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Pro. 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 baked 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? Ari. No, sir.

Pro.

Thou hast. Where was she born?

speak; tell me.

Ari. Sir, in Argier.

Pro.

O, was she so? I must,

Once in a month, recount what thou hast been,
Which thou forgett'st. This damned witch, Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing, from Argier,

Thou know'st, was banished: for one thing she did,
They would not take her life. Is not this true?
Ari. Ay, sir.

Pro. This blue-eyed 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 abhorred 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
Imprisoned, 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 which she did litter here,

A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honoured 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 damned, 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.

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

Thou hast howled away twelve winters.

Ari.

Pardon, master:

I will be correspondent to command,

And do my spiriting gently.

Pro.

Do so, and

That's

After two days I will discharge thee.

Ari.

My noble master! What shall I do? say what? What shall I do?

Pro. Go, make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: Be subject to no sight but thine and mine; Invisible to every eye-ball else.

Go, take this shape, and hither come in it.

Go; hence with diligence!

[Exit ARIEL.

Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;

Awake!

Mira. The strangeness of your story put

Heaviness in me.

Pro.

Shake it off. Come on:

We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never

Yields us kind answer.

Mira.

I do not love to look on.

Pro.

"Tis a villain, sir,

But, as 't is,

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.

Pro. 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.

Pro. 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 brushed With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye, And blister you all o'er !

Pro. 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 pinched

As thick as honey-comb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made them.

Cal.

I must eat my dinner.

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest

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 loved thee,

And showed 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' the island.

Pro.

Thou most lying slave,

Whom stripes may move, not kindness: I have

used thee,

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