And that a strange one too, which did awake me.   
I shak’d you, sir, and cry’d; as mine eyes open’d,   
I saw their weapons drawn:—there was a noise,    324
That’s verily. ’Tis best we stand upon our guard,   
Or that we quit this place: let’s draw our weapons.   
  Alon.  Lead off this ground, and let’s make further search   
For my poor son.    328
  Gon.  Heavens keep him from these beasts!   
For he is, sure, i’ the island.   
  Alon.  Lead away.  [Exit with the others.   
  Ari.  Prospero my lord shall know what I have done:    332
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son.  [Exit.   

Act II. Scene II.


Another Part of the Island.
   
 
Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood.
   
 
A noise of thunder heard.
   
  Cal.  All the infections that the sun sucks up      4
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him   
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,   
And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,   
Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ the mire,      8
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark   
Out of my way, unless he bid ’em; but   
For every trifle are they set upon me:   
Sometime like apes, that mow and chatter at me     12
And after bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which   
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way and mount   
Their pricks at my foot-fall; sometime am I   
All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues     16
Do hiss me into madness.—   
 
Enter TRINCULO.
   
        Lo now! lo!   
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me     20
For bringing wood in slowly: I’ll fall flat;   
Perchance he will not mind me.   
  Trin.  Here’s neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i’ the wind: yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls.—What have we here? a man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of not of the newest Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now,—as once I was,—and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg’d like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o’ my troth! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.   
 
Enter STEPHANO, singing; a bottle in his hand.
     24
  Ste. 
            
   I shall no more to sea, to sea,
           Here shall I die a-shore:—
   
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral:   
Well, here’s my comfort.  [Drinks.
            
   The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,
         The gunner and his mate,
   Lov’d Mall, Meg, and Marian and Margery,
         But none of us car’d for Kate;
         For she had a tongue with a tang,
         Would cry to a sailor, ‘Go hang!’
   She lov’d not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
   Yet a tailor might scratch her where-e’er she did itch:
         Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang.
   
This is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort.  [Drinks.     28
  Cal.  Do not torment me: O!   
  Ste.  What’s the matter?   
Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon us with savages and men of Ind? Ha! I have not ’scaped drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground: and it shall be said so again while Stephano breathes at’s nostrils.   
  Cal.  The spirit torments me: O!     32
  Ste.  This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that: if I can recover him and keep him tame and get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat’s-leather.   
  Cal.  Do not torment me, prithee: I’ll bring my wood home faster.   
  Ste.  He’s in his fit now and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore it will go near to remove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him: he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly.   
  Cal.  Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.     36
  Ste.  Come on your ways: open your mouth; here is that which will give language to you, cat. Open your mouth: this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly [gives CALIBAN drink]: you cannot tell who’s your friend; open your chaps again.   
  Trin.  I should know that voice: it should be—but he is drowned, and these are devils. O! defend me.   
  Ste.  Four legs and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. Come. Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth.   
  Trin.  Stephano!     40
  Ste.  Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon.   
  Trin.  Stephano!—if thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo:—be not afeard—thy good friend Trinculo.   
  Ste.  If thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I’ll pull thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo’s legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How cam’st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent Trinculos?   
  Trin.  I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine for fear of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano! two Neapolitans ’scaped!     44
  Ste.  Prithee, do not turn me about: my stomach is not constant.   
  Cal.  [Aside.] These be fine things an if they be not sprites.   
That’s a brave god and bears celestial liquor:   
I will kneel to him.     48
  Ste.  How didst thou ’scape? How cam’st thou hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam’st hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved overboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore.   
  Cal.  I’ll swear upon that bottle, to be thy true subject; for the liquor is not earthly.   
  Ste.  Here: swear then, how thou escapedst.   
  Trin.  Swam ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I’ll be sworn.     52
  Ste.  Here, kiss the book [gives TRINCULO drink]. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose.   
  Trin.  O Stephano! hast any more of this?   
  Ste.  The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by the seaside, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! how does thine ague?   
  Cal.  Hast thou not dropped from heaven?     56
  Ste.  Out o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man in the moon, when time was.   
  Cal.  I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee; my mistress showed me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush.   
  Ste.  Come, swear to that; kiss the book; I will furnish it anon with new contents; swear.   
  Trin.  By this good light, this is a very shallow monster.—I afeard of him!—a very weak monster.—The man i’ the moon! a most poor credulous monster!—Well drawn, monster, in good sooth.     60
  Cal.  I’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ the island;   
And I will kiss thy foot. I prithee, be my god.   
  Trin.  By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster: when his god’s asleep, he’ll rob his bottle.   
  Cal.  I’ll kiss thy foot: I’ll swear myself thy subject.     64
  Ste.  Come on then; down, and swear.   
  Trin.  I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,—   
  Ste.  Come, kiss.   
  Trin.  But that the poor monster’s in drink: an abominable monster!     68
  Cal.  I’ll shew thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries;   
I’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.   
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!   
I’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,     72
Thou wondrous man.   
  Trin.  A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!   
  Cal.  I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;   
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;     76
Show thee a jay’s nest and instruct thee how   
To snare the nimble marmozet; I’ll bring thee   
To clust’ring filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee   
Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?     80
  Ste.  I prithee now, lead the way, without any more talking.—Trinculo, the king and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here.—Here; bear my bottle.—Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again.   
  Cal.  Farewell, master; farewell, farewell.  [Sings drunkenly.   
  Trin.  A howling monster, a drunken monster.   
  Cal.  No more dams I’ll make for fish;     84
Nor fetch in firing   
At requiring,   
Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish;   
’Ban, ’Ban, Ca—Caliban,     88
Has a new master—Get a new man.   
Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom! high-day, freedom!   
  Ste.  O brave monster! lead the way.  [Exeunt.

