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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 honey-combs, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made them.

Cal.
I must eat my dinner.
This island's mine, by Sycorax, my mother,
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest
first,

Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st 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 of the island.

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race,

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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:
Hark! now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell.
[Burden, ding-dong.

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.
Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance
And say, what thou seest yond'.

Mira.

What is't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form:-But 'tis a spirit. Pro. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses

As we have, such: This gallant which thou seest,

Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd

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With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him

A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows,
And strays about to find them.

Mira.

I might call him A thing divine; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.

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But, certainly a maid. Fer.

No wonder, sir;

My language; heavens! I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken.

Pro.
How! the best?
What wert thou if the king of Naples heard thee?
Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
To hear thee speak of Naples: He does hear me;
And, that he does, I weep: myself am Naples;
Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld
The king my father wreck'd.
Mira.
Alack, for mercy!
Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of
Milan,

And his brave son being twain.
Pro.
The duke of Milan,
And his more braver daughter, could control' thee,
If now 'twere fit to do't:-At the first sight

[Aside.

They have chang'd eyes:-Delicate Ariel,
I'll set thee free for this!-A word, good sir:
I fear, you have done yourself some wrong: a word.
Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This
Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first
That e'er I sighed for: pity move my father
To be inclin'd my way!

Fer.
O, if a virgin,
And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
The queen of Naples!

Pro. Soft, sir, one word more.They are both in either's powers; but this swift business

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside. Make the prize light.-One word more; I charge thee,

That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp
The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself
Upon this island, as a spy to win it
From me, the lord on't.

Fer.

No, as I am a man.

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My foot my tutor!-Put thy sword up, traitor; Who mak'st a show, but dar'st 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.

Mira.
Beseech you, father!
Pro. Hence; hang not on my garments.
Mira.
Sir, have pity;

I'll be his surety.
Pro.
Silence: one word more
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!
An advocate for an impostor? hush!

Thou think'st there are 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.
Mira.

My affections
Are then most humble; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.

So they are:

Pro.
Come on; obey: [To FERD.
Thy nerves are in their infancy again,
And have no vigor in them.
Fer.
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, or 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.
Pro.
It works:-Come on.-
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!-Follow me.-
[To FERD. and MIR.
[To ARIEL.
Be of comfort;

Hark, what thou else shalt do me.
Mira.

My father's of a better nature, sir,
Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted,
Which now came from him.

Pro.

Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command.

Ari.

To the syllable.

Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt.

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Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit;
By and by it will strike.
Gon. Sir,-

Seb. One-Tell.

Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's offered,

Comes to the entertainer

Seb.

A dollar.

Gon. Dolor comes to him, indeed; you have spoken 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 pr'ythee, spare.

Gon. Well, I have done: But yet

Seb. He will be talking.

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 walls, 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

Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. wager, first begins to crow?

Seb. The old cock.

Ant. The cockrel.

Seb. Done: the wager?

Ant. A laughter.

Seb. A match.

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Ant. He could not miss it.

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 de-
livered.

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.

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 fish'd for.

Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's mar

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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

Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, green!

Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny.

Seb. With an eye of green in't.

Ant. He misses not much.

Seb. No: he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed almost beyond credit)—

Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are.

Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness, and glosses; being rather new dy'd, than stain'd with salt water.

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, he lies?

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis.

Seb. "Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper

well in our return.

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen.

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! how came that widow in? Widow Dido!

Seb. What if he had said, widower Æneas too? good lord, how you take it!

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As stooping to relieve him; I not doubt,
He came alive to land.

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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.
Pr'ythee, peace.
Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun❜d other-
wise

By all of us; and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at
Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost
your son,

I fear, forever: Milan and Naples have
More widows in them of this business' making,
Than we bring men to comfort them: The fault's

Your own.

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Gon. And were the king of it, what would I do?

Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine.
Gon. I' the commonwealth I would by con-
traries

Execute all things: for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; no use of service,
Of riches or of poverty; no contracts,
Succession; 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.
And yet he would be king on't.
Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth for-
gets the beginning.

Gon. All things in common nature should produce,

Without sweat or endeavor: 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; 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. Pry'thee, no more: thou dost talk nothing

to me.

Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing.

Ant. "Twas you we laugh'd at.

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still.

Ant. What a blow was there given! Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. Gon. You are gentlemen of brave metal: 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 but 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, Do not omit the heavy offer of it; It seldom visits sorrow: when it doth,

It is a comforter.

Ant.

We two, my lord,

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Do so: to ebb,

0,

Seb.
Well; I am standing water.
Ant. I'll teach you how to flow.
Seb.
Hereditary sloth instructs me.
Ant.
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.
Pr'ythee, 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)
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 doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with That Ferdinand is drown'd? Seb. Ant.

me,

He's gone.
Then, tell me,

Claribel.

Who's the next heir of Naples?

Seb.

Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples

Will guard your person, while you take your rest, Can have no note, unless the sun were post,

And watch your safety.

Plenty.

(The man i' the moon's too slow) till new-born chins Be rough and razorable: she, from whom

We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again;
And, by that, destin'd 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 seiz'd them; why, they were no

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

Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kybe, Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences, That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother, No better than the earth he lies upon, If he were that which now he's like; whom I, With this obedient steel, three inches of it, Can lay to bed for ever: whiles you, doing thus, To the perpetual wink for aye might put This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk; They'll tell the clock to any business that We say befits the hour.

Seb.

Thy case, dear friend, Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st; And I the king shall love thee. Ant. Draw together: And when I rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo. Seb

O, but one word! [They converse apart. Music. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible. Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger That these, his friends, are in; and sends me forth, (For else his project dies,) to keep them living. [Sings in GONZALO's ear.

While you here do snoring lie,
Open-ey'd conspiracy

His time doth take:
If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber, and beware:
Awake! awake!

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

A bird of the jackdaw kind.

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 it not wake you?
It struck mine ear most terribly.
Alon.
I heard nothing.
Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear;
To make an earthquake! sure it was the roar
Of a whole herd of lions.

Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? Gon. Upon mine honor, sir, I heard a humming, And that a strange one too, which did awake me: I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd: as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn:-there was a noise, That's verity: 'Best 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: [Aside. So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt.

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,
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire,
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid them; but
For every trifle are they set upon me:
Sometime like apes that moe" and chatter at me,
And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks at my foot-fall; sometime am I
All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues,
Do hiss me into madness:-Lo! now! lo!

Enter TRINCULO.

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

Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i' the wind: yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks like a foul bombard' that" would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holidayfool there but would give a piece of silver; there would this monster make a man: any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins

Make mouths.

A black jack of leather to hold beer.

B

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