Ari.

Remember I have done thee worthy service;

1 prithee,

Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd

Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise

Pros. Thou dost; and think'st 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.

Pros. 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?

Ari. No, sir.

Pros.

Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me.

Ari. Sir, in Argier.

Pros.

O, was she so? I must

Once in a month recount what thou hast been,

Which thou forgett'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.

Pros. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child,

And here was left by the 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

A human shape.

Ari

- not honour'd with

Yes, Caliban her son.

Pros. 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.
Pros. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak,
And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till

Thou'st howl'd away twelve winters.

Ari.

I will be correspondent to command,
And do my spriting gently.

Pros.

I will discharge thee.
Ari.

Pardon, master:

Do so; and after two days

That's my noble master!

What shall I do? say what; what shall I do?

Pros. Go make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea:

Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible
To every eyeball else. Go take this shape,
And hither come in't: hence with diligence!
Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;
Awake!

[Exit Ariel.

Mir. [waking] The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me.

Pros.

Shake it off. Come on;

We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never

Yields us kind answer.

Mir.

I do not love to look on.

Pros.

"Tis a villain, sir,

But, as 'tis,

We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices

That profit us.

What, ho! slave! Caliban!

Thou earth, thou! speak.

Cal. [within]

There's wood enough within.

Pros. Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee: Come, thou tortoise! when?

Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph.

Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,

Hark in thine ear.

Ari.

My lord, it shall be done.

[Exit.

Pros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

Enter CALIBAN.

Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd

With raven's feather from unwholesome fen

Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye,

And blister you all o'er!

Pros. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 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 honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made 'em.

Cal.

I must eat my dinner.

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,

Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st here 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 lov'd thee,
And show'd thee all the qualities o' th' 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 o' th' island.

Pros.

Thou most lying slave,

Whom stripes may move,

not kindness! I have us'd thee

Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodg'd thee
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
The honour of my child.

Cal. O ho, O ho! - would 't had been done!
Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else
This isle with Calibans.

Which any print of godness wilt not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,

Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like

A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes

With words that made them known. But thy vile race, Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou

Deservedly confin'd into this rock,

Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison.

Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on't
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you
For learning me your language!

Pros.

Hag-seed, hence!

Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best,

To answer other business. Shrugg'st thou, malice?
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly

What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
Fill all thy bones with achès, make thee roar,
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

Cal.
No, pray thee.
[Aside] I must obey: his art is of such power, -
It would control my dam's god, Setebos,

And make a vassal of him.

Pros.

So, slave; hence! [Exit Caliban.

Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing; FERDINAND

[Burden, dispersedly, within. Bow, wow.] The watch-dogs bark:

[Burden, dispersedly, within. Bow, wow.]

Hark, hark! I hear

The strain of strutting chanticleer

Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.

Fer. Where should this music be? i' th' air or th' earth?

Some god o' th' island.
Weeping again the king

it waits upon

Sitting on a bank,
my father's wreck,

This music crept by me upon the waters,
Allaying both their fury and my passion
With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
Or it hath drawn me rather:

No, it begins again.

but 'tis gone