Act III. Scene I.


Before PROSPERO’S Cell.
   
 
Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log.
   
  Fer.  There be some sports are painful, and their labour   
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness      4
Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters   
Point to rich ends. This my mean task   
Would be as heavy to me as odious; but   
The mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead      8
And makes my labours pleasures: O! she is   
Ten times more gentle than her father’s crabbed,   
And he’s compos’d of harshness. I must remove   
Some thousands of these logs and pile them up,     12
Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress   
Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness   
Had never like executor. I forget:   
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,     16
Most busiest when I do it.   
 
Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO behind.
   
  Mira.        Alas! now, pray you,   
Work not so hard: I would the lightning had     20
Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile!   
Pray, set it down and rest you: when this burns,   
’Twill weep for having wearied you. My father   
Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself:     24
He’s safe for these three hours.   
  Fer.        O most dear mistress,   
The sun will set, before I shall discharge   
What I must strive to do.     28
  Mira.        If you’ll sit down,   
I’ll bear your logs the while. Pray, give me that;   
I’ll carry it to the pile.   
  Fer.        No, precious creature:     32
I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,   
Than you should such dishonour undergo,   
While I sit lazy by.   
  Mira.        It would become me     36
As well as it does you: and I should do it   
With much more ease; for my good will is to it,   
And yours it is against.   
  Pro.  [Aside.] Poor worm! thou art infected:      40
This visitation shows it.   
  Mira.        You look wearily.   
  Fer.  No, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me   
When you are by at night. I do beseech you—     44
Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers—   
What is your name?   
  Mira.  Miranda.—O my father!   
I have broke your hest to say so.     48
  Fer.        Admir’d Miranda!   
Indeed, the top of admiration; worth   
What’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady   
I have ey’d with best regard, and many a time     52
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage   
Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues   
Have I lik’d several women; never any   
With so full soul but some defect in her     56
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d,   
And put it to the foil: but you, O you!   
So perfect and so peerless, are created   
Of every creature’s best.     60
  Mira.  I do not know   
One of my sex; no woman’s face remember,   
Save, from my glass, mine own: nor have I seen   
More that I may call men than you, good friend,     64
And my dear father: how features are abroad,   
I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty,—   
The jewel in my dower,—I would not wish   
Any companion in the world but you;     68
Nor can imagination form a shape,   
Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle   
Something too wildly and my father’s precepts   
I therein do forget.     72
  Fer.  I am in my condition   
A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;—   
I would not so!—and would no more endure   
This wooden slavery than to suffer     76
The flesh-fly blow my mouth.—Hear my soul speak:—   
The very instant that I saw you did   
My heart fly to your service; there resides,   
To make me slave to it; and for your sake     80
Am I this patient log-man.   
  Mira.        Do you love me?   
  Fer.  O heaven! O earth! bear witness to this sound,   
And crown what I profess with kind event     84
If I speak true: if hollowly, invert   
What best is boded me to mischief! I,   
Beyond all limit of what else i’ the world,   
Do love, prize, honour you.     88
  Mira.        I am a fool   
To weep at what I am glad of.   
  Pro.        [Aside.] Fair encounter   
Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace     92
On that which breeds between them!   
  Fer.        Wherefore weep you?   
  Mira.  At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer   
What I desire to give; and much less take     96
What I shall die to want. But this is trifling;   
And all the more it seeks to hide itself   
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!   
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!    100
I am your wife, if you will marry me;   
If not, I’ll die your maid: to be your fellow   
You may deny me; but I’ll be your servant   
Whether you will or no.    104
  Fer.        My mistress, dearest;   
And I thus humble ever.   
  Mira.        My husband then?   
  Fer.  Ay, with a heart as willing    108
As bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.   
  Mira.  And mine, with my heart in’t: and now farewell   
Till half an hour hence.   
  Fer.        A thousand thousand!  [Exeunt FER. and MIR. severally.    112
  Pro.  So glad of this as they, I cannot be,   
Who are surpris’d withal; but my rejoicing   
At nothing can be more. I’ll to my book;   
For yet, ere supper time, must I perform    116
Much business appertaining.  [Exit.

