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Title: Shakespeare's Comedy of The Tempest
Author: Shakespeare, William
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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Transcriber's note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).



[Illustration: PROSPERO: '_Here in this island we arrived_' (page 20).]


With illustrations by Edmund Dulac


Hodder & Stoughton
New York and London

The Text is printed by permission from the Oxford Edition



  Here in this island we arrived (page 20),      _Frontispiece_

  PROSPERO.                                                     _Page_
  I have done nothing but in care of thee (page 11),                8

                  What seest thou else
  In the dark backward and abysm of time? (page 13),                16

            And by my prescience
  I find my zenith doth depend upon
  A most auspicious star (page 21),                                 26

        Wouldst give me
  Water with berries in't (page 31),                                36

            Here lies your brother,
  No better than the earth he lies upon (page 61),                  52

  Come, swear to that: kiss the book (page 72),                     64

  You are three men of sin (page 99),                               80

          I met her deity
  Cutting the clouds towards Paphos (page 110),                     94

  You Nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the windring brooks,
  Leave your crisp channels (page 112),                             108

      We are such stuff
  As dreams are made on (page 114),                                 112

                    All prisoners, sir,
  In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell (page  123),      120

                  You demi-puppets that
  By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make (page  125),         124

  Graves at my command
  Have waked their sleepers (page 126),                             130

  And were brought moping hither (page 137),                        136

  Calm seas, auspicious gales,
  And sail so expeditious (page 142),                               140


  ALONSO, King of Naples.
  SEBASTIAN, his brother.
  PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan.
  ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan.
  FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples.
  GONZALO, an honest old Counsellor.
  ADRIAN,    }
  FRANCISCO, } Lords.
  CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave.
  TRINCULO, a Jester.
  STEPHANO, a drunken Butler.
  Master of a Ship.

  MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero.
  ARIEL, an airy Spirit.
  IRIS,    }
  CERES,   }
  JUNO,    }
  Nymphs,  }
  Reapers, } presented by Spirits.

  Other Spirits attending on Prospero.

  SCENE--_A ship at Sea: an island._

[Illustration: ACT I]


_On a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard._

_Enter a_ Ship-Master _and a_ Boatswain.

MAST. Boatswain!

BOATS. Here, master: what cheer?

MAST. Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run
ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Mariners.

BOATS. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take
in the topsail. Tend to the master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy
wind, if room enough!


ALON. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men.

BOATS. I pray now, keep below.

ANT. Where is the master, boatswain?

BOATS. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you
do assist the storm.

GON. Nay, good, be patient.

BOATS. When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of
king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

GON. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

BOATS. None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if
you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the
present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you
cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in
your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good
hearts! Out of our way, I say.


GON. I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning
mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good
Fate, to his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our
own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is


_Re-enter_ Boatswain.

BOATS. Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try with
main-course. [_A cry within._] A plague upon this howling! they are
louder than the weather or our office.


Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er and drown? Have you a
mind to sink?

SEB. A plague o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, uncharitable

BOATS. Work you then.

ANT. Hang, cur! hang, you insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid to be
drowned than thou art.

GON. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger
than a nutshell.

BOATS. Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses; off to sea again;
lay her off.

[Illustration: PROSPERO: '_I have done nothing but in care of thee_'
(page 11).]

_Enter_ Mariners _wet_.

MAR. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

BOATS. What, must our mouths be cold?

    GON. The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them,
    For our case is as theirs.

    SEB.                   I'm out of patience.

    ANT. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:
    This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning
    The washing of ten tides!

    GON.                   He'll be hang'd yet,
    Though every drop of water swear against it
    And gape at widest to glut him.

[_A confused noise within_:--'Mercy on us!'--'We split, we
split!'--'Farewell my wife and children!'--'Farewell, brother!'--'We
split, we split, we split!']

ANT. Let's all sink with the king.

SEB. Let's take leave of him.

                                     [_Exeunt_ ANTONIO _and_ SEBASTIAN.

GON. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren
ground, ling, heath, broom, furze, any thing. The wills above be done!
but I would fain die a dry death.



_The island. Before_ PROSPERO'S _cell_.


    MIR. If by your art, my dearest father, you have
    Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
    The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
    But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
    Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
    With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,
    Who had no doubt some noble creature in her,
    Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
    Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.
    Had I been any god of power, I would
    Have sunk the sea within the earth, or ere
    It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and
    The fraughting souls within her.

    PROS.                  Be collected:
    No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
    There's no harm done.

    MIR.                   O, woe the day!

    PROS.                         No harm.
    I have done nothing but in care of thee,
    Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
    Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
    Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
    Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
    And thy no greater father.

    MIR.                   More to know
    Did never meddle with my thoughts.

    PROS.                       'Tis time
    I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
    And pluck my magic garment from me. So:
                                               [_Lays down his mantle._
    Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
    The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
    The very virtue of compassion in thee,
    I have with such provision in mine art
    So safely ordered that there is no soul--
    No, not so much perdition as an hair
    Betid to any creature in the vessel
    Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
    For thou must now know farther.

    MIR.                   You have often
    Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
    And left me to a bootless inquisition,
    Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

    PROS.                  The hour's now come;
    The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
    Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
    A time before we came unto this cell?
    I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
    Out three years old.

    MIR.                   Certainly, sir, I can.

    PROS. By what? by any other house or person?
    Of any thing the image tell me that
    Hath kept with thy remembrance.

    MIR.                   'Tis far off,
    And rather like a dream than an assurance
    That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
    Four or five women once that tended me?

    PROS. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
    That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
    In the dark backward and abysm of time?
    If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
    How thou camest here thou mayst.

    MIR.                   But that I do not.

    PROS. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
    Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
    A prince of power.

    MIR.                   Sir, are not you my father?

    PROS. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
    She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
    Was Duke of Milan; and his only heir
    A princess, no worse issued.

    MIR.                   O the heavens!
    What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
    Or blessed was't we did?

    PROS.                  Both, both, my girl:
    By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,
    But blessedly holp hither.

    MIR.                   O, my heart bleeds
    To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,
    Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

    PROS. My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio--
    I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should
    Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself
    Of all the world I loved and to him put
    The manage of my state; as at that time
    Through all the signories it was the first,
    And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
    In dignity, and for the liberal arts
    Without a parallel; those being all my study,
    The government I cast upon my brother
    And to my state grew stranger, being transported
    And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle--
    Dost thou attend me?

    MIR.                   Sir, most heedfully.

    PROS. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
    How to deny them, who to advance and who
    To trash for over-topping, new created
    The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed'em,
    Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
    Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state
    To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was
    The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,
    And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.

    MIR. O, good sir, I do.

    PROS.                  I pray thee, mark me.
    I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
    To closeness and the bettering of my mind
    With that which, but by being so retired,
    O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
    Awaked an evil nature; and my trust,
    Like a good parent, did beget of him
    A falsehood in its contrary as great
    As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
    A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
    Not only with what my revenue yielded,
    But what my power might else exact, like one
    Who having unto truth, by telling of it,
    Made such a sinner of his memory
    To credit his own lie, he did believe
    He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution,
    And executing the outward face of royalty,
    With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing--
    Dost thou hear?

