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It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
And make a vassal of him.


So, slave; hence! [Exit CALIBAN.

Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing; FERDINAND following him.

ARIEL'S song.

Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:

Courtsied when you have, and kiss'd,
The wild waves whist,

Foot it featly here and there;

And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark! hark!

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Hark, hark! I hear



The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.

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

It sounds no more: and, sure, it waits upon
Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king 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. But 't is gone.
No, it begins again.

ARIEL sings.

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

Burthen. Ding-dong.

Ari. Hark! now I hear them,-Ding-dong, bell. Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father.

This is no mortal business, nor no sound
That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.
Pros. The fringed curtains of thine eye

And say what thou seest yond.

Mir. What is 't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form :-but 't is a spirit. Pros. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses

As we have, such. This gallant, which thou seest, Was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him

A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows,

And strays about to find 'em.


A thing divine, for nothing natural

I ever saw so noble.

Pros. [Aside.]

I might call him

It goes on, I see,

As my soul prompts it.-Spirit, fine spirit! I'll

free thee

Within two days for this.


Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe, my


May know if you remain upon this island,
And that you will some good instruction give,
How I may bear me here: my prime request,

If you be maid, or no?

But certainly a maid.



No wonder, sir;

My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 't is spoken.


How? the best? What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me, And that he does I weep: myself am Naples, Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld The king, my father, wreck'd.


Alack, for mercy! Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan,

And his brave son, being twain.

Pros. [Aside.]

The Duke of Milan And his more braver daughter could control thee, If now 't were fit to do't. At the first sight They have changed eyes.-Delicate Ariel, I'll set thee free for this.-[To FER.] A word, good sir;

I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.

Mir. Why speaks my father so ungently? This Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first That e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father To be inclined my way!


O! if a virgin,

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

Pros. Soft, sir! one word more.— [Aside] They are both in either's powers; but this swift business

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning Make the prize light. [To FER.] One word more ; I charge thee

That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself Upon this island as a spy, to win it

From me, the lord on 't.


No, as I am a man.

Mir. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:

If the ill spirit have so fair a house,

Good things will strive to dwell with 't.

Pros. [To FER.]

Follow me.

Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.-Come;
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:
Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
The fresh-brook mussels, wither'd roots, and


Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.


I will resist such entertainment, till

Mine enemy has more power.


[He draws, and is charmed from moving.


O, dear father,

What! I say:

Make not too rash a trial of him, for

He's gentle and not fearful.

My foot my tutor?-Put thy sword up, traitor;
Who makest a show, but darest not strike, thy

Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward,
For I can here disarm thee with this stick,
And make thy weapon drop.


Pros. Hence! hang not on my garments.


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Beseech you, father!

Sir, have pity.

Silence! one word more

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!

An advocate for an impostor? hush!

Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!

To the most of men this is a Caliban,

And they to him are angels.


My affections

Are then most humble; I have no ambition

To see a goodlier man.

Pros. [To FER.]

Come on; obey: Thy nerves are in their infancy again, And have no vigour in them.


So they are;

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, nor this man's

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