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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 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 on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you, For learning me your language! Pro.

Hag-seed, hence! Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? 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.

[Aside.

No, pray thee!— I must obey his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, And make a vassal of him. Pro.

So, slave; hence! [Exit CALIBAN. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing; FERDINAND following. ARIEL'S Song.

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 burden bear.
Hark, hark!

Burden. Bow, wow.

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[Dispersedly.

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But, certainly a maid.

Fer.

No wonder, sir;

My language! heavens!-[Rises. I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken. Pro. How the best? 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. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of Milan, And his brave son, being twain.

Pro.

The duke of Milan,
And his more braver daughter, could control thee,
If now 'twere fit to do't.-[Aside.] At the first sight
They have chang'd eyes:-delicate Ariel,

I'll set thee free for this!-[To him.] A word, good sir;
I fear, you have done yourself some wrong: a word.
Mira. 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.

Pro.

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 him.] 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.

Mira. 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.

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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, nor this man's threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o' th' earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I in such a prison.
Pro.

It works. Come on.Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!-Follow me.— [To FERD. and MIR. [To ARIEL. Be of comfort.

Hark, what thou else shalt do me.
Mira.

My father's of a better nature, sir,
Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted,
Which now came from him.
Thou shalt be as free
As mountain winds; but then, exactly do
All points of my command.
Ari.

Pro.

To the syllable.

Pro. Come, follow.—Speak not for him. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.—Another part of the Island. Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, 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 master of some merchant, and the merchant,
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions
Can speak like us: then, wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.

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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. 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 dyed, 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 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 study of
that she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.
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 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. Ay?

Ant. Why, in good time.

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. O! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.

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Seb.

Ant.

Foul weather?

Very foul.
Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,-
Ant. He'd sow't with neddle-seed.
Seb.
Or docks, or mallows.
Gon. And were the king on't, what would I do?
Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine.
Gon. I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things, for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, 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. 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,

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,

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 remov'd,

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.

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Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise By all of us; and the fair soul herself

Weigh'd between lothness and obedience, as

Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,

To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying 'mong 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 !

And, do you mark me,

sir?

Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! Gon. 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 above invisible, playing solemn music.
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 eyes

Which end o' the beam should bow. We have lost Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find,

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Ant.

We two, my lord,

Will guard your person while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.

Alon. Thank you. Wondrous heavy.-[ALONZO sleeps.
Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
Ant. It is the quality o' the climate.

Seb. Why Doth it not, then, our eye-lids sink? I find not Myself disposed to sleep. Ant. Nor I: my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian ?—O ! what might?—No more :And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face, What thou should'st be. Th' occasion speaks thee, and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head.

Seb.

What! art thou waking?

Ant. Do you not hear me speak?
Seb.

I do; and, surely,
It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st
Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
And yet so fast asleep.

Noble Sebastian,

Ant. Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st Whiles thou art waking.

Seb.

Thou dost snore distinctly: There's meaning in thy snores.

Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you
Must be so too, if heed me; which to do,
Trebles thee o'er.

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(The man i' the moon's too slow) till new-born chins
Be rough and razorable; she, for whom
We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again;
And by that destiny to perform an act,
Whereof what's past is prologue, what's to come,
In yours and my discharge.
Seb.
What stuff is this!-How say you?
'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis;
So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions
There is some space.

Ant.
A space whose every cubit
Seems to cry out, "How shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples?"-Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake!—Say, this were death
That now hath seized them; why, they were no worse
Than now they are. There be, that can rule Naples
As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate
As amply, and unnecessarily,

As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
The mind that I do! what a sleep were this
For your advancement! Do you understand me?
Seb. Methinks, I do.
Ant.
And how does your content
Tender your own good fortune?
Seb.

I remember,

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And look how well my garments sit upon me;
Much feater than before. My brother's servants
Were then my fellows, now they are my men.
Seb. But, for your conscience-

Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kybe,
"Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not
This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences,
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they,
And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother,
No better than the earth he lies upon,

If he were that which now he's like, that's dead,
Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,
Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,
To the perpetual wink for aye might put
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course: for all the rest,
They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;
They'll tell the clock to any business that
We say befits the hour.

Seb.
Thy case, dear friend,
Shall be my precedent: as thou got'st Milan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st,
And I, the king, shall love thee.
Ant.

Draw together;
And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
To fall it on Gonzalo.
Seb.

O! but one word. [They converse apart.
Music. ARIEL descends invisible.

Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth (For else his project dies) to keep them living.

[Sings in GONZALO's ear. While you here do snoring lie, Open-ey'd conspiracy

His time doth take.

If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber, and beware:
Awake! Awake!

Ant. Then, let us both be sudden.
Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king!

[They wake.

Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are you way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no drawn? other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with Wherefore thus ghastly looking? strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till the Gon. What's the matter? drench of the storm be past. Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing, Like bulls, or rather lions: did it not wake you? It struck mine ear most terribly.

Alon.

I heard nothing. Ant. O! 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, To make an earthquake: sure, it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions.

Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, And that a strange one too, which did awake me. I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd: as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn.-There was a noise, That's verity: 'tis best we stand upon our guard, Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons. Alon. Lead off this ground, and let's make farther search

For my poor son.

Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts, For he is, sure, i' the island.

Alon.

Lead away. [Exeunt. Ari. Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have done: So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exit.

SCENE II.-Another part of the Island.
Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood.
A noise of thunder heard.

Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,
And yet I needs must curse; but they'll not pinch,
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire,
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
For every trifle are they set upon me:
Sometime like apes, that moe and chatter at me,
And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks at my foot-fall: sometime am I
All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues
Do hiss me into madness.-Lo, now! lo!
Enter TRINCULO.

Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat;
Perchance, he will not mind me.

Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i' the wind: yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls.-What have we here? [Seeing Caliban.] a man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, (as once I was) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man: any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunder-bolt. [Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best

Enter STEPHANO, singing; a bottle in his hand. Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea,

Here shall I die a-shore.

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral.
Well, here's my comfort.
[Drinks.
The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,

Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us car'd for Kate;
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang:

She lov'd not the savour of tar, nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where-e'er she did itch;
Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang.

This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort. [Drinks.
Cal. Do not torment me: O!

Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of Inde? Ha! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, as proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground, and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils.

Cal. The spirit torments me: O!

Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that: if I can recover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather.

Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee: I'll bring my wood home faster.

Ste. He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him: he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly.

Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.

Ste. Come on your ways: open your mouth; here is that which will give language to you, cat. Open your mouth this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend; open your chaps again. [CALIBAN drinks. Trin. I should know that voice. It should be-but he is drowned, and these are devils. O, defend me !—

Ste. Four legs, and two voices! a most delicate monster. His forward voice, now, is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. Come,-Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth.

Trin. Stephano!

Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon.

Trin. Stephano!-if thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me, for I am Trinculo:-be not afeard,thy good friend Trinculo.

Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I'll pull thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed! How cam'st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? he vent Trinculos?

Can

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