OF

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

EDITED BY

WILLIAM GEORGE CLARK, M.A.

FELLOW AND TUTOR OF TRINITY COLLEGE, AND PUBLIC ORATOR

IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE;

and JOHN GLOVER, M.A.

LIBRARIAN OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

VOLUME I.

Cambridge and London:

MACMILLAN AND CO.

1863.

Dramatis Personæ

Act I

Scene 1

On a ship at sea.

Scene 2

The island. Before Prospero’s cell.

Act II

Scene 1

Another part of the island.

Scene 2

Another part of the island.

Act III

Scene 1

Before Prospero’s cell.

Scene 2

Another part of the island.

Scene 3

Another part of the island.

Act IV

Scene 1

Before Prospero’s cell.

Act V

Scene 1

Before the cell of Prospero.

Endnotes

Critical Apparatus (“Linenotes”)

Texts Used (from general preface)

THE TEMPEST.

I. 1

Scene 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.

5 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!

Enter

Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand,

Gonzalo, and others.

Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where’s the master? Play the men.

10 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.

15 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 20 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 I. 1. 25 hearts! Out of our way, I say. Exit.

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 30 little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. Exeunt.

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 35 or our office.

Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo.

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

Seb. A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!

40 Boats. Work you, then.

Ant. Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noise-maker. 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, and as leaky as an unstanched 45 wench.

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

Enter

Mariners wet.

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

Boats. What, must our mouths be cold?

I. 1. 50 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,

55 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!”

60 Ant. Let’s all sink with the king.

Seb. Let’s take leave of him. Exeunt Ant. and Seb.

Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a 65 dry death. Exeunt.

I. 2

Scene II. The island. Before Prospero’s cell.

Enter Prospero and Miranda.

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,

5 Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer’d

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!

10 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.

15 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

20 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.

I. 2. 25 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 order’d, that there is no soul,

30 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,

35 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?

40 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,

45 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

I. 2. 50 In the dark backward and abysm of time?

If thou remember’st ought 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.

55 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

And princess, no worse issued.

Mir.

O the heavens!

60 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.

65 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

70 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,

I. 2. 75 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,

80 How to deny them, whom to advance, and whom

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

85 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

90 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

95 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

I. 2. 100 Who having into 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,

105 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

110 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

115 The dukedom, yet unbow’d,—alas, poor Milan!—

To most ignoble stooping.

Mir.

O the heavens!

Pros. Mark his condition, and th’ 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.

120 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,

I. 2. 125 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

130 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.

135 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:

140 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,

145 Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared

A rotten carcass of a boat, 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

I. 2. 150 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,

155 When I have deck’d the sea with drops full salt,

Under my burthen groan’d; which raised in me

An undergoing stomach, to bear up

Against what should ensue.

Mir.

How came we ashore?

Pros. By Providence divine.

160 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,

165 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.

170 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.

I. 2. 175 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

180 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:

185 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

190 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?

195 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,

I. 2. 200 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

205 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

210 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.

215 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,

220 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

I. 2. 225 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:

230 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,

235 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.

240 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.

245 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.

I. 2. 250 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,

255 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.

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

Ari. Sir, in Argier.

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

265 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-eyed hag was hither brought with child,

270 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,

I. 2. 275 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,

280 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.

285 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

290 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,

295 And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till

Thou hast howl’d away twelve winters.

Ari.

Pardon, master:

I will be correspondent to command,

And do my spiriting gently.

Pros.

Do so; and after two days

I will discharge thee.

Ari.

That’s my noble master!

I. 2. 300 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.

305 Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;

Awake!

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.

310 But, as ’tis,

We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,

Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices

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

Thou earth, thou! speak.

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

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

Come, thou tortoise! when?

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

320 Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

Enter

Caliban.

Cal. As wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d

With raven’s feather from unwholesome fen

Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye

And blister you all o’er!

I. 2. 325 Pros. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,

Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins

Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,

All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch’d

As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging

Than bees that made ’em.

Cal.

330 I must eat my dinner.

This island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother,

Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first,

Thou strokedst me, and madest much of me; wouldst give me

Water with berries in’t; and teach me how

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

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

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

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

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

340 Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!

For I am all the subjects that you have,

Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me

In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me

The rest o’ th’ island.

Pros.

Thou most lying slave,

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

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

In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate

The honour of my child.

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

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

This isle with Calibans.

Pros.

Abhorred slave,

Which any print of goodness wilt not take,

Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,

Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour

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

Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like

A thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes

With words that made them known. But thy vile race,

Though thou didst learn, had that in’t which good natures

360 Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou

Deservedly confined into this rock,

Who hadst deserved more than a prison.

Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on’t

Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you

For learning me your language!

Pros.

365 Hag-seed, hence!

Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou’rt best,

To answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice?

If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly

What I command, I’ll rack thee with old cramps,

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

That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

Cal.

No, pray thee.

[Aside] I must obey: his art is of such power,

It would control my dam’s god, Setebos,

And make a vassal of him.

Pros.

So, slave; hence! Exit Caliban.

Re-enter

Ariel, invisible, playing and singing;

Ferdinand following.

