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By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore; and by my pre-

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 ques-

tions. Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 't is a good dul

ness, And give it way. I know thou canst not choose.

(Miranda sleeps.] Come away, servant, come; I am ready now. Approach, my Ariel; come.

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 On the curl'd clouds. To thy strong bidding

task Ariel and all his quality. Pros.

Hast thou, spirit, Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade

thee? 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, And burn in many places. On the topmast, The yards and bowsprit, would I flame dis

tinctly, Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the

precursors O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momen

tar 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. Pros.

My brave spirit ! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason ? Ari.

Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners 210 Plung'd in the foaming brine and quit the ves

sel, Then all afire with me. The King's son, Ferdi

nand, 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." Pros.

Why, that's my spirit ! But was not this nigh shore ?' Ari.

Close by, my master. Pros. But are they, Ariel, safe? Ari,

Not a hair perish'd ; On their sustaining garments not a blemish, But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st



In troops I have dispers’d them 'bout the

The King's son have I landed by himself,
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,
His arms in this sad knot.'

Of the King's ship
The mariners say how thou hast dispos'd,
And all the rest of the fleet.

Safely in harbour Is the King's ship; in the deep nook, where 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 suff'red la

bour, 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 float Bound sadly home for Naples, Supposing that they saw the King's ship

wreck'd And his great person perish. Pros.

Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work. What is the time o' the day? Ari.

Past the mid season. Pros. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt

six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously. Ari. 'Is there more toil ? Since thou dost

give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast pro

mis d, Which is not yet perform'd me. Pros.

How now? moody? What is 't thou canst demand ? Ari.

My liberty. 45 Pros. Before the time be out? No more! Ari.

I prithee, Remember I have done thee worthy service, Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings,

serv'd Without or grudge or grumblings. Thou did

promise To bate me a full year. Pros.

Dost thou forget From what a torment I did free thee? Ari.

No. Pros. Thou dost, and think'st it much to

tread the ooze Of the salt deep, To run upon the sharp wind of the north, To do me business in the veins o' the earth 22 When it is bak'd with frost. Ari.

I do not, sir. Pros. 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. Pros. Thou hast. Where was she born ?

Speak; tell me.



Awake, dear heart, awake! Thou hast slept

well ;









Ari. Sir, in Argier.

0, 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. Pros. 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, was then her ser

vant; 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 freeki'd whelp, hag-born, - not honour'd

with A human shape. Ari.

Yes, Caliban her son. Pros. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Cali

ban Whom now I keep in service. Thou best

know'gt 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. Ari.

I thank thee, master. Pros. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend And peg thee in his knotty entrails till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Ari.

Pardon, master; I will be correspondent to command And do my spiriting gently. Pros.

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 ? Pros. 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.


Mir. 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.

'T is a villain, sir,
I do not love to look on.

But, as 't is,
We cannot miss him. He does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices
That profit us. What, hol slave! Caliban!
Thou earth, thou I speak.

Cal. (Within.) There's wood enough within.
Pros. Come forth, I say! there 's other busi-

ness for thee.
Come, thou tortoise ! when ?

Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph. Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. Ari. My lord, it shall be done.

[Exit. Pros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil

Upon thy wicked dam, come forth !

Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother

With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
Drop on you both! A south-west blow on ye
And blister you all o'er!
Pros. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt

have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; ur

chins Shall, for that vast of night that they may

work, All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more sting

ing Than bees that made 'em. Cal.

I must eat my dinner. This island 's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 331 Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st

first, Thou strok'dst me and made much of me,

wouldst give me Water with berries in 't, and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, 585 That burn by day and night; and then I lov'd

thee And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and

fertile. Curs'd 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' the island. Pros.

Thou most lying slave,




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vile race,



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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.

Cal. O ho, O ho! would 't had been done ! Thou didst prevent me; I had peopl’d else 360 This isle with Calibans. (Pros.]

Abhorred slave, Which any print of goodness wilt 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, sav

age, Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble

like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known. But thy 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 Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid

you For learning me your language ! Pros.

Hag-seed, hence ! Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou 'rt best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, mal

ice ? 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. Cal.

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. Pros.

So, slave; hence! 375

[Erit Caliban. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing ;

FERDINAND following).

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.
Burden (dispersedly). Hark, hark !

The watch-dogs bark !

Ari. Hark, hark! I hear

The strain of strutting chanticleer

Cry, “Cock-a-diddle-dow." Fer. Where should this music be? I' the air

or the earth?

It sounds no more; and, sure, it waits upon
Some god o' the 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 follow'd it,
Or it hath drawn me rather. But 't is gone.
No, it begins again.

ARIEL's Song.
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, (Ari.] 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 Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye ad

vance And say what thou seest yond. Mir.