    MIR.                   Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

    PROS. To have no screen between this part he play'd
    And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
    Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
    Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties
    He thinks me now incapable; confederates--
    So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples
    To give him annual tribute, do him homage,
    Subject his coronet to his crown and bend
    The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!--
    To most ignoble stooping.


    PROSPERO:   '_What seest thou else
      In the dark backward abysm of time?_' (page 13).]

MIR. O the heavens!

    PROS. Mark his condition and the event; then tell me
    If this might be a brother.

    MIR.                   I should sin
    To think but nobly of my grandmother:
    Good wombs have borne bad sons.

    PROS.                  Now the condition.
    This King of Naples, being an enemy
    To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
    Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises
    Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
    Should presently extirpate me and mine
    Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan
    With all the honours on my brother: whereon,
    A treacherous army levied, one midnight
    Fated to the purpose did Antonio open
    The gates of Milan; and, i' the dead of darkness,
    The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
    Me and thy crying self.

    MIR.                   Alack, for pity!
    I, not remembering how I cried out then,
    Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint
    That wrings mine eyes to't.

    PROS.                  Hear a little further
    And then I'll bring thee to the present business
    Which now's upon's; without the which this story
    Were most impertinent.

    MIR.                   Wherefore did they not
    That hour destroy us?

    PROS.                  Well demanded, wench:
    My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
    So dear the love my people bore me, nor set
    A mark so bloody on the business, but
    With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
    In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
    Bore us some leagues to sea: where they prepared
    A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg'd,
    Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
    Instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us,
    To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh
    To the winds whose pity, sighing back again,
    Did us but loving wrong.

    MIR.                   Alack, what trouble
    Was I then to you!

    PROS.                  O, a cherubin
    Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile,
    Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
    When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
    Under my burthen groan'd; which rais'd in me
    An undergoing stomach, to bear up
    Against what should ensue.

    MIR.                   How came we ashore?

    PROS. By Providence divine.
    Some food we had and some fresh water that
    A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
    Out of his charity, who being then appointed
    Master of this design, did give us, with
    Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,
    Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
    Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me
    From mine own library with volumes that
    I prize above my dukedom.

    MIR.                   Would I might
    But ever see that man!

    PROS.                  Now I arise:
                                                 [_Resumes his mantle._

    Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
    Here in this island we arrived; and here
    Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
    Than other princesses can, that have more time
    For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.

    MIR. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir,
    For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
    For raising this sea-storm?

    PROS.                  Know thus far forth.
    By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
    Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
    Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
    I find my zenith doth depend upon
    A most auspicious star, whose influence
    If now I court not but omit, my fortunes
    Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions:
    Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness,
    And give it way: I know thou canst not choose.
                                                     [MIRANDA _sleeps_.
    Come away, servant, come. I am ready now.
    Approach, my Ariel, come.

_Enter_ ARIEL.

    ARI. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
    To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,
    To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
    On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task
    Ariel and all his quality.

    PROS.                  Hast thou, spirit,
    Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?

    ARI. To every article.
    I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak,
    Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
    I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide,
    And burn in many places; on the topmast,
    The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,
    Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors
    O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
    And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks
    Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
    Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,
    Yea, his dread trident shake.

    PROS.                  My brave spirit!
    Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
    Would not infect his reason?

    ARI.                   Not a soul
    But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd
    Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
    Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,
    Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand,
    With hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,--
    Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty,
    And all the devils are here.'

    PROS.                  Why, that's my spirit!
    But was not this nigh shore?

    ARI.                   Close by, my master.

    PROS. But are they, Ariel, safe?

    ARI.                   Not a hair perish'd;
    On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
    But fresher than before: and, as thou badest me,
    In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle.
    The king's son have I landed by himself;
    Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
    In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,
    His arms in this sad knot.

    PROS.                  Of the king's ship
    The mariners say how thou hast disposed
    And all the rest o' the fleet.

    ARI.                   Safely in harbour
    Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once
    Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
    From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid:
    The mariners all under hatches stow'd;
    Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
    I have left asleep: and for the rest o' the fleet
    Which I dispersed, they all have met again
    And are upon the Mediterranean flote,
    Bound sadly home for Naples,
    Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd,
    And his great person perish.

    PROS.                  Ariel, thy charge
    Exactly is perform'd: but there's more work.
    What is the time o' the day?

    ARI.                   Past the mid season.

    PROS. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now
    Must by us both be spent most preciously.

    ARI. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,
    Let me remember thee what thou hast promised,
    Which is not yet perform'd me.

    PROS.                  How now? moody?
    What is't thou canst demand?

    ARI.                   My liberty.

    PROS. Before the time be out? no more!

    ARI.                   I prithee,
    Remember I have done thee worthy service;
    Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served
    Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise
    To bate me a full year.

    PROS.                  Dost thou forget
    From what a torment I did free thee?

    ARI.                   No.

    PROS. Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze
    Of the salt deep,
    To run upon the sharp wind of the north,
    To do me business in the veins o' the earth
    When it is baked with frost.

    ARI.                   I do not, sir.

    PROS. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot
    The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
    Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?

    ARI. No, sir.

    PROS. Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me.

    ARI. Sir, in Argier.


    PROSPERO:  '_And by my prescience
      I find my zenith doth depend upon
      A most auspicious star_' (page 21).]

    PROS.                  O, was she so? I must
    Once in a month recount what thou hast been,
    Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax,
    For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
    To enter human hearing, from Argier,
    Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did
    They would not take her life. Is not this true?

    ARI. Ay, sir.

    PROS. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child
    And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,
    As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant;
    And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
    To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,
    Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
    By help of her more potent ministers
    And in her most unmitigable rage,
    Into a cloven pine; within which rift
    Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain
    A dozen years; within which space she died
    And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans
    As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island--
    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.

    PROS. 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 arrived and heard thee, that made gape
    The pine and let thee out.

    ARI.                   I thank thee, master.

    PROS. 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 spriting gently.

    PROS.                  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?

    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
    And hither come in 't: go, hence with diligence!
                                                         [_Exit_ ARIEL.
    Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;

    MIR. The strangeness of your story put
    Heaviness in me.

    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.                  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.

    PROS. Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee:
    Come, thou tortoise! when?

    _Re-enter_ ARIEL _like a water-nymph_.

    Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
    Hark in thine ear.

    ARI.                   My lord, it shall be done. [_Exit._

    PROS. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
    Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

    _Enter_ CALIBAN.

    CAL. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed
    With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
    Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye
    And blister you all o'er!

    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.                   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
    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' the isle,
    The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile:
    Cursed be I that did so! All the charms
    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' the island.

    PROS.                  Thou most lying slave,
    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!
    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
    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
    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.                  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.                   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.

    PROS.                  So, slave; hence! [_Exit_ CALIBAN.

_Re-enter_ ARIEL, _invisible, playing and singing_; FERDINAND

    ARIEL'S _song_.

    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;
    And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
                Hark, hark!
    BURTHEN [_dispersedly_]. Bow-wow.
    ARI. The watch-dogs bark:
    BURTHEN [_dispersedly_]. Bow-wow.
    ARI.  Hark, hark! I hear
    The strain of strutting chanticleer
    Cry, Cock-a-diddle-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 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.

