Pro. My brave spirit! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 1 But felt a fever of the mad,2 and play'd Some tricks of desperation: All, but mariners, Plunged in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Then all a-fire 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.' On their sustaining garments not a blemish, Pro. Of the king's ship, The mariners, say, how thou hast disposed, And all the rest o' the fleet? Bustle, tumult. 2 Not a soul but felt such a fever as madmen feel, when the frantic fit is on them. 3 Folded. Ari. Safely in harbor 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,1 there she's hid: The mariners all under hatches stow'd; Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labor, I have left asleep and for the rest o' the fleet, : Which I dispersed, they all have met again; Bound sadly home for Naples ; Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, And his great person perish. Pro. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work: What is the time o' the day? Ari. Past the mid season. Pro. 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, Pro. What is 't thou canst demand? Ari. How now ? moody? My liberty. Pro. Before the time be out? no more. I pray thee Ari. Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served Without or grudge, or grumblings: thou didst promise Pro. 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, Ari. I do not, sir. Pro. 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? Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax Thou know'st, was banish'd; for one thing she did, Algiers. Ari. Ay, sir. Pro. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by the sailors: thou, my slave, A dozen years; within which space she died, groans, As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island, Ari. Yes; Caliban her son. Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, When I arrived, and heard thee, that made gape Ari. I thank thee, master. Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Ari. I will be correspondent to command, Pro. I will discharge thee. Ari. 1 Pardon, master : Do so; and after two days That's my noble master! What shall I do? say what? what shall I do? Pro. Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea; be subject To no sight but thine and mine; invisible To every eye-ball else. Go, take this shape, Mir. The strangeness of your story put Pro. Shake it off: Come on; We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never Yields us kind answer. Mir. "Tis a villain, sir, But, as 'tis, I do not love to look on. Pro. We cannot miss 2 him: he does make our fire, Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices 1 My office of a spirit. Do without. |