Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank, ARIEL'S SONG. Full fathom five thy father lies; Hark! now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell. A LOVER'S SPEECH. 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. ACT II. DESCRIPTION OF FERDINAND'S SWIMMING ASHORA 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. SLEEP. Do not omit the heavy offer of it; A FINE APOSIOPESIS. They fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, What thou should'st be: the occasion speaks thee: and My strong imagination sees a crown CALIBAN'S CURSES. All the infections that the sun sucks up And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch, Sometimes like apes, that moe* and chatter at me, All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, Do hiss me into madness: Lo! now! lo! Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me, SATIRE ON ENGLISH CURIOSITY. 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 CALIBAN'S PROMISES. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee ber ries; I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough 1 * Make mouths. I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; ACT III. FERDINAND. 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 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 base. ness Had ne'er like executor. I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance. Work not so hard: I would the lightning had He's safe for these three hours. Fer. Mira. If you'll sit down, I'll bear your logs the while: Pray give me that Sea-gulls. I'll carry it to the pile. Fer. 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 Pro. Poor worm' thou art infected; This visitation shows it. 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 your prayers,) What is your name? Mira. Miranda:-O my father, Fer. I do not know Mira. 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 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 sou speak; The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides, Mira. Do you love me? Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true; if hollowly, invert What best is boded me, to mischief! I, Mira. I am a fool, Fair encounter Of too most rare affections! Heaven s rain grace On that which breeds between them! Fer Wherefore weep you? The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow Fer. And I thus humble ever. Mira. My mistress, dearest My husband then? |