    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.

    ARI. 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 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?
    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
    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.


    CALIBAN: '_Wouldst give me
      Water with berries in't_' (page 31).]

    PROS. [_aside._]  It goes on, I see,
    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
    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.                  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, never since at ebb, beheld
    The king my father wreck'd.

    MIR.                   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? This
    Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first
    That e'er I sighed 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.
    [_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
    Upon this island as a spy, to win it
    From me, the lord on't.

    FER.                   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.

    PROS.                  Follow me.
    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;
    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;
    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. Beseech you, father.

    PROS. Hence! hang not on my garments.

    MIR. Sir, have pity;
    I'll be his surety.

    PROS.                  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!
    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.                   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,
    Might I but through my prison once a day
    Behold this maid: all corners else o' the 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_ ARIEL.] Hark what thou else shalt do me.

    MIR.                   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.                   To the syllable.

    PROS. Come, follow. Speak not for him.  [_Exeunt._

[Illustration: ACT II]


_Another part of the island._


    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 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.

ALON. Prithee, peace.

SEB. He receives comfort like cold porridge.

ANT. The visitor will not give him o'er so.

SEB. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit: by and by it will

GON. Sir,--

SEB. One: tell.

    GON. When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd,
    Comes to the entertainer--

SEB. A dollar.

GON. Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you

SEB. You have taken it wiselier that I meant you should.

GON. Therefore, my lord,--

ANT. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

ALON. I prithee, spare.

GON. Well, I have done: but yet,--

SEB. He will be talking.

ANT. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?

SEB. The old cock.

ANT. The cockerel.

SEB. Done. The wager?

ANT. A laughter.

SEB. A match!

ADR. Though this island seem to be desert,--

SEB. Ha, ha, ha!

ANT. So, you're paid.

ADR. Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,--

SEB. Yet,--

ADR. Yet,--

ANT. He could not miss't.

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 vouched 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
stained 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 plague o' that! How came that widow in? widow Dido!

SEB. What if he had said 'widower Æneas' too? Good Lord, how you take

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 raised 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.

GON. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I
mean, in a sort.

ANT. That sort was well fished 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.                  Prithee, peace.

    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
    Which end o' the beam should bow. We have lost your son,
    I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
    Mo widows in them of this business' making
    Than we bring men to comfort them:
    The fault's your own.

    ALON.                  So is the dear'st o' 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.

GON. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,--

ANT. He'ld sow't with nettle-seed.


    ANTONIO:  '_Here lies your brother,
      No better than the earth he lies upon_' (page 61).]

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,
    Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
    Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,
    To feed my innocent people.

SEB. No marrying 'mong his subjects?

ANT. None, man; all idle.

    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. Prithee, 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 laughed 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 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 except_ ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, _and_ ANTONIO.

    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,
    Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
    It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
    It is a comforter.

    ANT.                   We too, my lord,
    Will guard your person while you take your rest,
    And watch your safety.

    ALON.                  Thank you. Wondrous heavy.

                                          [ALONSO _sleeps. Exit_ ARIEL.

SEB. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!

ANT. It is the quality o' the climate.

    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;
    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. 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.

    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.

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

    SEB.                   Well, I am standing water.

ANT. I'll teach you how to flow.

    SEB.                   Do so: to ebb
    Hereditary sloth instructs me.

    ANT.                   O,
    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.

    SEB.                   Prithee, say on:
    The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim
    A matter from thee, and a birth indeed
    Which throes thee much to yield.

    ANT.                   Thus, sir:
    Although this lord of weak remembrance, this,
    Who shall be of as little memory
    When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded--
    For he's a spirit of persuasion, only
    Professes to persuade--the king his son's alive,
    'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd
    As he that sleeps here swims.

    SEB.                   I have no hope
    That he's undrown'd.

    ANT.                   O, out of that 'no hope'
    What great hope have you! no hope that way is
    Another way so high a hope that even
    Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
    But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me
    That Ferdinand is drown'd?

    SEB.                   He's gone.

    ANT.                   Then, tell me,
    Who's the next heir of Naples?

    SEB.                   Claribel.

    ANT. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells
    Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples
    Can have no note, unless the sun were post--
    The man i' the moon's too slow--till new-born chins
    Be rough and razorable; she that from 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 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
    You did supplant your brother Prospero.

    ANT.                   True:
    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 'twere a kibe,
    '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 payest;
    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 talk apart._

    _Re-enter_ ARIEL, _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-eyed 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 drawn?
    Wherefore this ghastly looking?

    GON.                   What's the matter?

    SEB. Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
    Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
    Like bulls, or rather lions: did't 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 shaked you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes open'd,
    I saw their weapons drawn: there was a noise,
    That's verily. '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 further search
    For my poor son.

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

    ALON.                  Lead away.

    ARI. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done:
    So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [_Exeunt._

[Illustration: STEPHANO: '_Come, swear to that: kiss the book_' (page


_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 nor pinch,
    Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' the mire,
    Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
    Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
    For every trifle are they set upon me;
    Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me
    And after bite me; then like hedgehogs, which
    Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount
    Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I
    All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues
    Do hiss me into madness.


                                    Lo, now, lo!
    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? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a
fish; a very ancient and fish-like 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. Legged like a man!
and his fins like arms! Warm o' my trot! I do now let loose my opinion;
hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately
suffered by a thunderbolt. [_Thunder._] Alas, the storm is come again!
my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter
hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here
shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.

_Enter_ STEPHANO, _singing: a bottle in his hand_.

    STEPH. I shall no more to sea, to sea,
             Here shall I die ashore--

    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
    Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery,
        But none of us cared for Kate;
        For she had a tongue with a tang,
        Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
    She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch:
        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: Oh!

STEPH. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon's
with savages and men of Ind, ha? I have not 'scaped 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: Oh!

STEPH. 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, prithee; I'll bring my wood home faster.

STEPH. 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

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

STEPH. 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.

TRIN. I should know that voice: it should be--but he is drowned; and
these are devils: O defend me!

STEPH. 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!

STEPH. 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.

STEPH. 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 camest thou here?

TRIN. I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. But art thou
not drowned, Stephano? I hope now thou art not drowned. Is the storm
overblown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of
the storm. And art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans

STEPH. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant.

    CAL. [_aside._] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.
    That's a brave god and bears celestial liquor.
    I will kneel to him.

STEPH. How didst thou 'scape? How camest thou hither? swear by this
bottle how thou camest hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack which the
sailors heaved o'erboard, by this bottle which I made of the bark of a
tree with mine own hands since I was cast ashore.

CAL. I'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject; for the liquor
is not earthly.

STEPH. Here; swear then how thou escapedst.

TRIN. Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I'll be

STEPH. Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou
art made like a goose.

TRIN. O Stephano, hast any more of this?

STEPH. The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by the sea-side
where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! how does thine ague?

CAL. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven?

STEPH. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man i' the moon
when time was.

    CAL. I have seen thee in her and I do adore thee: My mistress
    show'd me thee and thy dog and thy bush.

