What is the time o' the day?

Pros. 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 promised,

Which is not yet perform'd me.

What is't thou canst demand?
Ari.

Pros. Before the time be out? no more!
Ari.

Remember I have done thee worthy service ;
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served
Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise

Pros. Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze

To run upon the sharp wind of the north,

When it is baked 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.

tell me.

Pros.

Thou hast. Where was she born? speak;

260

Ari. Sir, in Argier.

Pros.

O, was she so? I must

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,

265

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-eyed hag was hither brought with child,

270

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,

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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.

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 arrived 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 hast howl'd away twelve winters.
Ari.

I will be correspondent to command,

And do my spiriting gently.

Pros.

I will discharge thee.
Ari.

279

285

290

295

Pardon, master :

Do so; and after two days

That's my noble master!

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

300

Pros. Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: Be subject to no sight but thine and mine; invisible To every eyeball else. Go take this shape, And hither come in't go, hence with diligence! [Exit Ariel. Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake!

Mir. 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.

'Tis a villain, sir,

I do not love to look on.
Pros.

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.

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310

Pros. Come forth, I say! there's other business for

thee:

Come, thou tortoise! when?

315

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!

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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.

326

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first,
Thou strokedst me, and madest 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 loved thee,

335