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Pro. Thou moft lying flave,

Whom ftripes may move, not kindnefs; I have us'd


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

Cal. Oh ho, oh ho, I wou'd it had been done!
Thou didst prevent me, I had peopled ele
This Ifle with Calibans.

Mira. Abhorred flave;

Who any print of goodnefs will not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pity'd thee,

Took pains to make thee fpeak, taught thee each hour
One thing or other. When thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but would'ft gabble like
A thing moft brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known. But thy vile race
(Tho' thou didst learn) had that in't, which good natures
Could not abide to be with; therefore waft thou
Defervedly confin'd into this rock.

Cal. You taught me language, and my profit on't
Is, I know how to curfe: the red-plague rid you
For learning me your language.

Por. Hag-feed, hence!

Fetch us in fewel, and be quick (thou 'wert beft)
To answer other bufinefs. Shrug'ft thou, malice?
If thou neglect, or doft unwillingly

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

Cal. No, pray thee.

I must obey, his art is of fuch pow'r
It would controul my dam's god Setebos,
And make a vaffal of him.

Pro. So flave, hence,

[Exit Caliban,



Enter Ferdinand, and Ariel invifible, playing and finging


Come unto thefe yellow fands,
And then take hands:

Curt'fied when you have and kift ;
The wild waves whift;

Foot it featly here and there,

And Sweet Sprites the burthen bear.

[Burthen difperfedly.

Hark, bark, bough-wawgh: the watch-dogs bark,:

Ari. Hark, hark, I hear

The ftrain of ftrutting chanticlere,

Cry Cock-a-doodle-do.


Fer. Where fhould this mufick be? in air, or earth? It founds no more: and fure it waits upon Some God o' th' Ifland. Sitting on a bank, Weeping against the King my father's wreck, This mufick crept by me upon the waters Allaying both their fury and my paffion, With its fweet air; thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me ratherbut 'tis gone.

No, it begins again.

Full fathom five thy father lyès,
Of his bones are coral made:
Thofe are pearls that were his eyes,
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth fuffer a fea-change,
Into fomething rich and ftrange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell.
Hark, now I hear them, ding-dong bell.

[Burthen: ding-dong.


"Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father; This is no mortal bufinefs, nor no found

That the earth owns: I hear it now above me.


Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And fay what thou feeft yond.

Mira. What is't, a fpirit?

Lord, how it looks about! believe me, Sir,
It carries a brave form. But 'tis a fpirit.

Pro. No wench, it eats, and fleeps, and hath fuch fenfes As we have, fuch. This gallant which thou feeft Was in the wreck and but he's fomething ftain'd With grief (that's beauty's canker) thou might'ft call


A goodly perfon. He hath loft his fellows,
And trays about to find 'em.

Mira. I might call him

A thing divine, for nothing natural

I ever faw fo noble.

Pro. It goes on, 1 fee,


As my foul prompts it. Spirit, fine fpirit, I'll free thee Within two days for this.

Fer. Moft fure the Goddefs

On whom these ayres attend! vouchfafe my pray'r
May know if you remain upon this Island,
And that you will fome good inftruction give
How I may bear me here: my prime request
Which I do laft pronounce) is, O you wonder!
you be made or no?


Mira. No wonder, Sir,

But certainly a maid.

Fer. My language! heav'ns!

I am the best of them that fpeak this speech,
Were I but where 'tis fpoken.

Pro. How the best?

What wert thou if the King of Naples heard thee? Fer. A fingle thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee fpeak of Naples. He does hear me ;


And that he does, I weep: my fell am Naples,
Who, with mine eyes (ne'er fince at ebb) beheld
The King my father wrackt.

Mira. Alack, for mercy!

Fer. Yes faith, and all his lords: the Duke of Milan And his brave fon, being twain,

Pro. The Duke of Milan

And his more braver daughter could controll thee,
If now 'twere fit to do't:

At the first fight They have chang'd eyes: (delicate Ariel,

I'll fet thee free for this.) A word, good Sir,
I fear you've done your felf fome wrong: a word.
Mira. Why fpeaks my father fo ungently? this
Is the third man that e'er I faw; the first
That e'er I figh'd for. Pity move my father
To be inclin'd my way!

Fef. O, if a Virgin,

And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
The Queen of Naples.

Pro. Soft Sir, one word more.

They're both in either's pow'r: but this fwift bufinefs I muft uneafie make, left too light winning

Make the prize light. Sir, one word more; [I charge thee

[To Ariel. That thou attend me] thou dost here ufurp

The name thou ow'ft not, and haft put thy felf
Upon this ifland, as a fpy, to win it

From me, the lord on't.

Fer. No, as I'm a man.

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in fuch a temple, If the ill fpirit have fo fair an houfe,

Good things will ftrive to dwell with't.

Pro. Follow me.

Speak you not for him he's a traitor.
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together;


Sea-water fhalt thou drink, thy food fhall be

The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

Fer. No,

I will refift fuch entertainment, 'till


Mine enemy has more power.

[He draws, and is charmed from moving,

Mira. O dear father,

Make not too radh a tryal of him; for

He's gentle, and not fearful.

Pro. What, I fay,

My foot my tutor? put thy fword up, traitor, Who mak'it a fhew, but dar'ft not ftrike; thy con science

Is all poffeft with guilt: come from thy ward,

For I can here difarm thee with this stick,
And make thy weapon drop.

Mira, Befeech you, father.

Pro. Hence: hang not on my garment.
Mira. Sir, have pity;

I'll be his furety.

Pro. Silence: one word more

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What, An advocate for an impoftor? hush!

Thou think it there are no more fuch frapes as he, (Having feen but him and Caliban) foolish wench, To th' most of men this is a Caliban,

And they to him are angels.

Mira. My affections

Are then moft humble: I have no ambition

To fee a goodlier man.

Pro. Come on, obey:

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,

And have no vigour in them.

Fer. So they are:

My fpirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.

My father's lofs, the weaknefs which


The wrack of all my friends, and this man's threats,

To whom I am fubdu'd, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prifon once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o'th' earth
Let liberty make ufe of; fpace enough
Have 1, in fuch a prison.

Pro. It works: come on.

Thou haft done well, fine Ariel: follow me,


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