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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 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.

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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, al

most 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 Africk, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Clasibel, to the king of Tunis.

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

Adr. Tunis was never grac'd 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

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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 marriage?
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 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 b.easted

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.

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;

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 otherwise
By all of es; and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at
Which end o'the beam she'd bow. We have lost your
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have

[son,

More widows in them of this business' making,
Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's
Your own.

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.
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.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

Very well.

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,

When you are cloudy.

Seb.

Ant.

Foul weather?

Very foul.

Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord,-
Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed.

Seb.

Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the king of it, What would I do? Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine.

Gon. I'the commonwealth I wou'd by contraries

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,

Successions; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none:

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

No occupation; all men idle, all;

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And yet he would be king on't.
Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets
Gon. All things in common nature should produce
Without sweat or endeavour: 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 foizon, 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.

Ant. Long live Gonzalo!
Gon.

'Save his majesty!

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, 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.

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What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is

And, do you mark me, sir? Another way so high an hope, that even

Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk nothing

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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 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,

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.

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
Were then my fellows, now they are my men.

Seb. But, for your conscience-
Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kibe,

"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 thev,
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 1,
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.

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While you here do snoring lie,

Open-ey'd Conspiracy

His time doth take:

If of life you keep a care,

Shalle

off slumber, and beware:
Awake! awake!

Ant. Then let us both be sudden.

Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king!

[They awake. Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are you Wherefore this ghastly looking? [drawn! 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, 'iwas 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:
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
For my poor son.
[search
Gon.
Heavens keep him from these beasts!
For he is, sure, i'the island.

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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 firebrand, in the dark,
Out of my way, unless he bid them; but
For every trifle are they set upon me:

Sometimes 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; 1 hear it sing i'the wind: yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard 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 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 this fish painted, not a holiday-fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any str 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 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 bedfellows. I will here shroud, till the dregs of the storm be past.

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 seurvy 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'er she did itch: Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. This is a scurvy tune too but here's my comfort.

Cal. Do not torment me: O!

[Drinks.

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: 0!

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.

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 thunderstroke: 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 'scap'd!

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 overboard, 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. 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, that 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 thon 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, thy dog, and 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 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.

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SCENE I. Before Prospero's Cell.
Enter Ferdinand, bearing a Log.

Fer. There be some sports are painful; but 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 'tis 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 compos'd 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 base-
Had ne'er like executor. I forget:
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours;
Most busy-less, when I do it.

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Pro. This visitation shows it. Mira.

You look wearily.

[me, Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with When you are by at night. I do beseech you

Cal. I'll kiss thy foot I'll swear myself thy sub- (Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers),

ject.

Ste. Come on then; down, and swear.

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!

P'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,

Thou wondrous man.

What is your name? Mira.

Miranda:-O my father,

I have broke your hest to say so!

Fer.

Admir'd Miranda!

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Have I lik'd several women; never any

With so full soul, but some defect in her

Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd,

And put it to the foil but you, O you,

So perfect, and so peerless, are created

Trin. A most ridiculous monster; to make a won Of every creature's best.

der of a poor drunkard.

Mira.

I do not know

One of my sex; no woman's face remember,
Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
More that I may call men, than you, good friend,
And my dear father how features are abroad,
I am skill-less of; but by my modesty
('The jewel in my dower), I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you;
Nor can imagination form a shape,

Besides yourself, to like of: but I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
Therein forget.

Fer.

I am, in my condition,

A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;
(I would, not so!) and would no more endure
'This wooden slavery, than I would suffer

The flesh-fly blow my mouth.-Hear my soul speak;

The very instant that I saw you, did

My heart fly to your service; there resides,

To make me slave to it; and, for your sake,

Am I this patient log-man.

Mira.

Do you love me?

Cal. Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord ? Trin. Lord, quoth he! that a monster should be such a natural!

Cal. Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head; if you prove a mutineer, the next tree-The poor monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity.

Čal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd To hearken once again the suit I made thee?

Ste. Marry will I kneel, and repeat it; I will stand, and so shall Trinculo.

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Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou:

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, I would, my valiant master would destroy thee;

And crown what I profess with kind event,

If I speak true; if hollowly, invert

What best is boded me, to mischief! I,

Beyond all limit of what else i'the world,

Do love, prize, honour you.

Beyond

Mira.

I am a fool,

To weep at what I am glad of.

Pro.

Fair encounter

Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace

On that which breeds between them!

Fer.

Wherefore weep you?

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer

What I desire to give; and much less take,

What I shall die to want: But this is tritling;

And all the more it seeks to hide itself,

The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!

And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!

I am your wife, if you will marry me;

If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow
You may deny me; but I'll be your servant,

Whether you will or no.

Fer.

And I thus humble ever. Mira.

My mistress, dearest,

My husband then ?

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing

As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand.
Mira. And mine, with my heart in't: And now
Till half an hour hence.
Fer.

[farewell,
A thousand! thousand !
[Exeunt Fer. and Mira.

Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are surpris'd with all; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining.

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Ste. Drink, servant monster, when I bid thee; thy eyes are almost set in thy head.

Trin. Where should they be set else? he were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail.

Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me: I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty leagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard.

Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard. Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster.

Trin. Nor go neither but you'll lie like dogs;

and yet say nothing neither.

Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf.

Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe; I'll not serve him, he is not valiant.

Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster; I am in case to justle a constable: Why, thou deboshed fish thou, was there ever man a coward, that hath drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish, and half a monster?

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Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger; interrupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a stock-fish of thee.

Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing; I'll go further off.

Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied ?
Ari. Thou liest.

Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [Strikes him.] As you like this, give me the lie another time.

Trin. I did not give the lie: Out o'your wits, and hearing too?-A pox o'your bottle! this can sack, and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers!

Cal. Ha, ha, ha!

Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee stand further off.

Cal. Beat him enough after a little time,
I'll beat him too.
Ste.

Stand further. Come, proceed.

Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him
I'the afternoon to sleep: there thou may'st hrain him,
Having first seiz'd his books; or with a log
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
Or cut his wezand with thy knife: Remember,
First to possess his books; for without them
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not

One spirit to command. They all do hate him,
As rootedly as I: Burn but his books;

He has brave utensils (for so he calls them),
Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal.
And that most deeply to consider, is
The beauty of his daughter; he himself
Calls her a nonpareil: I ne'er saw woman,
But only Sycorax my dam, and she;

But she as far surpasseth Sycorax,
As greatest does least.

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