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By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
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
Of the King's ship
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
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 !
Mir. The strangeness of your story put
Shake it off. Come on,
'T is a villain, sir,
But, as 't is,
Cal. (Within.) There's wood enough within.
ness for thee.
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
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,
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 ;
And then take hands.
The wild waves whist,
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
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
Of his bones are coral made ;
Nothing of him that doth fade
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
I might call him
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
No wonder, sir,
My language! heavens !
How? the best?
thee? Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that won
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.
Follow me. Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.
(He draws, and is charmed from
O dear father,
What! I say;
Beseech you, father.
Pros. Hence ! hang not on my garments.
Sir, have pity;
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
Come on; obey.
So they are, 186
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.
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. 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
Ant. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?
Seb.' The old cock.
Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance.
Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.
Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly 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.
Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp:
Seb. He hath rais'd the wall and houses too.
next? Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket and give it his son for an apple. »
Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.
Gon. Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queen. Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 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.
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
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;