Pros.

Shake it off. Come on;

We’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never

Yields us kind answer.

Mir.

’Tis a villain, sir,

I do not love to look on.

Pros.

310 But, as ’tis,

We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,

Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices

That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban!

Thou earth, thou! speak.

Cal. [within] There’s wood enough within.

315 Pros. Come forth, I say! there’s other business for thee:

Come, thou tortoise! when?

Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,

Hark in thine ear.

Pros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself

320 Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

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!

I. 2. 325 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.

Cal.

330 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

335 To name the bigger light, and how the less,

That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee,

And show’d thee all the qualities o’ th’ isle,

The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile:

Curs’d be I that did so! All the charms

340 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 o’ th’ island.

Pros.

Thou most lying slave,

345 Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee,

Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodged thee

In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate

The honour of my child.

Cal. O ho, O ho! would ’t had been done!

I. 2. 350 Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else

This isle with Calibans.

Pros.

Abhorred slave,

Which any print of goodness wilt not take,

Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,

Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour

355 One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,

Know thine own meaning, but wouldst 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

360 Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou

Deservedly confined into this rock,

Who hadst deserved 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!

Pros.

365 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,

370 Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,

That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

Cal.

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.

I. 2. 375 Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands:

Courtsied when you have and kiss’d

The wild waves whist:

Foot it featly here and there;

380 And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.

Burthen [dispersedly]. Hark, hark!

Bow-wow.

The watch-dogs bark:

Bow-wow.

Ari. Hark, hark! I hear

385 The strain of strutting chanticleer

Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.

Fer. Where should this music be? i’ th’ air or th’ earth?

It sounds no more: and, sure, it waits upon

Some god o’ th’ island. Sitting on a bank,

390 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.

395 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,

I. 2. 400 But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

Burthen: Ding-dong.

405 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.

Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,

And say what thou seest yond.

Mir.

What is’t? a spirit?

410 Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,

It carries a brave form. But ’tis 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

415 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.

Mir.

I might call him

A thing divine; for nothing natural

I ever saw so noble.

Pros. [Aside]

It goes on, I see,

420 As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I’ll free thee

Within two days for this.

Fer.

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

I. 2. 425 How I may bear me here: my prime request,

Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!

If you be maid or no?

Mir.

No wonder, sir;

But certainly a maid.

Fer.

My language! heavens!

I am the best of them that speak this speech,

Were I but where ’tis spoken.

Pros.

430 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,

435 Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld

The king my father wreck’d.

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,

440 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? This

445 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!

Fer.

O, if a virgin,

And your affection not gone forth, I’ll make you

The queen of Naples.

Pros.

Soft, sir! one word more.

I. 2. 450 [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

455 Upon this island as a spy, to win it

From me, the lord on’t.

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.

Pros.

Follow me.

460 Speak not you for him; he’s a traitor. Come;

I’ll manacle thy neck and feet together:

Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be

The fresh-brook muscles, wither’d roots, and husks

Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

Fer.

No;

465 I will resist such entertainment till

Mine enemy has more power. Draws, and is charmed from moving.

Mir.

O dear father,

Make not too rash a trial of him, for

He’s gentle, and not fearful.

Pros.

What! I say,

My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;

470 Who makest a show, but darest not strike, thy conscience

Is so possess’d with guilt: come from thy ward;

For I can here disarm thee with this stick

And make thy weapon drop.

Mir.

Sir, have pity;

I’ll be his surety.

Pros.

I. 2. 475 Silence! one word more

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

An advocate for an impostor! hush!

Thou think’st there is no more such shapes as he,

Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!

480 To the most of men this is a Caliban,

And they to him are angels.

Mir.

My affections

Are, then, most humble; I have no ambition

To see a goodlier man.

Pros.

Come on; obey:

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,

And have no vigour in them.

Fer.

485 So they are:

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,

490 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.

Pros. [Aside]

It works. [To Fer.] Come on.

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To Fer.] Follow me.

[To Ari.] Hark what thou else shalt do me.

Mir.

495 Be of comfort;

My father’s of a better nature, sir,

Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted

Which now came from him.

Pros.

Thou shalt be as free

As mountain winds: but then exactly do

All points of my command.

Ari.

I. 2. 500 To the syllable.

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,

5 The masters 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.

Gon. When every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d,

Comes to the entertainer—

II. 1. 100 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

105 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.

110 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,

115 As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt

He came alive to land.

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;

120 Where she, at least, is banish’d from your eye,

Who hath cause to wet the grief on’t.

Seb. You were kneel’d to, and importuned otherwise,

By all of us; and the fair soul herself

Weigh’d between loathness and obedience, at

II. 1. 125 Which end o’ the beam should 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.

130 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.

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

When you are cloudy.

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,

145 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;

II. 1. 150 No sovereignty;—

Gon. All things in common nature should produce

Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,

155 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,

Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,

Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,

To feed my innocent people.

Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir,

To excel the golden age.

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

Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find

They are inclined to do so.

Seb.

Please you, sir,

185 Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,

It is a comforter.

Ant.

We two, my lord,

Will guard your person while you take your rest,

And watch your safety.

Alon.

Thank you.—Wondrous heavy.

Seb.

Why

Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not

Myself disposed to sleep.

Ant.

Nor I; my spirits are nimble.

They fell together all, as by consent;

195 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 shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee; and

My strong imagination sees a crown

Dropping upon thy head.

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

205 With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,

And yet so fast asleep.

Ant.

Noble Sebastian,

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.

210 Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you

Must be so too, if heed me; which to do

Trebles thee o’er.

Seb.

Do so: to ebb

Hereditary sloth instructs me.

Ant.

O,

215 If you but knew how you the purpose cherish

Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,

You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed,

Most often do so near the bottom run

By their own fear or sloth.