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MIRA. [awaking.] The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.
I do not love to look on.
[Exit ARIEL. Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake!
Shake it off. Come on:
We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.
We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices
That profit us. What hoa! slave! Caliban!
Thou earth, thou! speak.
There's wood enough within.
PRO. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee:
Come forth, thou tortoise! when?
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; urchins1
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 'em.
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place and fertile ;
Curs'd be I that I did so!-All the charms
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'd me, and made much of me; would'st
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 shew'd thee all the qualities 2 o' the Isle,
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 of the Island.
Thou most lying slave,
Whom stripes may move, not kindness: I have us'd thee
(Filth as thou art), with humane 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!-I would't had been done!
Thou didst prevent me: I had peopled else
This Isle with Calibans.
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 would'st gabble like
A thing 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
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
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. Shrugg'st thou, Malice?
If thou neglect❜st, or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old1 cramps;
Fill all thy bones with achës: 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.
Enter FERDINAND, with ARIEL invisible, playing and singing.
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 burthen bear.
BURTHEN. Bowgh, wowgh.
ARIEL. The watch-dogs bark:
BURTHEN. Bowgh, wowgh.
ARIEL. Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticlere
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 wrack,
This music crept by me upon the waters;
Allaying both their fury and my passion1
With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis
No, it begins again.
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:
ARIEL. 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 owes2:-I hear it now above me.
ACT I PRO. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,
Sc. II And say, what thou see'st yond.
What is 't? 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 see'st,
Was in the wrack; and, but he's something stain'd
With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call
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, O 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 single1 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 wrack'd.
It goes on, I see,
Spirit, fine Spirit! I'll free thee
Alack, for mercy! FER. Yes, faith, and all his Lords; the Duke of Milan And his brave son being twain.
1 feeble and lonely.