STEPH. Come, swear to that: kiss the book: I will furnish it anon with
new contents: swear.

TRIN. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster! I afeard of
him! A very weak monster! The man i' the moon! A most poor credulous
monster! Well drawn, monster, in good sooth!

    CAL. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island;
    And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god.

TRIN. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster! when's
god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle.

CAL. I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy subject.

STEPH. Come on then; down, and swear.

TRIN. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A
most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,--

STEPH. Come, kiss.

TRIN. But that the poor monster's in drink: an abominable monster!

    CAL. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries;
    I'll fish for thee and get thee wood enough.
    A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!
    I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
    Thou wondrous man.

TRIN. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!

    CAL. I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
    And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
    Show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee how
    To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee
    To clustering filberts and sometimes I'll get thee
    Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?

STEPH. I prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo,
the king and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here:
here; bear my bottle: fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again.

    CAL. [_sings drunkenly_]
    Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!

TRIN. A howling monster; a drunken monster!

    CAL. No more dams I'll  make for fish;
             Nor fetch in firing
             At requiring;
         Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish:
             'Ban, 'Ban, Cacaliban
             Has a new master: get a new man.

    Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom,
    hey-day, freedom!

STEPH. O brave monster! Lead the way. [_Exeunt._

[Illustration: ACT III]


_Before_ PROSPERO'S _cell_.

_Enter_ FERDINAND, _bearing a log_.

    FER. There be some sports are painful, and their labour
    Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness
    Are nobly undergone and most poor matters
    Point to rich ends. This my mean task
    Would be as heavy to me as odious, but
    The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead
    And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is
    Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed,
    And he's composed of harshness. I must remove
    Some thousands of these logs and pile them up,
    Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress
    Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness
    Had never like executor. I forget:
    But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,
    Most busy lest, when I do it.

_Enter_ MIRANDA; _and_ PROSPERO _at a distance unseen_.

    MIR.                   Alas, now, pray you,
    Work not so hard: I would the lightning had
    Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile!
    Pray, set it down and rest you: when this burns,
    'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father
    Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;
    He's safe for these three hours.

    FER.                   O most dear mistress,
    The sun will set before I shall discharge
    What I must strive to do.

    MIR.                   If you'll sit down,
    I'll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that;
    I'll carry it to the pile.

[Illustration: ARIEL: '_You are three men of sin_' (page 99).]

    FER.                   No, precious creature;
    I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
    Than you should such dishonour undergo,
    While I sit lazy by.

    MIR.                   It would become me
    As well as it does you: and I should do it
    With much more ease; for my good will is to it,
    And yours it is against.

    PROS.                  Poor worm, thou art infected!
    This visitation shows it.

    MIR.                   You look wearily.

    FER. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me
    When you are by at night. I do beseech you--
    Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers--
    What is your name?

    MIR.                   Miranda.--O my father,
    I have broke your hest to say so!

    FER.                   Admired Miranda!
    Indeed the top of admiration! worth
    What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady
    I have eyed with best regard, and many a time
    The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
    Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues
    Have I liked several women; never any
    With so full soul, but some defect in her
    Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed
    And put it to the foil: but you, O you,
    So perfect and so peerless, are created
    Of every creature's best!

    MIR.                   I do not know
    One of my sex; no woman's face remember,
    Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
    More that I may call men than you, good friend,
    And my dear father: how features are abroad,
    I am skilless of; but, by my modesty,
    The jewel in my dower, I would not wish
    Any companion in the world but you,
    Nor can imagination form a shape,
    Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle
    Something too wildly and my father's precepts
    I therein do forget.

    FER.                   I am in my condition
    A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;
    I would, not so!--and would no more endure
    This wooden slavery than to suffer
    The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:
    The very instant that I saw you, did
    My heart fly to your service; there resides,
    To make me slave to it; and for your sake
    Am I this patient log-man.

    MIR.                   Do you love me?

    FER. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound
    And crown what I profess with kind event
    If I speak true! if hollowly, invert
    What best is boded me to mischief! I
    Beyond all limit of what else i' the world
    Do love, prize, honour you.

    MIR.                   I am a fool
    To weep at what I am glad of.

    PROS.                  Fair encounter
    Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace
    On that which breeds between 'em!

    FER.                   Wherefore weep you?

    MIR. At mine unworthiness that dare not offer
    What I desire to give, and much less take
    What I shall die to want. But this is trifling;
    And all the more it seeks to hide itself,
    The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!
    And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!
    I am your wife, if you will marry me;
    If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow
    You may deny me; but I'll be your servant,
    Whether you will or no.

    FER.                   My mistress, dearest;
    And I thus humble ever.

    MIR.                   My husband, then?

    FER. Ay, with a heart as willing
    As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand.

    MIR. And mine, with my heart in't: and now farewell
    Till half an hour hence.

    FER.                   A thousand thousand!

                         [_Exeunt_ FERDINAND _and_ MIRANDA _severally_.

    PROS. So glad of this as they I cannot be,
    Who are surprised withal; but my rejoicing
    At nothing can be more. I'll to my book,
    For yet ere supper-time must I perform
    Much business appertaining. [_Exit._


_Another part of the island._


STEPH. Tell not me; when the butt is out, we will drink water; not a
drop before: therefore bear up, and board 'em. Servant-monster, drink
to me.

TRIN. Servant-monster! the folly of this island! They say there's but
five upon this isle: we are three of them; if th' other two be brained
like us, the state totters.

STEPH. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set
in thy head.

TRIN. Where should they be set else? he were a brave monster indeed, if
they were set in his tail.

STEPH. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in sack: for my part, the
sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five and
thirty leagues off and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant,
monster, or my standard.

TRIN. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard.

STEPH. We'll not run, Monsieur Monster.

TRIN. Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs and yet say nothing

STEPH. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good

    CAL. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe.
    I'll not serve him; he is not valiant.

TRIN. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a
constable. Why, thou deboshed fish, thou, was there ever man a coward
that hath drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous
lie, being but half a fish and half a monster?

CAL. Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?

TRIN. 'Lord' quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural!

CAL. Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I prithee.

STEPH. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a
mutineer,--the next tree! The poor monster's my subject and he shall
not suffer indignity.

CAL. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased to hearken once again
to the suit I made to thee?

STEPH. Marry, will I: kneel and repeat it; I will stand, and so shall

_Enter_ ARIEL, _invisible_.

CAL. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that
by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.

ARI. Thou liest.

    CAL. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou:
    I would my valiant master would destroy thee!
    I do not lie.

STEPH. Trinculo, if you trouble him anymore in's tale, by this hand, I
will supplant some of your teeth.

TRIN. Why, I said nothing.

STEPH. Mum, then, and no more. Proceed.

    CAL. I say, by sorcery he got this isle;
    From me he got it. If thy greatness will
    Revenge it on him,--for I know thou darest,
    But this thing dare not,--

    STEPH. That's most certain.

CAL. Thou shalt be lord of it and I'll serve thee.

STEPH. How now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the

    CAL. Yea, yea, my lord: I'll yield him thee asleep,
    Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head.