Act III. Scene II.


Another Part of the Island
   
 
Enter CALIBAN, with a bottle, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO.
   
  Ste.  Tell not me:—when the butt is out, we will drink water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and board’em.—Servant-monster, drink to me.   
  Trin.  Servant-monster! the folly of this island! They say there’s but five upon this isle: we are three of them; if th’ other two be brained like us, the state totters.      4
  Ste.  Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy head.   
  Trin.  Where should they be set else? he were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail.   
  Ste.  My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty leagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard.   
  Trin.  Your lieutenant, if you list; he’s no standard.      8
  Ste.  We’ll not run, Monsieur monster.   
  Trin.  Nor go neither: but you’ll lie, like dogs; and yet say nothing neither.   
  Ste.  Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf.   
  Cal.  How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I’ll not serve him, he is not valiant.     12
  Trin.  Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed fish thou, was there ever a man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster?   
  Cal.  Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?   
  Trin.  ‘Lord’ quoth he!—that a monster should be such a natural!   
  Cal.  Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I prithee.     16
  Ste.  Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer, the next tree! The poor monster’s my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity.   
  Cal.  I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas’d   
To hearken once again the suit I made thee?   
  Ste.  Marry, will I; kneel, and repeat it: I will stand, and so shall Trinculo.     20
 
Enter ARIEL, invisible.
   
  Cal.  As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.   
  Ari.  Thou liest.   
  Cal.  Thou liest, thou jesting monkey thou;     24
I would my valiant master would destroy thee;   
I do not lie.   
  Ste.  Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth.   
  Trin.  Why, I said nothing.     28
  Ste.  Mum then and no more.—[To CALIBAN.] Proceed.   
  Cal.  I say, by sorcery he got this isle;   
From me he got it: if thy greatness will,   
Revenge it on him,—for, I know, thou dar’st;     32
But this thing dare not,—   
  Ste.  That’s most certain.   
  Cal.  Thou shalt be lord of it and I’ll serve thee.   
  Ste.  How now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party?     36
  Cal.  Yea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep,   
Where thou may’st knock a nail into his head.   
  Ari.  Thou liest; thou canst not.   
  Cal.  What a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch!—     40
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows,   
And take his bottle from him: when that’s gone   
He shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him   
Where the quick freshes are.     44
  Ste.  Trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors and make a stock-fish of thee.   
  Trin.  Why, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go further off.   
  Ste.  Didst thou not say he lied?   
  Ari.  Thou liest.     48
  Ste.  Do I so? take thou that. [Strikes TRIN.]   
As you like this, give me the lie another time.   
  Trin.  I did not give thee the lie:—Out o’ your wits and hearing too?—A pox o’ your bottle! this can sack and drinking do.—A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers!   
  Cal.  Ha, ha, ha!     52
  Ste.  Now, forward with your tale.—Prithee stand further off.   
  Cal.  Beat him enough: after a little time   
I’ll beat him too.   
  Ste.        Stand further.—Come, proceed.     56
  Cal.  Why, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him   
I’ the afternoon to sleep: there thou may’st brain him,   
Having first seiz’d his books; or with a log   
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,     60
Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember   
First to possess his books; for without them   
He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not   
One spirit to command: they all do hate him     64
As rootedly as I. Burn but his books;   
He has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,—   
Which, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal:   
And that most deeply to consider is     68
The beauty of his daughter; he himself   
Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman,   
But only Sycorax my dam and she;   
But she as far surpasseth Sycorax     72
As great’st does least.   
  Ste.        Is it so brave a lass?   
  Cal.  Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant,   
And bring thee forth brave brood.     76
  Ste.  Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and I will be king and queen,—save our graces! and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo?   
  Trin.  Excellent.   
  Ste.  Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head.   
  Cal.  Within this half hour will he be asleep;      80
Wilt thou destroy him then?   
  Ste.        Ay, on mine honour.   
  Ari.  This will I tell my master.   
  Cal.  Thou mak’st me merry: I am full of pleasure.     84
Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch   
You taught me but while-ere?   
  Ste.  At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason: Come on, Trinculo, let us sing.  [Sings.
            
