Performed to point the Tempest that I bade thee?
Ari. To every article.

I boarded the king's ship: now on the beak,
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
I flamed amazement: sometime I'd divide,
And burn in many places; on the topmast
The yards and bowsprit would I flame distinctly,
Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the pre-

cursors

O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not: the fire, and cracks Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, Yea, his dread trident shake.

Pro.

My brave spirit!

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil

Would not infect his reason?

Ari.

Not a soul

But felt a fever of the mad, and played

Some tricks of desperation. All, but mariners, Plunged in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Then all a-fire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring (then like reeds, not hair), Was the first

empty,

man that leapt; cried, 'Hell is

And all the devils are here.'

On their sustaining garments not a blemish,

But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me,
In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle.
The king's son have I landed by himself,

Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs,
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,
His arms in this sad knot.

Pro.

Of the King's ship

The mariners, say how thou hast disposed,
And all the rest o' the Fleet?

Ari.

Safely in harbour

Is the King's ship, in the deep nook where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still-vext Bermoothes, there she's hid; The mariners all under hatches stowed,

Whom, with a charm joined to their suffered

labour,

I have left asleep and for the rest o' the Fleet

:

Which I dispersed, they all have met again,

And are upon the Mediterranean flote

Bound sadly home for Naples,

Supposing that they saw the King's ship wrecked, And his great person perish.

Pro.

Ariel, thy charge

Exactly is performed; but there's more work :

What is the time o' the day?

Ari.

Past the mid season.

Pro. 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 performed me.

Pro.

What is 't thou canst demand?

Ari.

How now ? moody?

My liberty.

Pro. Before the time be out? No more!

I pr'ythee,

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

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

within which years:

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.