ARI. Thou liest; thou canst not.

    CAL. What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy patch!
    I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows
    And take his bottle from him: when that's gone
    He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show him
    Where the quick freshes are.

STEPH. Trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one
word further, and, by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out o' doors, and
make a stock-fish of thee.

TRIN. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll go farther off.

STEPH. Didst thou not say he lied?

ARI. Thou liest.

STEPH. Do I so? take thou that. [_Beats_ TRINCULO.] As you like this,
give me the lie another time.

TRIN. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits and hearing too? A
plague o' your bottle! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your
monster, and the devil take your fingers.

CAL. Ha, ha, ha!

STEPH. Now, forward with your tale. Prithee, stand farther off.

    CAL. Beat him enough: after a little time
    I'll beat him too.

    STEPH.                 Stand farther. Come, proceed.

    CAL. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him,
    I' th' afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,
    Having first seized his books, or with a log
    Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
    Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
    First to possess his books; for without them
    He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
    One spirit to command: they all do hate him
    As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.
    He has brave utensils,--for so he calls them,--
    Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal.
    And that most deeply to consider is
    The beauty of his daughter; he himself
    Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman,
    But only Sycorax my dam and she;
    But she as far surpasseth Sycorax
    As great'st does least.

    STEPH.                 Is it so brave a lass?

    CAL. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant,
    And bring thee forth brave brood.

STEPH. Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and I will be
king and queen,--save our graces!--and Trinculo and thyself shall be
viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo?

TRIN. Excellent.

STEPH. Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but, while thou
livest, keep a good tongue in thy head.

    CAL. Within this half hour will he be asleep:
    Wilt thou destroy him then?

    STEPH.                 Ay, on mine honour.

ARI. This will I tell my master.

    CAL. Thou makest me merry; I am full of pleasure:
    Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch
    You taught me but while-ere?

STEPH. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on,
Trinculo, let us sing.

    [_Sings_] Flout 'em and scout 'em
              And scout 'em and flout 'em;
                  Thought is free.

CAL. That's not the tune.

                           [ARIEL _plays the tune on a tabor and pipe_.

STEPH. What is this same?

TRIN. This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody.

STEPH. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest
a devil, take't as thou list.

TRIN. O, forgive me my sins!

STEPH. He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us!

CAL. Art thou afeard?

STEPH. No, monster, not I.

    CAL. Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
    Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
    Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
    Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,
    That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
    Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
    The clouds methought would open and show riches
    Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked,
    I cried to dream again.

STEPH. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my
music for nothing.

CAL. When Prospero is destroyed.

STEPH. That shall be by and by: I remember the story.

TRIN. The sound is going away; let's follow it, and after do our work.

STEPH. Lead, monster; we'll follow. I would I could see this taborer;
he lays it on.

TRIN. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano.



    IRIS:      '_I met her deity
      Cutting the clouds towards Paphos_' (page 110).]


_Another part of the island._


    GON. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir;
    My old bones ache: here's a maze trod indeed
    Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience,
    I needs must rest me.

    _Alon._                    Old lord, I cannot blame thee,
    Who am myself attach'd with weariness,
    To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.
    Even here I will put off my hope and keep it
    No longer for my flatterer: he is drown'd
    Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks
    Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.

    ANT. [_aside to_ SEB.]
    I am right glad that he's so out of hope.
    Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose
    That you resolved to effect.

    SEB. [_aside to_ ANT.]      The next advantage
    Will we take throughly.

    ANT. [_aside to_ SEB.]
                                    Let it be to-night:
    For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they
    Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance
    As when they are fresh.

    SEB. [_aside to_ ANT.]      I say, to-night: no more.

                                           [_Solemn and strange music._

ALON. What harmony is this? My good friends, hark!

GON. Marvellous sweet music!

    _Enter_ PROSPERO _above, invisible. Enter several strange Shapes,
      bringing in a banquet; they dance about it with gentle actions of
      salutation; and, inviting the King, etc. to eat, they depart._

ALON. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these!

    SEB. A living drollery. Now I will believe
    That there are unicorns, that in Arabia
    There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix
    At this hour reigning there.

    ANT.                   I'll believe both;
    And what does else want credit, come to me,
    And I'll be sworn 'tis true: travellers ne'er did lie,
    Though fools at home condemn 'em.

    GON.                   If in Naples
    I should report this now, would they believe me?
    If I should say, I saw such islanders--
    For, certes, these are people of the island--
    Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note,
    Their manners are more gentle-kind than of
    Our human generation you shall find
    Many, nay, almost any.

    PROS. [_aside._]            Honest lord,
    Thou hast said well; for some of you there present
    Are worse than devils.

    ALON.                       I cannot too much muse
    Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, expressing,
    Although they want the use of tongue, a kind
    Of excellent dumb discourse.

    PROS. [_aside._]            Praise in departing.

FRAN. They vanish'd strangely.

    SEB.                   No matter, since
    They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.
    Will't please you taste of what is here?

    ALON.                  Not I.

    GON. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,
    Who would believe that there were mountaineers
    Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em
    Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men
    Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find
    Each putter-out of five for one will bring us
    Good warrant of.

    ALON.                  I will stand to and feed,
    Although my last: no matter, since I feel
    The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke,
    Stand to and do as we.

_Thunder and lightning._ _Enter_ ARIEL, _like a harpy; claps his wings
upon the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes_.

    ARI. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny,
    That hath to instrument this lower world
    And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea
    Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island
    Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men
    Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;
    And even with such-like valour men hang and drown
    Their proper selves.
                          [ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, _etc. draw their swords_.
                           You fools! I and my fellows
    Are ministers of Fate: the elements,
    Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well
    Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs
    Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
    One dowle that's in my plume: my fellow-ministers
    Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,
    Your swords are now too massy for your strengths
    And will not be uplifted. But remember--
    For that's my business to you--that you three
    From Milan did supplant good Prospero;
    Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it,
    Him and his innocent child; for which foul deed
    The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have
    Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,
    Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,
    They have bereft; and do pronounce by me
    Lingering perdition, worse than any death
    Can be at once, shall step by step attend
    You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from--
    Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls
    Upon your heads--is nothing but heart-sorrow
    And a clear life ensuing.

_He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again,
and dance, with mocks and mows, and carrying out the table._

    PROS. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
    Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring:
    Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated
    In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life
    And observation strange, my meaner ministers
    Their several kinds have done. My high charms work
    And these mine enemies are all knit up
    In their distractions; they now are in my power;
    And in these fits I leave them, while I visit
    Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd,
    And his and mine loved darling. [_Exit above._

    GON. I' the name of something holy, sir, why stand you
    In this strange stare?

    ALON.                  O, it is monstrous, monstrous!
    Methought the billows spoke and told me of it;
    The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder,
    That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced
    The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass.
    Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and
    I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded
    And with him there lie mudded. [_Exit._

    SEB.                   But one fiend at a time,
    I'll fight their legions o'er.

    ANT.                   I'll be thy second.

                                     [_Exeunt_ SEBASTIAN _and_ ANTONIO.

    GON. All three of them are desperate: their great guilt,
    Like poison given to work a great time after,
    Now 'gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you
    That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly
    And hinder them from what this ecstasy
    May now provoke them to.

