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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
I do not love to look on.
"Tis a villain, sir,
But as tis,
We cannot miss him he does make our fire,
Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph.
Cal. [Within] There's wood enough within. Pros. Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee; Come, thou tortoise! when?
My lord, it shall be done.
Pros. 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
Pros. 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 honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em.
I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first, Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me
Water with berries in 't, and teach me how
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
Thou most lying slave,
Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee,
Cal. O ho, O ho! would't had been done !
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!
Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou 'rt best,
Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
Who hadst deserved more than a prison.
So, slave; hence! [Exit Caliban.
Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing; FERDINAND
Come unto these yellow sands,
Courtsied when you have and kiss'd
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
The watch-dogs bark:
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Full fathom five thy father lies;
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 'tis gone. No it begins again.
Ari. Hark! now I hear them,-Ding-dong, bell.
Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father.
Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance And say what thou seest yond.
Lord, how it looks about? Believe me, sir,
What is't? 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.
[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
No wonder, sir;
But certainly a maid.
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 'twere fit to do 't. At the first sight They have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel, I'll 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? Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father To be inclined my way!
O, if a virgin,
And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
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 owest not; and hast put thyself
From me, the lord on 't.
No, as I am a man.
Mir. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple : If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with 't.
I will resist such entertainment till
[Draws, and is charmed from moving. O dear father,
What? I say
My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience
And make thy weapon drop.
I'll be his surety.
Silence one word more
And they to him are angels.
My affections Are then most humble; I have no ambition To see a goodlier man.
Sir, have pity;