The Plays of Shakspeare

(Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honour'd with A human shape.

Ari. Yes; Caliban, her son.

Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 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.

Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak,

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.

Pro. 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?
Pro. Go make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea;
Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible
To every eye-ball else. Go, take this shape,
And hither come in't: hence, with diligence.-
[Exit Ariel
Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well:

Awake!

cramps,

The watch-dogs bark:

Hark, Hark! I hear

[Dispersedly.

The strain of strutting chanticlere
Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo.

Fer. Where should this musick be? i' the air, or the earth?

It sounds no more :-and sure, it waits upon
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This musick 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.

• 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:
Hark! now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell.
[Burden, ding-dong.

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 me.

Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,
And say, what thou seest yond'.
Mira. 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 seest, Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd

With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call him

A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows,

And strays about to find them.

Mira. I might call him

A thing divine; for nothing natural

I ever saw so noble.

As my soul prompts it:-Spirit, fine spirit! I'll I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:

free thee

Within two days for this.

Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and

husks

Fer. Most sure, the goddess

On whom these airs attend!-Vouchsafe, my Wherein the acorn cradled: Follow.

What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee?
Fer. A single 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 wreck'd.

Mira. Alack, for mercy!

Fer. No;

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

Mira. Beseech you, father!

Pro. Hence! hang not on my garments.
Mira. Sir, have pity;

I'll be his surety.

Pro. Silence: one word more

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke An advocate for an impostor? hush!

Thou think'st, there are no more such shapes as he,

Having seen but him and Caliban: Foolish
wench!

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

Mira. My affections

Are then most humble; I have no ambition

To see a goodlier man.

Pro. Come on; obey:

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,

And have no vigour in them.

[To Ferd.

This

Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first

Fer. So they are:

That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father,
To be inclin'd my way!

Fer. O, if a virgin,

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, or this man's threats

And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,

Mira. Be of comfort;

My father's of a better nature, sir,

Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted,
Which now came from him.

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such As mountain winds: but then exactly do

Pro. Thou shalt be as free

Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.-Come.

Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

Seb. He will be talking.

Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen.
Gon. Here is every thing 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, drenched 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 Africk, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter, Claribel, to the king of Tunis.

Seb. "Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

Adr. Tunis was never graced 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

Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good study of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

wager, first begins to crow?

Seb. The old cock.

Ant. The cockrel.

Seb. Done: The wager?

Ant. A laughter.

Seb. A match.

Seb. Ha, ha, ha!

Ant. So, you've paid.

Seb. Yet

Adr. Yet

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,

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 easy next?

Seb. I think he will carry this island home in

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,-- his pocket, and give it his son for an apple.

Ant. He could not miss it.

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 delivered.

Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

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

Ant. O, widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.

Execute all things: for no kind of traffick

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the Would I admit; no name of magistrate;

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
The surge most swoln that met him: his bold
head

'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt,
He came alive to land.

Alon. 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;
Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye,
Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and impórtun'd otherwise

By all of us; and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at
Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have

lost your son,

I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
More widows in them of this business' making,
Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's
Your own.

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.

Gon. My lord Sebastian,

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,

When you should bring the plaster.

Seb. Very well.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,

When you are cloudy.

Seb. Foul weather?

Ant. Very foul.

Letters should not be known; no use of service,
Of riches or of poverty; no contracts,
Successions; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation; all men idle, all;
And women too; but innocent and pure:
No sovereignty :-

Seb. And yet he would be king on't. Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.

Gon. All things in common nature should produce

Without sweat or endeavour; treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
Of its own kind, all foizon, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying among his subjects?

Ant. None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves. Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir,

To excel the golden age.

Seb. 'Save his majesty!

Ant. Long live Gonzalo!

Gon. And, do you mark me, sir?

Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing.

Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you: so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still.

Ant. What a blow was there given? Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.

Enter ARIEL invisible, playing solemn musick. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry.

Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us.

[All sleep but ALON. SEB. and ANT.

Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine

Seb. Please you, sir,

It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,

It is a comforter.

Ant. We two, my lord,

Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, - Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed.

Seb. Or docks, or mallows.

Gon. And were the king of it, What would I

do?

Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine.

Gon. I' the commonwealth I would by con

traries

Will guard your person, while you take your rest,

And watch your safety.

Alon. Thank you: Wond'rous heavy.

Alonso sleeps.-Exit Ariel.

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Livros

The Plays of Shakspeare, Volume 1