PERFORM'D TO POINT THE TEMPEST THAT I BAD THEE.

Act 1, Scene 2.

London Published by The mas Teog. N Cheapside April 1.1022

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.

Pro.

Hast thou, spirit,

Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?
Ari. To every article.

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

My brave spirit!

Pro.
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil

Would not infect his reason?

Ari.

Not a soul

But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd

Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners, Plung'd 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.

Pro.

Why, that's my spirit!

But was not this nigh shore?
Ari.

Close by, my master.

Pro. 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 bad'st me,
In troops
I have dispers'd 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.

Pro.

Of the king's ship,

The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd,
And all the rest o' th' fleet?

Ari.
Safely in harbour
Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid:
The mariners all under hatches stow'd;

Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
I have left asleep and for the rest o' th' fleet,

:

Which I dispers'd, they all have met again;

And are upon the Mediterranean flote,
Bound sadly home for Naples ;

Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd,
And his great person perish.

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 promis'd,

Which is not yet perform'd me.

Pro.

What is't thou canst demand?

Ari.

How now ? moody?

My liberty.

I pray thee

Pro. Before the time be out? no more.

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

Pro.

Dost thou forget

From what a torment I did free thee?

Ari.

Pro. Thou dost! and think'st

No.

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' th' earth,
When it is bak'd with frost.

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, For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible

To enter human hearing, from Argier,

Thou know'st, was banish'd; for one thing she did, They would not take her life: Is not this true?

Ari. Ay, sir.

Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with

child,

And here was left by th' sailors: Thou, my slave,
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant :
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
By help of her more potent ministers,
And in her most unmitigable rage,

Into a cloven pine; within which rift
Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain

A dozen years; within which space she died,
And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans,
As fast as mill-wheels strike: Then was this island,
(Save for the son that she did litter here,

A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honour'd with
A human shape.

Ari.

Yes; Caliban her son

Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban,
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
What torment I did find thee in: thy groans
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts
Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
Could not again undo; it was mine art,
When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape
The pine, and let thee out.

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.

Pardon, master ·