What is 't? A spirit ? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, de It carries a brave form. But 't is a spirit. Pros. 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 'em.

I might call him
A thing divine ; for nothing natural
I ever saw so poble.

Pros. (Aside.] It goes on, I see, As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll

free thee Within two days for this. Fer.

Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend ! Vouchsafe my

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 't is spoken.

How? the best?
What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard

thee? Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that won



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To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear And that he does I weep. Myself am Naples, Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, be

held The King my father wreck’d. Mir.

Alack, for mercy! Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke

of Milan And his brave son being twain. Pros.

(Aside.] The Duke of Milan And his more braver daughter could control

thee, If now 't were fit to do't. At the first sight 440 They have chang'd eyes. Delicate Ariel, Il set thee free for this. [To Fer.] A'word,

good sir ; I fear you have done yourself some wrong ; a

word. Mir. 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! Fer.

O, if a virgin, And your affection not gone forth, I'll make

you The Queen of Naples. Pros.

Soft, sir! one word more. (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 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.
Mir. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a

If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with 't.

Follow me. Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.

I'll manacle thy neck and feet together.
Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
The fresh-brook mussels, wither'd roots and

Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

I will resist such entertainment till
Mine enemy has more power,

(He draws, and is charmed from


O dear father,
Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He's gentle and not fearful.

What! I say;
My foot my tutor ? Put thy sword up, traitor,
Who mak'st a show but dar'st not strike, thy

Is so possess'd with guilt. Come from thy ward,
For I can here disarm thee with this stick
And make thy weapon drop.

Beseech you, father.

Pros. Hence ! hang not on my garments.

Sir, have pity;
I'll be his surety.

Silence ! one word more 475 Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee.

What! An advocate for an impostor! hush ! Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as

he, Having seen but him and Caliban. Foolish

To the most of men this is a Caliban,
And they to him are angels.

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

Come on; obey.
Thy perves are in their infancy again
And have no vigour in them.

So they are, 186
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up:
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's

threats, To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to

me, Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid. All corners else o' the earth Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison.

Pros. (Aside.] It works. (To Fer.) Come on. – Thou hast done well, fine Ariel !' (To Fer.]

Follow me. [To Ari.] Hark what thou else shalt do me. Mir.

Be of comfort ; My father 's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech. This is unwonted Which now came from him.

Pros. [To Ari.] Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds; but then exactly do All points of my command. Ari,

To the syllable. 600 Pros. [To Mir. and Fer.) Come, follow. Speak not for him.







No ;


SCENE I. (Another part of the island.] Enter Alonso, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GON

ZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others. Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have

cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Is common; every day some sailor's wife, The masters of some merchant, and the mer

chant Have just our theme of woe ; but for the mir

acle, I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us. Then wisely, good sir,

weigh Our sorrow with our comfort. Alon.

Prithee, peace. Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge, 10









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, -
Seb. One. Tell.
Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that's

Comes to the entertainer -

Seb. A dollar.

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed ; you have spoken truer than you purpos'd.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant
you shonld.
Gon. Therefore, my lord,
Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his

tongue !
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?

Seb.' The old cock.
Ant. The cockerel.
Seb. Done. The wager?
Ant. A laughter.
Seb. A match!
Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,-
Seb. Ha, ha, ha! Antonio! So you ’re paid.
Adr. Uninhabitable and almost inaccessi-

Seb. Yet,
Adr. Yet, -
Ant. He could not miss 't.

Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.

Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly deliver'd. Adr. The air breathes upon us here most

sweetly. Seb. As if it had lungs and rotten ones. Ant. Or as 't were perfum'd by a fen. Gon. Here is everything advantageous to life.

Ant. True; save means to live. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. 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.

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, drench'd in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dy'd than stain'd with salt water.

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies ?

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.

Gon. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the King's fair daughter Claribel to the Ki of Tuni

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we pros per well in our return.

Adr. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon to their queen.

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow ! a pox o' that! How came that widow in ? Widow Dido!

Seb. What if he had said widower Æneas" too? Good Lord, how you take it !

Adr. “Widow Dido” said you? You make me study of that. She was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.
Adr. Carthage ?
Gon. I assure you, Carthage.

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

next? Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket and give it his son for an apple. »

Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.

Gon. Ay.
Ant. Why, in good time.

Gon. Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queen. Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. Ant. 0, 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.

Ant. That sort was well fish'd for.
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's

marriage ? Alon. You cram these words into mine ears

against The stomach of my sense. Would I had never Married my daughter there! for, coming

thence, My son is lost and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy removed I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee? Fran.

Sir, he may live. I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs. He trod the

water, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 119 The surge most swoln that met him. His bold

head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis

As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt
He came alive to land.

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;





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