Ariel’s song.

I. 2. 375 Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands:

Courtsied when you have and kiss’d

The wild waves whist:

Foot it featly here and there;

380 And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.

Burthen [dispersedly]. Hark, hark!

Bow-wow.

The watch-dogs bark:

Bow-wow.

Ari. Hark, hark! I hear 385 The strain of strutting chanticleer

Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.

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

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

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

390 Weeping again the king my father’s wreck,

This music crept by me upon the waters,

Allaying both their fury and my passion

With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.

Or it hath drawn me rather. But ’tis gone.

395 No, it begins again.

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,

I. 2. 400 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.

405 Fer. The ditty does remember my drown’d father.

This is no mortal business, nor no sound

That the earth owes:—I hear it now above me.

Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,

And say what thou seest yond.

Mir.

What is’t? a spirit?

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

It carries a brave form. But ’tis a spirit.

Pros. No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses

As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest

Was in the wreck; and, but he’s something stain’d

415 With grief, that’s beauty’s canker, thou mightst call him

A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows,

And strays about to find ’em.

Mir.

I might call him

A thing divine; for nothing natural

I ever saw so noble.

Pros. [Aside]

It goes on, I see,

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

Within two days for this.

Fer.

Most sure, the goddess

On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer

May know if you remain upon this island;

And that you will some good instruction give

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

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

If you be maid or no?

Mir.

No wonder, sir;

But certainly a maid.

Fer.

My language! heavens!

I am the best of them that speak this speech,

Were I but where ’tis spoken.

Pros.

430 How? the best?

What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders

To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;

And that he does I weep: myself am Naples,

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

The king my father wreck’d.

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,

440 If now ’twere fit to do’t. At the first sight

They have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel,

I’ll set thee free for this. [To Fer.] A word, good sir;

I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.

Mir. Why speaks my father so ungently? This

445 Is the third man that e’er I saw; the first

That e’er I sigh’d for: pity move my father

To be inclined my way!

Fer.

O, if a virgin,

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

The queen of Naples.

Pros.

Soft, sir! one word more.

I. 2. 450 [Aside] They are both in either’s powers: but this swift business

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning

Make the prize light. [To Fer.] One word more; I charge thee

That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp

The name thou owest not; and hast put thyself

455 Upon this island as a spy, to win it

From me, the lord on’t.

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.

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

I’ll manacle thy neck and feet together:

Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be

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

Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

Fer.

No;

465 I will resist such entertainment till

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

Mir.

O dear father,

Make not too rash a trial of him, for

He’s gentle, and not fearful.

Pros.

What! I say,

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

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

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

For I can here disarm thee with this stick

And make thy weapon drop.

Mir.

Beseech you, father.

Pros. Hence! hang not on my garments.

Mir.

Sir, have pity;

I’ll be his surety.

Pros.

I. 2. 475 Silence! one word more

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

An advocate for an impostor! hush!

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

Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!

480 To the most of men this is a Caliban,

And they to him are angels.

Mir.

My affections

Are, then, most humble; I have no ambition

To see a goodlier man.

Pros.

Come on; obey:

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,

And have no vigour in them.

Fer.

485 So they are:

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.

My father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,

The wreck of all my friends, nor this man’s threats,

To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,

490 Might I but through my prison once a day

Behold this maid: all corners else o’ th’ earth

Let liberty make use of; space enough

Have I in such a prison.

Pros. [Aside]

It works. [To Fer.] Come on.

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

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

Mir.

495 Be of comfort;

My father’s of a better nature, sir,

Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted

Which now came from him.

Pros.

Thou shalt be as free

As mountain winds: but then exactly do

All points of my command.

Ari.

I. 2. 500 To the syllable.

Pros. Come, follow. Speak not for him. Exeunt.

II. 1

Scene I. Another part of the

island.

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio,

Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and

others.

Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,

So have we all, of joy; for our escape

Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe

Is common; every day, some sailor’s wife,

5 The masters of some merchant, and the merchant,

Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,

I mean our preservation, few in millions

Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh

Our sorrow with our comfort.

Alon.

Prithee, peace.

10 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 strike.

Gon. Sir,—

15 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 20 truer than you purposed.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

Gon. Therefore, my lord,—

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

Alon. I prithee, spare.

II. 1. 25 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.

30 Ant. The cockerel.

Seb. Done. The wager?

Ant. A laughter.

Seb. A match!

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,—

35 Seb. Ha, ha, ha!—So, you’re paid.

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—

Seb. Yet,—

Adr. Yet,—

Ant. He could not miss’t.

40 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.

45 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.

II. 1. 50 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.

55 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, 60 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 65 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 70 to their queen.

Gon. Not since widow Dido’s time.

Ant. Widow! a pox o’ that! How came that widow in? widow Dido!

Seb. What if he had said ‘widower Æneas’ too? Good II. 1. 75 Lord, how you take it!

Adr. ‘Widow Dido’ said you? you make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

Adr. Carthage?

80 Gon. I assure you, Carthage.

Seb. His word is more than the miraculous harp; 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 85 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.

