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MIRA. [awaking.] The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.


I do not love to look on.


Pardon, master:

[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.


"Tis a villain, Sir,

But, as 'tis,

' exquisitely.




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.

CAL. [within.]
There's wood enough within.
PRO. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee:
Come forth, thou tortoise! when?

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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
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 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

1 goblins.

* capacities.

Sc. II


Sc. II

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.


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 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.


1 (slang) rare.

So, slave; hence!




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.
Hark, hark!

BURTHEN. Bowgh, wowgh.
ARIEL. The watch-dogs bark:
BURTHEN. Bowgh, wowgh.
ARIEL. Hark, hark! I hear

I: E

The strain of strutting chanticlere
Cry, Cock-a-doddle-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 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.

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:
BURTHEN. Ding-dong.

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.

1 suffering.









Sc. II

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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

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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.



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