    ADR.                   Follow, I pray you. [_Exeunt._

[Illustration: ACT IV]


_Before_ PROSPERO'S _cell_.


    PROS. If I have too austerely punish'd you,
    Your compensation makes amends, for I
    Have given you here a third of mine own life,
    Or that for which I live; who once again
    I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations
    Were but my trials of thy love, and thou
    Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven,
    I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,
    Do not smile at me that I boast her off,
    For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise
    And make it halt behind her.

    FER.                   I do believe it
    Against an oracle.

    PROS. Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition
    Worthily purchased, take my daughter: but
    If thou dost break her virgin-knot before
    All sanctimonious ceremonies may
    With full and holy rite be minister'd,
    No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall
    To make this contract grow; but barren hate,
    Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew
    The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
    That you shall hate it both: therefore take heed,
    As Hymen's lamps shall light you.

    FER.                   As I hope
    For quiet days, fair issue and long life,
    With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den,
    The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion
    Our worser genius can, shall never melt
    Mine honour into lust, to take away
    The edge of that day's celebration,
    When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd,
    Or Night kept chain'd below.

    PROS.                  Fairly spoke.
    Sit then and talk with her; she is thine own.
    What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!

_Enter_ ARIEL.

ARI. What would my potent master? here I am.

    PROS. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service
    Did worthily perform; and I must use you
    In such another trick. Go bring the rabble,
    O'er whom I give thee power, here to this place:
    Incite them to quick motion; for I must
    Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple
    Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise,
    And they expect it from me.

    ARI.                   Presently?

PROS. Ay, with a twink.

    Ari. Before you can say 'come' and 'go,'
    And breathe twice and cry 'so, so,'
    Each one, tripping on his toe,
    Will be here with mop and mow.
    Do you love me, master? no?

    PROS. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach
    Till thou dost hear me call.

    ARI.                   Well, I conceive. [_Exit._

    PROS. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance
    Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw
    To the fire i' the blood: be more abstemious,
    Or else, good night your vow!

    FER.                   I warrant you, sir;
    The white cold virgin snow upon my heart
    Abates the ardour of my liver.

    PROS.                  Well.
    Now come, my Ariel! I bring a corollary,
    Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly!
    No tongue! all eyes! be silent. [_Soft music._

    _Enter_ IRIS.

    IRIS. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
    Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease;
    Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
    And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep;
    Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
    Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,
    To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom-groves,
    Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
    Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;
    And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,
    Where thou thyself dost air;--the queen o' the sky,
    Whose watery arch and messenger am I,
    Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,
    Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
    To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain:
    Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.


    IRIS: '_You Nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the windring brooks,
      Leave your crisp channels_' (page 112).]

_Enter_ CERES.

    CER. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er
    Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;
    Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers
    Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers,
    And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown
    My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down,
    Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen
    Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green?

    IRIS. A contract of true love to celebrate;
    And some donation freely to estate
    On the blest lovers.

    CER.                   Tell me, heavenly bow,
    If Venus or her son, as thou dost know,
    Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot
    The means that dusky Dis my daughter got,
    Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company
    I have forsworn.

    IRIS.                  Of her society
    Be not afraid: I met her deity
    Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son
    Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done
    Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,
    Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid
    Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain;
    Mars's hot minion is return'd again;
    Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,
    Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows
    And be a boy right out.

    CER.                   High'st queen of state,
    Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait.

_Enter_ JUNO.

    JUNO. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me
    To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be
    And honour'd in their issue.      [_They sing._

    JUNO. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,
          Long continuance, and increasing,
          Hourly joys be still upon you!
          Juno sings her blessings on you.
    CER.  Earth's increase, foison plenty,
          Barns and garners never empty,
          Vines with clustering bunches growing,
          Plants with goodly burthen bowing;
          Spring come to you at the farthest
          In the very end of harvest!
          Scarcity and want shall shun you;
          Ceres' blessing so is on you.

    FER. This is a most majestic vision, and
    Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold
    To think these spirits?

    PROS.                  Spirits, which by mine art
    I have from their confines call'd to enact
    My present fancies.

    FER.                   Let me live here ever;
    So rare a wonder'd father and a wise
    Makes this place Paradise.

            [JUNO _and_ CERES _whisper, and send_ IRIS _on employment_.

    PROS.                  Sweet, now, silence!
    Juno and Ceres whisper seriously;
    There's something else to do: hush, and be mute,
    Or else our spell is marr'd.

    IRIS. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the windring brooks,
    With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks,
    Leave your crisp channels and on this green land
    Answer your summons; Juno does command:
    Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate
    A contract of true love; be not too late.

[Illustration: PROSPERO:

        '_We are such stuff
    As dreams are made on_' (page 114).]

_Enter certain Nymphs._

    You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,
    Come hither from the furrow and be merry:
    Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on
    And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
    In country footing.

_Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in
a graceful dance; towards the end whereof_ PROSPERO _starts suddenly,
and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they
heavily vanish_.

    PROS. [_aside._] I had forgot that foul conspiracy
    Of the beast Caliban and his confederates
    Against my life: the minute of their plot
    Is almost come. [_To the Spirits._] Well done! avoid; no more!

    FER. This is strange: your father's in some passion
    That works him strongly.

    MIR.                   Never till this day
    Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.

    PROS. You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
    As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir.
    Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
    As I foretold you, were all spirits and
    Are melted into air, into thin air:
    And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
    The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
    The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
    Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
    And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
    Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
    As dreams are made on, and our little life
    Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd;
    Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled:
    Be not disturb'd with my infirmity:
    If you be pleased, retire into my cell
    And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk,
    To still my beating mind.

    FER. MIR.              We wish your peace. [_Exeunt._

PROS. Come with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel: come.

    _Enter_ ARIEL.

ARI. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure?

    PROS.                  Spirit,
    We must prepare to meet with Caliban.

    ARI. Ay, my commander: when I presented Ceres,
    I thought to have told thee of it, but I fear'd
    Lest I might anger thee.

PROS. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets?

    ARI. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;
    So full of valour that they smote the air
    For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
    For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
    Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor;
    At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears,
    Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses
    As they smelt music: so I charm'd their ears
    That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through
    Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns,
    Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them
    I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,
    There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake
    O'erstunk their feet.

    PROS.                  This was well done, my bird.
    Thy shape invisible retain thou still:
    The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither,
    For stale to catch these thieves.

    ARI.                   I go, I go. [_Exit._

    PROS. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
    Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,
    Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;
    And as with age his body uglier grows,
    So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,
    Even to roaring.

_Re-enter_ ARIEL, _loaden with glistering apparel, etc._

    Come, hang them on this line.

PROSPERO _and_ ARIEL _remain, invisible. Enter_ CALIBAN, STEPHANO,
_and_ TRINCULO, _all wet_.

    CAL. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not
    Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.

STEPH. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done
little better than played the Jack with us. Do you hear, monster? If I
should take a displeasure against you, look you,--

TRIN. Thou wert but a lost monster.

    CAL. Good my lord, give me thy favour still.
    Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to
    Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly,
    All's hush'd as midnight yet.