   Flout ’em, and scout ’em; and scout ’em, and flout ’em;Thought is free.
   
  Cal.  That’s not the tune.  [ARIEL plays the tune on a Tabor and Pipe.     88
  Ste.  What is this same?   
  Trin.  This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody.   
  Ste.  If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest a devil, take’t as thou list.   
  Trin.  O, forgive me my sins!     92
  Ste.  He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee.—Mercy upon us!   
  Cal.  Art thou afeard?   
  Ste.  No, monster, not I.   
  Cal.  Be not afeard: the isle is full of noises,     96
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.   
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments   
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,   
That, if I then had wak’d after long sleep,    100
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,   
The clouds methought would open and show riches   
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d   
I cried to dream again.    104
  Ste.  This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing.   
  Cal.  When Prospero is destroyed.   
  Ste.  That shall be by and by: I remember the story.   
  Trin.  The sound is going away: let’s follow it, and after do our work.    108
  Ste.  Lead, monster; we’ll follow.—I would I could see this taborer! he lays it on. Wilt come?   
  Trin.  I’ll follow, Stephano.  [Exeunt.   

Act III. Scene III.


Another Part of the Island.
   
 
Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others.
   
  Gon.  By’r lakin, I can go no further, sir;   
My old bones ache: here’s a maze trod indeed,      4
Through forth-rights, and meanders! by your patience,   
I needs must rest me.   
  Alon.        Old lord, I cannot blame thee,   
Who am myself attach’d with weariness,      8
To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.   
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it   
No longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d   
Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks     12
Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.   
  Ant.  [Aside to SEB.] I am right glad that he’s so out of hope.   
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose   
That you resolv’d to effect.     16
  Seb.        [Aside to ANT.] The next advantage   
Will we take throughly.   
  Ant.        [Aside to SEB.] Let it be to-night;   
For, now they are oppress’d with travel, they     20
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance   
As when they are fresh.   
  Seb.  [Aside to ANT.] I say to-night: no more.   
 
Solemn and strange music; and PROSPERO above, invisible. Enter below several strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet: they dance about it with gentle actions of salutation; and, inviting the King, &c., to eat, they depart.
     24
  Alon.  What harmony is this? my good friends, hark!   
  Gon.  Marvellous sweet music!   
  Alon.  Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?   
  Seb.  A living drollery. Now I will believe     28
That there are unicorns; that in Arabia   
There is one tree, the phœnix’ throne; one phœnix   
At this hour reigning there.   
  Ant.        I’ll believe both;     32
And what does else want credit, come to me,   
And I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie,   
Though fools at home condemn them.   
  Gon.        If in Naples     36
I should report this now, would they believe me?   
If I should say I saw such islanders,—   
For, certes, these are people of the island,—   
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note,     40
Their manners are more gentle-kind than of   
Our human generation you shall find   
Many, nay, almost any.   
  Pro.  [Aside.] Honest lord,     44
Thou hast said well; for some of you there present   
Are worse than devils.   
  Alon.        I cannot too much muse,   
Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing,—     48
Although they want the use of tongue,—a kind   
Of excellent dumb discourse.   
  Pro.        [Aside.] Praise in departing.   
  Fran.  They vanish’d strangely.     52
  Seb.        No matter, since   
They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.—   
Will’t please you to taste of what is here?   
  Alon.        Not I.     56
  Gon.  Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,   
Who would believe that there were mountaineers   
Dew-lapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at them   
Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men     60
Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find   
Each putter-out of five for one will bring us   
Good warrant of.   
  Alon.        I will stand to and feed,     64
Although my last; no matter, since I feel   
The best is past.—Brother, my lord the duke,   
Stand to and do as we.   
 
Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL like a harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.
     68
  Ari.  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 caused to belch up you; and on this island     72
Where man doth not inhabit; you ’mongst men   
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;  [Seeing ALON., SEB., &c., draw their swords.   
And even with such-like valour men hang and drown   
Their proper selves. You fools! I and my fellows     76
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     80
One dowle that’s in my plume; my fellow-ministers   
Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,   
Your swords are now too massy for your strengths.   
And will not be uplifted. But, remember,—     84
For that’s my business to you,—that you three   
From Milan did supplant good Prospero;   
Expos’d unto the sea, which hath requit it,   
Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed     88
The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have   
Incens’d the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,   
Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,   
They have bereft; and do pronounce, by me,     92
Lingering perdition,—worse than any death   
Can be at once,—shall step by step attend   
You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from—   
Which here in this most desolate isle, else falls     96
Upon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow   
And a clear life ensuing.   
 
He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again, and dance with mocks and mows, and carry out the table.
   
  Pro.  [Aside.] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou    100
Perform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring:   
Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated   
In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life   
And observation strange, my meaner ministers    104
Their several kinds have done. My high charms work,   
And these mine enemies are all knit up   
In their distractions: they now are in my power;   
And in these fits I leave them, while I visit    108
Young Ferdinand,—whom they suppose is drown’d,—   
And his and mine lov’d darling.  [Exit above.   
  Gon.  I’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you   
In this strange stare?    112
  Alon.        O, it is monstrous! monstrous!   
Methought the billows spoke and told me of it;   
The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,   
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d    116
The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass.   
Therefore my son i’ th’ ooze is bedded; and   
I’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded,   
And with him there lie mudded.  [Exit.    120
  Sob.        But one fiend at a time,   
I’ll fight their legions o’er.   
  Ant.        I’ll be thy second.  [Exeunt SEB. and ANT.   
  Gon.  All three of them are desperate; their great guilt,    124
Like poison given to work a great time after,   
Now ’gins to bite the spirits.—I do beseech you   
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly   
And hinder them from what this ecstasy    128
May now provoke them to.   
  Adr.        Follow, I pray you.  [Exeunt.   

Act VI. Scene I.


Before PROSPERO’S Cell.
   
 
Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA.
   
  Pro.  If I have too austerely punish’d you,   
Your compensation makes amends; for I      4
Have given you here a thrid of mine own life,   
Or that for which I live; whom once again   
I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations   
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou      8
Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven,   
I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand!   
Do not smile at me that I boast her off,   
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise,     12
And make it halt behind her.   
  Fer.        I do believe it   
Against an oracle.   
  Pro.  Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition     16
Worthily purchas’d, take my daughter: but   
If thou dost break her virgin knot before   
All sanctimonious ceremonies may   
With full and holy rite be minister’d,     20
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall   
To make this contract grow; but barren hate,   
Sour-ey’d disdain and discord shall bestrew   
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly     24
That you shall hate it both: therefore take heed,   
As Hymen’s lamps shall light you.   
  Fer.        As I hope   
For quiet days, fair issue and long life,     28
With such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den,   
The most opportune place, the strong’st suggestion   
Our worser genius can, shall never melt   
Mine honour into lust, to take away     32
The edge of that day’s celebration   
When I shall think, or Phœbus’ steeds are founder’d,   
Or Night kept chain’d below.   
  Pro.        Fairly spoke:     36
Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own.   
What, Ariel! my industrious servant Ariel!   
 