90 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.

95 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?

II. 1. 100 Alon. You cram these words into mine ears against

The stomach of my sense. Would I had never

Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,

My son is lost, and, in my rate, she too.

Who is so far from Italy removed

105 I ne’er again shall see her. O thou mine heir

Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish

Hath made his meal on thee?

Fran.

Sir, he may live:

I saw him beat the surges under him,

And ride upon their backs; he trod the water.

110 Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted

The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head

’Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar’d

Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke

To the shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bow’d,

115 As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt

He came alive to land.

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;

120 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

II. 1. 125 Which end o’ the beam should bow. We have lost your son,

I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have

More widows in them of this business’ making

Than we bring men to comfort them:

The fault’s your own.

Alon.

So is the dear’st o’ the loss.

130 Gon. My lord Sebastian,

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,

And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,

When you should bring the plaster.

Seb.

Very well.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

135 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.

Seb.

Or docks, or mallows.

Gon. And were the king on’t, what would I do?

140 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,

145 And use of service, none; contract, succession,

Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;

No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;

No occupation; all men idle, all;

And women too, but innocent and pure;

II. 1. 150 No sovereignty;—

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,

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

Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,

Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,

To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying ’mong his subjects?

160 Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves.

Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir,

To excel the golden age.

Seb.

’Save his majesty!

Ant. Long live Gonzalo!

Gon.

And,—do you mark me, sir?

Alon. Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

165 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 170 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 II. 1. 175 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 180 heavy?

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us.

All sleep except Alon., Seb., and Ant.

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

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

They are inclined to do so.

Seb.

Please you, sir,

185 Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,

It is a comforter.

Ant.

We two, my lord,

Will guard your person while you take your rest,

And watch your safety.

Alon.

Thank you.—Wondrous heavy.

Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel.

190 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;

195 They dropp’d, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,

Worthy Sebastian?—O, what might?—No more:—

And yet methinks I see it in thy face,

What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee; and

My strong imagination sees a crown

Dropping upon thy head.

Seb.

II. 1. 200 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

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

And yet so fast asleep.

Ant.

Noble Sebastian,

Thou let’st thy fortune sleep—die, rather; wink’st

Whiles thou art waking.

Seb.

Thou dost snore distinctly;

There’s meaning in thy snores.

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

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

Trebles thee o’er.

Seb.

Well, I am standing water.

Ant. I’ll teach you how to flow.

Seb.

Do so: to ebb

Hereditary sloth instructs me.

Ant.

O,

215 If you but knew how you the purpose cherish

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

You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed,

Most often do so near the bottom run

By their own fear or sloth.

Seb.

Prithee, say on:

220 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

II. 1. 225 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.

230 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.

235 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,—

240 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.

245 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

II. 1. 250 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

255 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.

260 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

265 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,

270 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,

II. 1. 275 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;

280 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.

285 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,—

290 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,

295 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.

II. 1. 300 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.

305 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:

310 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.

315 Heavens keep him from these beasts!

For he is, sure, i’ th’ island.

Alon.

Lead away.

Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done:

So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. Exeunt.

II. 2

Scene II. Another part of the

island.

Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A

noise of thunder heard.

Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up

From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him

By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,

And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,

5 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,

10 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.

Enter Trinculo.

Lo, now, lo!

15 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’ 20 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 II. 2. 25 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 30 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 troth! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered 35 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.

40 Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea,

Here shall I die a-shore,—

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral: well, here’s my comfort. Drinks.

[Sings. The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,

45 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!

II. 2. 50 She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch;

Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch.

Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

This is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort. Drinks.

Cal. Do not torment me:—O!

55 Ste. 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 60 said so again, while Stephano breathes at’s nostrils.

Cal. The spirit torments me:—O!

Ste. This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be 65 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.

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

II. 2. 75 Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.

Ste. Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that which will give language to you, cat: open your mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly: 80 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!

Ste. Four legs and two voices,—a most delicate monster! His forward voice, now, is to speak well of his friend; 85 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!

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

Trin. Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo,—be not afeard,—thy 95 good friend Trinculo.

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

II. 2. 100 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 105 scaped!

Ste. 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:

110 I will kneel to him.

Ste. 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 115 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.

Ste. Here; swear, then, how thou escapedst.

Trin. Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim 120 like a duck, I’ll be sworn.

Ste. 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?

Ste. The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by II. 2. 125 the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! how does thine ague?

Cal. Hast thou not dropp’d from heaven?

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

130 Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee: My mistress show’d me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush.

Ste. 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! 135 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.

140 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.

Ste. 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 145 my heart to beat him,—

Ste. Come, kiss.

Trin. But that the poor monster’s in drink: an abominable monster!

II. 2. 150 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 155 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

160 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?

Ste. I prithee now, lead the way, without any more talking. Trinculo, the king and all our company else being drowned, 165 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;

170 Nor fetch in firing

At requiring;

Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish:

’Ban, ’Ban, Cacaliban

Has a new master:—get a new man.

II. 2. 175 Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey-day, freedom!

Ste. O brave monster! Lead the way. Exeunt.