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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' th' 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.

ACT II.

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, The master 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.

Pr'ythee, 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 strike.

Gon. Sir,

Seb. One-tell.

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

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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 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

Ant. He misses not much.

in't.

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 dyed, 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!

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 rais'd 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.

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Seb.

Ant.

Foul weather?

Very foul.
Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,-
Ant. He'd sow't with neddle-seed.
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,

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,

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 marriage?
Alon. You cram these words into mine ears, against
Would I had never

The stomach of my sense.

Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,
My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,

Who is so far from Italy remov'd,

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.

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Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise

By all of us; and the fair soul herself

Weigh'd between lothness and obedience, as

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Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! Gon. And, do you mark me, sir?Alon. Pr'ythee, 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 mettle: you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.

Enter ARIEL above 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

Which end o' the beam should bow. We have lost Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find,

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.

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.

We two, my lord,

Ant.
Will guard your person while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.

Alon. Thank you. Wondrous heavy.-[ALONZO sleeps.
Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
Ant. It is the quality o' the climate.

Seb. Why Doth it not, then, our eye-lids 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 should'st be. Th' 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.

Noble Sebastian,

Ant. 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.

Hereditary sloth instructs me.

Ant.

O!

Do so to ebb

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.

Thus, sir.

Ant. 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,

(The man i' the moon's too slow) till new-born chins Be rough and razorable; she, for 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's 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.
A space whose every cubit

Ant.

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,

But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with me, That Ferdinand is drown'd?

Seb.

Ant.

He's gone.
Then, tell me,

Claribel.

Who's the next heir of Naples?

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.

Seb. 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,

I remember,

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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, 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 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. ARIEL descends invisible.

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Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are you way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no drawn? other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with Wherefore thus ghastly looking? strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till the drench of the storm be past.

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.

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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 shak'd you, sir, and cry'd: as mine eyes open'd,
I saw their weapons drawn.-There was a noise,
That's verity: '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 farther
search

For my poor son.

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

Alon.

Lead away. [Exeunt.
Ari. Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have done:
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exit.

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 not 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 'em; 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?
[Seeing Caliban.] 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. Legg'd 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 by a thunder-bolt.
[Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best

Enter STEPHANO, singing; a bottle in his hand. 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.
The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,

Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us car'd for Kate;
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang:

She lov'd not the savour of tar, nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where-e 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!

Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of Inde? Ha! I have not 'scap'd 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: 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 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, pr'ythee: I'll bring my wood home faster.

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.

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: you cannot tell who's your friend; open your chaps again. [CALIBAN drinks. 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; 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!

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 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 cam'st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent Trinculos?

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? Stephano! two Neapolitans 'scaped?

O

Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about: my stomach is not constant.

Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.
That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor:
I will kneel to him.

Ste. How didst thou 'scape? How cam'st thou hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved over-board, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast a-shore.

Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true subject, for the liquor is not earthly. [Kneels.

Ste. Here: swear, then, how thou escap'dst. Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck. I can swim 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 the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! how does thine ague?

Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven? Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man in the moon, when time was.

Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee: my mistress showed 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:-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' the island; and I will kiss thy foot. I pr'ythee, be my god.

Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster: when his 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.

[CALIBAN lies down. Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppyheaded monster. A most scurvy monster: I could find in my heart to beat him,—

Ste. 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 pr'ythee, 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 marmozet: I'll bring thee
To clustering filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee
Young scamels from the rock: Wilt thou go with me?

Ste. I pr'ythee 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. Farewell, master; farewell, farewell.

[Sings drunkenly.
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, Ca-Caliban,

Has a new master-Get a new man.

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

Ste. O brave monster! lead the way.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-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, blest when I do it.

Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO behind.
Mira.
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.

Mira.
I'll bear your logs the while.
I'll carry it to the pile.

Fer.

If you'll sit down,
Pray, give me that:

No, precious creature:

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
Than you should such dishonour undergo,
While I sit lazy by.

Mira.

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.

Pro.

Poor worm! thou art infected; This visitation shows it. [Aside.

Mira.

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?

Mira.

Miranda. O my father!

[To herself.

I have broke your hest to say so.

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