Enter ARIEL.
   
  Ari.  What would my potent master? here I am.     40
  Pro.  Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service   
Did worthily perform; and I must use you   
In such another trick. Go bring the rabble,   
O’er whom I give thee power, here to this place:     44
Incite them to quick motion; for I must   
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple   
Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise,   
And they expect it from me.     48
  Ari.        Presently?   
  Pro.  Ay, with a twink.   
  Ari.  Before you can say, ‘Come,’ and ‘Go,’   
And breathe twice; and cry, ‘so, so,’     52
Each one, tripping on his toe,   
Will be here with mop and mow.   
Do you love me, master? no?   
  Pro.  Dearly my delicate Ariel. Do not approach     56
Till thou dost hear me call.   
  Ari.        Well, I conceive.  [Exit.   
  Pro.  Look, thou be true; do not give dalliance   
Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw     60
To the fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious,   
Or else good night your vow!   
  Fer.        I warrant you, sir;   
The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart     64
Abates the ardour of my liver.   
  Pro.        Well.—   
Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,   
Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly.     68
No tongue! all eyes! be silent.  [Soft music.   
 
A Masque. Enter IRIS.
   
  Iris.  Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas   
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas;     72
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,   
And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep;   
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,   
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,     76
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,   
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,   
Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;   
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,     80
Where thou thyself dost air: the queen o’ the sky,   
Whose watery arch and messenger am I,   
Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,   
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,     84
To come and sport; her peacocks fly amain:   
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.   
 
Enter CERES.
   
  Cer.  Hail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er     88
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;   
Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers   
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers:   
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown     92
My bosky acres, and my unshrubb’d down,   
Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen   
Summon’d me hither, to this short-grass’d green?   
  Iris.  A contract of true love to celebrate,     96
And some donation freely to estate   
On the bless’d lovers.   
  Cer.        Tell me, heavenly bow,   
If Venus or her son, as thou dost know,    100
Do now attend the queen? since they did plot   
The means that dusky Dis my daughter got,   
Her and her blind boy’s scandal’d company   
I have forsworn.    104
  Iris.        Of her society   
Be not afraid; I met her deity   
Cutting the clouds towards Paphos and her son   
Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done    108
Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,   
Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid   
Till Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain:   
Mars’s hot minion is return’d again;    112
Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,   
Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows,   
And be a boy right out.   
  Cer.        Highest queen of state,    116
Great Juno comes; I know her by her gait.   
 
Enter JUNO.
   
  Jun.  How does my bounteous sister? Go with me   
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be,    120
And honour’d in their issue.   
 
SONG.

  Jun.
           Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,
   Long continuance, and increasing,
   Hourly joys be still upon you!
   Juno sings her blessings on you.
   
  Cer.
           Earth’s increase, foison plenty,
   Barns and garners never empty:
   Vines, with clust’ring bunches growing;
   Plants with goodly burden bowing;
   Spring come to you at the farthest
   In the very end of harvest!
   Scarcity and want shall shun you;
   Ceres’ blessing so is on you.
   
  Fer.  This is a most majestic vision, and    124
Harmonious charmingly: May I be bold   
To think these spirits?   
  Pro.        Spirits, which by mine art   
I have from their confines call’d to enact    128
My present fancies.   
  Fer.        Let me live here ever:   
So rare a wonder’d father and a wise,   
Makes this place Paradise.  [JUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS en employment.    132
  Pro.        Sweet, now, silence!   
Juno and Ceres whisper seriously,   
There’s something else to do: hush, and be mute,   
Or else our spell is marr’d.    136
  Iris.  You nymphs, call’d Naiades, of the windring brooks,   
With your sedg’d crowns, and ever-harmless looks,   
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land   
Answer your summons: Juno does command.    140
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate   
A contract of true love: be not too late.   
 
Enter certain Nymphs.
   
You sun-burn’d sicklemen, of August weary,    144
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry:   
Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on,   
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one   
In country footing.    148
 
Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof PROSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish.
   