TRIN. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,--

STEPH. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but
an infinite loss.

TRIN. That's more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless
fairy, monster.

STEPH. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears for my labour.

    CAL. Prithee, my king, be quiet. See'st thou here,
    This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter.
    Do that good mischief which may make this island
    Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,
    For aye thy foot-licker.

STEPH. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts.

TRIN. O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! look what a wardrobe
here is for thee!

CAL. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.

TRIN. O, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery! O king

STEPH. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand I'll have that gown.

TRIN. Thy grace shall have it.

    CAL. The dropsy drown this fool! what do you mean
    To dote thus on such luggage? Let's alone
    And do the murder first: if he awake,
    From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches,
    Make us strange stuff.

STEPH. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now
is the jerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your
hair and prove a bald jerkin.

TRIN. Do, do: we steal by line and level, an't like your grace.

STEPH. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment for't: wit shall
not go unrewarded while I am king of this country. 'Steal by line and
level' is an excellent pass of pate; there's another garment for't.

TRIN. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the

    CAL. I will have none on't: we shall lose our time,
    And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes
    With foreheads villanous low.

STEPH. Monster, lay to your fingers: help to bear this away where my
hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you out of my kingdom: go to, carry

TRIN. And this.

STEPH. Ay, and this.

_A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of dogs and
hounds, hunting them about;_ PROSPERO _and_ ARIEL _setting them on_.

PROS. Hey, Mountain, hey!

ARI. Silver! there it goes, Silver!

PROS. Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark! hark!

                   [CALIBAN, STEPHANO, _and_ TRINCULO _are driven out_.

    Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints
    With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews
    With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them
    Than pard or cat o' mountain.

    ARI.                   Hark, they roar!

    PROS.  Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour
    Lies at my mercy all mine enemies:
    Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou
    Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little
    Follow, and do me service.      [_Exeunt._


  ARIEL:      '_All prisoners, sir,
    In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell_' (page 123).]

[Illustration: ACT V]


_Before_ PROSPERO'S _cell_.

_Enter_ PROSPERO _in his magic robes, and_ ARIEL.

    PROS. Now does my project gather to a head:
    My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time
    Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day?

    ARI. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,
    You said our work should cease.

    PROS.                  I did say so,
    When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit,
    How fares the king and 's followers?

    ARI.                   Confined together
    In the same fashion as you gave in charge,
    Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir,
    In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;
    They cannot budge till your release. The king,
    His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,
    And the remainder mourning over them,
    Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly
    Him that you term'd, sir, 'The good old lord, Gonzalo';
    His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
    From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em,
    That if you now beheld them, your affections
    Would become tender.

    PROS.                  Dost thou think so, spirit?

ARI. Mine would, sir, were I human.

    PROS.                  And mine shall.
    Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
    Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,
    One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,
    Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?
    Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick,
    Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury
    Do I take part: the rarer action is
    In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,
    The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
    Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel:
    My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
    And they shall be themselves.


    PROSPERO:      '_You demi-puppets that
      By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make_' (page 125).]

    ARI.                   I'll fetch them, sir. [_Exit._

    PROS. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
    And ye that on the sands with printless foot
    Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
    When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
    By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
    Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime
    Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
    To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
    Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd
    The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
    And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
    Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
    Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
    With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
    Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
    The pine and cedar: graves at my command
    Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
    By my so potent art. But this rough magic
    I here abjure, and, when I have required
    Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
    To work mine end upon their senses that
    This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
    Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
    And deeper than did ever plummet sound
    I'll drown my book.      [_Solemn music._

_Re-enter_ ARIEL _before: then_ ALONSO, _with a frantic gesture,
attended by_ GONZALO; SEBASTIAN _and_ ANTONIO _in like manner, attended
by_ ADRIAN _and_ FRANCISCO: _they all enter the circle which_ PROSPERO
_had made, and there stand charmed; which_ PROSPERO _observing, speaks_:

    A solemn air and the best comforter
    To an unsettled fancy cure thy brains,
    Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand,
    For you are spell-stopp'd.
    Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,
    Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine,
    Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace,
    And as the morning steals upon the night,
    Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
    Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
    Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo,
    My true preserver, and a loyal sir
    To him thou follow'st! I will pay thy graces
    Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly
    Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
    Thy brother was a furtherer in the act.
    Thou art pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood,
    You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
    Expell'd remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian,
    Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,
    Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive thee,
    Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding
    Begins to swell, and the approaching tide
    Will shortly fill the reasonable shore
    That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them
    That yet looks on me, or would know me: Ariel,
    Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell:
    I will discase me, and myself present
    As I was sometime Milan: quickly, spirit;
    Thou shalt ere long be free.

    ARIEL _sings and helps to attire him_.

          Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
          In a cowslips bell I lie;
          There I couch when owls do cry.
          On the bat's back I do fly
          After summer merrily.
    Merrily, merrily shall I live now
    Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

    PROS. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee;
    But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so.
    To the king's ship, invisible as thou art:
    There shalt thou find the mariners asleep
    Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain
    Being awake, enforce them to this place,
    And presently, I prithee.

    ARI. I drink the air before me, and return
    Or ere your pulse twice beat. [_Exit._

    GON. All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement
    Inhabits here: some heavenly power guide us
    Out of this fearful country!

    PROS.                  Behold, sir king,
    The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero:
    For more assurance that a living prince
    Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;
    And to thee and thy company I bid
    A hearty welcome.

    ALON.                  Whether thou be'st he or no,
    Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me,
    As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse
    Beats as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,
    The affliction of my mind amends, with which,
    I fear, a madness held me: this must crave,
    An if this be at all, a most strange story.
    Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat
    Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero
    Be living and be here?

    PROS.                  First, noble friend,
    Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot
    Be measured or confined.

    GON.                   Whether this be
    Or be not, I'll not swear.

    PROS.                  You do yet taste
    Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you
    Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all!

    [_Aside to_ SEBASTIAN _and_ ANTONIO.]

    But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded,
    I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you
    And justify you traitors: at this time
    I will tell no tales.

    SEB. [_aside._]   The devil speaks in him.

    PROS.                  No.
    For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother
    Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive
    Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require
    My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know,
    Thou must restore.


  PROSPERO: '_Graves at my command
    Have waked their sleepers_' (page 126).]

    ALON.                  If thou be'st Prospero,
    Give us particulars of thy preservation;
    How thou hast met us here, who three hours since
    Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost--
    How sharp the point of this remembrance is!--
    My dear son Ferdinand.

    PROS.                  I am woe for't, sir.

    ALON. Irreparable is the loss, and patience
    Says it is past her cure.

    PROS.                  I rather think
    You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace
    For the like loss I have her sovereign aid,
    And rest myself content.

    ALON.                  You the like loss!

    PROS. As great to me as late; and, supportable
    To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
    Than you may call to comfort you, for I
    Have lost my daughter.

    ALON.                  A daughter?
    O heavens, that they were living both in Naples,
    The king and queen there! that they were, I wish
    Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
    Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?

