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When it is bak'd with frost.

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 ?

Ari. No, Sir.
Pro. Thou hast. Where was she born ? Speak; tell me.
Ari. Sir, in Argier.

O, was she so? I must,
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,
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,
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,
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
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
(Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with
A human shape.

Yes ; Caliban, her son.
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
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
The pine, and let thee out.

I thank thee, master.
Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak,

And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till
Thou hast howld away twelve winters.

Pardon, master :
I will be correspondent to command,
And do my spriting gently.

Do so; and after two days
I will discharge thee.

That's my noble master!
What shall I do? say what; what shall I do?

Pro. Go make thyself like a nymph o' 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.
Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well ;

Mira. [Waking:] The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.

Shake it off. Come on;
We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.

'Tis a villain, Sir,
I do not love to look on.

But, as 'tis,
We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices
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:
Come, thou tortoise! when?

Re-enter Ariel, like a water-nymph.
Fine apparition ! my quaint Ariel,
Hark in thine ear.

My lord, it shall be done. [Exit.
Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

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 !

Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins

Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd
As thick as honey-comb, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made them.

I must eat my dinner.
This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
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,
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
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
The rest o' th’ island.

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
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
The honour of my child.

Oho, O ho-would it had been done!
Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else
This isle with Calibans.

Abhorred slave,
Which any print of goodness will not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
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 think most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
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,
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 !

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
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.

No, pray thee !
[Aside.] I must obey: his art is of such power,
It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
And make a vassal of him.

So, slave; hence! [Exit CALIBAN. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing; FERDINAND following him.

Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands :
Court'sied 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. Bowgh, wowgh.

The watch-dogs bark :
Burden. Bowgh, wowgh.

Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer

Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo.
Fer. Where should this music be? i' th' air, or th' earth ?
It sounds no more ;—and sure, it waits upon
Some god o'th' island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This music crept by me upon the waters,
Allaying both their fury and my passion
With its sweet air: thence I have followed 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.
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,
And say, what thou seest yond'.

What is it? a spirit ?
Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, Sir,
It carries a brave form :—but 'tis a spirit.

Pro. No, wench; it eats, and sleeps, and hath such senses
As we have ; such. This gallant, which thou seest,
Was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd
With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him
A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows,
And strays about to find them.

I might call him
A thing divine ; for nothing natural
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.

Most sure, the goddess
On whom these airs attend !— Vouchsafe, my prayer
May know if you remain upon this island;
And that you will some good instruction give,
How I may bear me here : my prime request,
Which I do last pronounce, is,- you wonder!
If you be maid, or no?

No wonder, Sir;
But certainly a maid.

My language! heavens !-
I am the best of them that speak this speech,
Were I but where 'tis spoken.

How! the best?
What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee?

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me ;
And, that he does, I weep: myself am Naples;
Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld
The king, my father, wreck’d.

Alack, for mercy!
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,
If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight
They have chang'd eyes :-delicate Ariel,
I'll set thee free for this !—[To FER.] A word, good Sir ;


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