  Pro.  [Aside.] I had forgot that foul conspiracy   
Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates   
Against my life: the minute of their plot    152
Is almost come.—[To the Spirits.] Well done! avoid; no more!   
  Fer.  This is strange: your father’s in some passion   
That works him strongly.   
  Mira.        Never till this day    156
Saw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.   
  Pro.  You do look, my son, in a mov’d sort,   
As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir:   
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,    160
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,    164
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    168
As dreams are made on, and our little life   
Is rounded with a sleep.—Sir, I am vex’d:   
Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled.   
Be not disturb’d with my infirmity.    172
If you be pleas’d, retire into my cell   
And there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk,   
To still my beating mind.   
  Fer. Mira.        We wish your peace.  [Exeunt.    176
  Pro.  Come with a thought!—[To them.] I thank thee: Ariel, come!   
 
Enter ARIEL.
   
  Ari.  Thy thoughts I cleave to. What’s thy pleasure?   
  Pro.        Spirit,    180
We must prepare to meet with Caliban.   
  Ari.  Ay, my commander; when I presented Ceres,   
I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear’d   
Lest I might anger thee.    184
  Pro.  Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets?   
  Ari.  I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;   
So full of valour that they smote the air   
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground    188
For kissing of their feet; yet always bending   
Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor;   
At which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears,   
Advanc’d their eyelids, lifted up their noses    192
As they smelt music: so I charm’d their ears   
That, calf-like, they my lowing follow’d through   
Tooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns,   
Which enter’d their frail shins: at last I left them    196
I’ the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,   
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake   
O’erstunk their feet.   
  Pro.        This was well done, my bird.    200
Thy shape invisible retain thou still:   
The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither,   
For stale to catch these thieves.   
  Ari.        I go, I go.  [Exit.    204
  Pro.  A devil, a born devil, on whose nature   
Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,   
Humanely taken, are all lost, quite lost;   
And as with age his body uglier grows,    208
So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,   
Even to roaring.  [Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, &c.   
        Come, hang them on this line.   
 
PROSPERO and ARIEL remain invisible. Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet.
    212
  Cal.  Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not   
Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.   
  Ste.  Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better than played the Jack with us.   
  Trin.  Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great indignation.    216
  Ste.  So is mine.—Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure against you, look you,—   
  Trin.  Thou wert but a lost monster.   
  Cal.  Good my lord, give me thy favour still:   
Be patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee to    220
Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly;   
All’s hush’d as midnight yet.   
  Trin.  Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,—   
  Ste.  There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an infinite loss.    224
  Trin.  That’s more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy, monster.   
  Ste.  I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o’er ears for my labour.   
  Cal.  Prithee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here,   
This is the mouth o’ the cell: no noise, and enter.    228
Do that good mischief, which may make this island   
Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,   
For aye thy foot-licker.   
  Ste.  Give me thy hand: I do begin to have bloody thoughts.    232
  Trin.  O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee!   
  Cal.  Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.   
  Trin.  O, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery.—O king Stephano!   
  Ste.  Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I’ll have that gown.    236
  Trin.  Thy grace shall have it.   
  Cal.  The dropsy drown this fool! what do you mean   
To dote thus on such luggage? Let’s along,   
And do the murder first: if he awake,    240
From toe to crown he’ll fill our skins with pinches;   
Make us strange stuff.   
  Ste.  Be you quiet, monster.—Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair and prove a bald jerkin.   
  Trin.  Do, do: we steal by line and level, an’t like your grace.    244
  Ste.  I thank thee for that jest; here’s a garment for’t: wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of this country: ‘Steal by line and level,’ is an excellent pass of pate; there’s another garment for’t.   
  Trin.  Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest.   
  Cal.  I will have none on’t: we shall lose our time,   
And all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apes    248
With foreheads villanous low.   
  Ste.  Monster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this away where my hogshead of wine is, or I’ll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to; carry this.   
  Trin.  And this.   
  Ste.  Ay, and this.    252
 
A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of hounds, and hunt them about; PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on.
   
  Pro.  Hey, Mountain, hey!   
  Ari.  Silver! there it goes, Silver!   
  Pro.  Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark, hark!  [CAL., STE., and TRIN. are driven out.    256
Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints   
With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews   
With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them   
Than pard, or cat o’ mountain.    260
  Ari.        Hark! they roar.   
  Pro.  Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour   
Lie at my mercy all mine enemies:   
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou    264
Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little,   
Follow, and do me service.  [Exeunt.