    PROS. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords
    At this encounter do so much admire
    That they devour their reason and scarce think
    Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
    Are natural breath: but, howsoe'er you have
    Been justled from your senses, know for certain
    That I am Prospero and that very duke
    Which was thrust forth of Milan, who most strangely
    Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed,
    To be the lord on't. No more yet of this;
    For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
    Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
    Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;
    This cell's my court: here have I few attendants
    And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.
    My dukedom since you have given me again,
    I will requite you with as good a thing;
    At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye
    As much as me my dukedom.

_Here_ PROSPERO _discovers_ FERDINAND _and_ MIRANDA _playing at chess_.

MIR. Sweet lord, you play me false.

    FER.                   No, my dear'st love,
    I would not for the world.

    MIR. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,
    And I would call it fair play.

    ALON.                  If this prove
    A vision of the island, one dear son
    Shall I twice lose.

    SEB.                   A most high miracle!

    FER. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful;
    I have cursed them without cause. [_Kneels._

    ALON.                  Now all the blessings
    Of a glad father compass thee about!
    Arise, and say how thou camest here.

    MIR.                   O, wonder!
    How many goodly creatures are there here!
    How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
    That has such people in't!

    PROS.                  'Tis new to thee.

    ALON. What is this maid with whom thou wast at play?
    Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours:
    Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,
    And brought us thus together?

    FER.                   Sir, she is mortal;
    But by immortal Providence she's mine:
    I chose her when I could not ask my father
    For his advice, nor thought I had one. She
    Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,
    Of whom so often I have heard renown,
    But never saw before; of whom I have
    Received a second life; and second father
    This lady makes him to me.

    ALON.                  I am hers:
    But, O, how oddly will it sound that I
    Must ask my child forgiveness!

    PROS.                  There, sir, stop:
    Let us not burthen our remembrance with
    A heaviness that's gone.

    GON.                   I have inly wept,
    Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,
    And on this couple drop a blessed crown!
    For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way
    Which brought us hither.

    ALON.                  I say, Amen, Gonzalo!

    GON. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue
    Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice
    Beyond a common joy, and set it down
    With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage
    Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis,
    And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife
    Where he himself was lost, Prospero his dukedom
    In a poor isle, and all of us ourselves
    When no man was his own.

    ALON. [_to_ FER. _and_ MIR.] Give me your hands:
    Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart
    That doth not wish you joy!

    GON.                   Be it so! Amen!

_Re-enter_ ARIEL, _with the_ MASTER _and_ Boatswain _amazedly

    O look, sir, look, sir! here is more of us:
    I prophesied, if a gallows were on land,
    This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy,
    That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore?
    Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?

    BOATS. The best news is, that we have safely found
    Our king and company; the next, our ship--
    Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split--
    Is tight and yare and bravely rigged as when
    We first put out to sea.

    ARI. [_aside to_ PROS.] Sir, all this service
    Have I done since I went.

[Illustration: BOATSWAIN: '_And were brought moping hither_' (page

PROS. [_aside to_ ARIEL.] My tricksy spirit!

    ALON. These are not natural events; they strengthen
    From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?

    BOATS. If I did think, sir, I were well awake,
    I'ld strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,
    And--how we know not--all clapp'd under hatches;
    Where but even now with strange and several noises,
    Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains,
    And mo diversity of sounds, all horrible,
    We were awaked; straightway, at liberty;
    Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld
    Our royal, good and gallant ship, our master
    Capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you,
    Even in a dream, were we divided from them
    And were brought moping hither.

ARI. [_aside to_ PROS.] Was't well done?

    PROS. [_aside to_ ARIEL.] Bravely, my diligence.
    Thou shalt be free.

    ALON. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod;
    And there is in this business more than nature
    Was ever conduct of: some oracle
    Must rectify our knowledge.

    PROS.                  Sir, my liege,
    Do not infest your mind with beating on
    The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure
    Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you,
    Which to you shall seem probable, of every
    These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful
    And think of each thing well. [_Aside to_ ARIEL.]
    Come hither, spirit:
    Set Caliban and his companions free;
    Untie the spell. [_Exit_ ARIEL.]
    How fares my gracious sir?
    There are yet missing of your company
    Some few odd lads that you remember not.

_Re-enter_ ARIEL, _driving in_ CALIBAN, STEPHANO, _and_ TRINCULO, _in
their stolen apparel_.

STEPH. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for
himself; for all is but fortune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio!

TRIN. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly

    CAL. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed!
    How fine my master is! I am afraid
    He will chastise me.

    SEB.                   Ha, ha!
    What things are these, my lord Antonio?
    Will money buy 'em?

    ANT.                   Very like; one of them
    Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.

    PROS. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,
    Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave,
    His mother was a witch, and one so strong
    That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,
    And deal in her command without her power.
    These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil--
    For he's a bastard one--had plotted with them
    To take my life. Two of these fellows you
    Must know and own; this thing of darkness I
    Acknowledge mine.

    CAL.                   I shall be pinch'd to death.

ALON. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?

SEB. He is drunk now: where had he wine?

    ALON. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they
    Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em?
    How camest thou in this pickle?

TRIN. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear
me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.

SEB. Why, how now, Stephano!

STEPH. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp.

PROS. You'ld be king o' the isle, sirrah?

STEPH. I should have been a sore one then.

ALON. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on.


    PROSPERO: '_Calm seas, auspicious gales,
      And sail so expeditious_' (page 142).]

                                                [_Pointing to_ CALIBAN.

    PROS. He is as disproportion'd in his manners
    As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;
    Take with you your companions; as you look
    To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.

    CAL. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter
    And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass
    Was I, to take this drunkard for a god
    And worship this dull fool!

    PROS.                  Go to; away!

    ALON. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.

    SEB. Or stole it, rather.

                                    [_Exeunt_ CAL., STEPH., _and_ TRIN.

    PROS. Sir, I invite your highness and your train
    To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest
    For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste
    With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it
    Go quick away; the story of my life
    And the particular accidents gone by
    Since I came to this isle: and in the morn
    I'll bring you to your ship and so to Naples,
    Where I have hope to see the nuptial
    Of these our dear-beloved solemnized;
    And thence retire me to my Milan, where
    Every third thought shall be my grave.

    ALON.                  I long
    To hear the story of your life, which must
    Take the ear strangely.

    PROS.                  I'll deliver all;
    And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales
    And sail so expeditious that shall catch
    Your royal fleet far off. [_Aside to_ ARIEL.]
    My Ariel, chick,
    That is thy charge: then to the elements
    Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near. [_Exeunt._



    Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
    And what strength I have's mine own,
    Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
    I must be here confined by you,
    Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
    Since I have my dukedom got
    And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
    In this bare island by your spell;
    But release me from my bands
    With the help of your good hands:
    Gentle breath of yours my sails
    Must fill, or else my project fails,
    Which was to please. Now I want
    Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
    And my ending is despair,
    Unless I be relieved by prayer,
    Which pierces so that it assaults
    Mercy itself and frees all faults.
    As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
    Let your indulgence set me free.

    Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the
                      Edinburgh University Press

      *      *      *      *      *      *

Transcriber's note:

Some illustrations of this work have been moved from their original
sequence to enable the contents to continue without interruption.

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