The Dramatic Works of Shakespeare

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not; And sight-out-running were not: The fire, and cracks

(So dear the love my people bore me) nor set A mark so bloody on the business; but

With colours fairer painted their foul ends.

In few, they hurried us aboard a bark;

Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd

A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd,

Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us,
To cry to the sea, that roar'd to us; to sigh

To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again,

Did us but loving wrong.

Mira. Alack! what trouble

Was I then to you!

Pro. O! a cherubim

Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune
Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,
Yea, his dread trident shake.

Pro. My brave spirit!

Who was so firm, rm, so constant, that this coil

Would not infect his reason?

Ari. Not a soul

But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd
Some tricks of desperation: All, but mariners,
Plung'd 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 man that leap'd; cried, Hell is empty,
And all the devils are here.

Thou wast, that did preserve me! Thou didst smile, Pro. Why, that's my spirit!

Infused with a fortitude from heaven,

But was not this nigh shore?

When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt;

Ari. Close by, my master.

Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me

Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe?

An undergoing stomach, to bear up

Ari. Not a hair perish'd;

Against what should ensue.

On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
But fresher than before: and, as thou bad'st me,
In troops I have dispers'd 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 dispos'd,

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-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid:
The mariners all under hatches stow'd;

Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
I have left asleep: and for the rest o' the fleet,
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again;
And are upon the Mediterranean flote,

Mira. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd,

you, sir,

(For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason

For raising this sea-storm?

Pro. Knowthus far forth.

By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore: and by my prescience
I find my zenith doth depend upon

A most auspicious star; whose influence

If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes

Will ever after droop. - Here cease more questions;
Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dulness,

And give it way; I know thou can'st not choose.

Remember, I have done thee worthy service;

Approach, my Ariel; come.

Ari. I pray thee,

Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd

Once in a month, recount what thou hast been,

Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd

For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible

To enter human hearing, from Argier,
Thou know'st, was banish'd; for one thing she did,
They would not take her life: Is not this true?

Ari. Ay, sir.

Pro. This blue-ey'd 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 abhorr'd 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
Imprison'd, thou did'st painfully remain

A dozen years; within which space she died,
And left thee there; where thou did'st 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.

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

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

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 lov'd thee,
And shew'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,
The fresh springs, brinepits, barren place, and fertile;
Curs'd 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 of the island.

Pro. Thou most lying slave,

Whom stripes may move, not kindness: I have us'd

thee,

To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax

Could not again undo; it was mine art,

When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape

The pine, and let thee out.

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

Ari. I thank thee, master.

Cal. O ho, O ho! - 'would it had been done!

Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else

And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till

This isle with Calibans.

Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.

Pro. Abhorred slave;

Ari. Pardon, master:

Which any print of goodness will not take,

I will be correspondent to command,

Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,

And do my spiriting gently.

Pro. Do so; and after two days

I will discharge thee..

Ari. That's my noble master!

Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes

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

With words that made them known: But thy vile race,

Pro. Go make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea; Though thou didst learn, had that in't, which good

Pro. Come forth, I say; there's other business for Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing and singing;

Come forth, thou tortoise! when?

Re-enter ARIEL, like a water-nymph.

Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,

thee:

FERDINAND following him.

ARIEL'S SONG.

Come unto to these yellow sands,

That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father,

Fer. O, if a virgin,

Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo.

I'll set thee free for this! - A word, good sir; [Dispersedly. I fear you have done yourself some wrong: A word.

Fer. Where should this music be? i' the air, or To be inclin'd my way!
the earth?

It sounds no more: - and sure, it waits upon
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This musick 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 'tis 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:

Hark! now I hear them, -ding-dong, bell.
[Burden, ding-dong.

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 mer
Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,
And say, what thou seest yond'.

Mird. What is't? a spirit?

Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
It carries a brave form: But 'tis a spirit.

Pro. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath such

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

Pro. Soft, sir; one word more.

They are both in either's powers: but this swift bu

siness

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside.
Make the prize light. - 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.

Fer. No, as I am a man.

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair an house,

Good things will strive to dwell with't.

Pro. Follow me.

[To Ferd.

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 muscles, wither'd roots, and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled: Follow.

Fer. No;

I will resist such entertainment, till
Mine enemy has more power.

Mira. O, dear father,

Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He's gentle, and not fearful.

Pro. What, I say,

[He draws.

My foot my tutor! - Put thy sword up, traitor;
Who mak'st a shew, but dar'st not strike, thy con-

science

Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward;
For I can here disarm thee with this stick,

And make thy weapon drop.

Mira. Beseech you, father!

Pro. Hence! hang not on my garments.

Mira. Sir, have pity

I'll be his surety.

pity;

Pro. Silence: one word more

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

Thou think'st, there are 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.

Mira. My affections

Are then most humble; I have no ambition

To see a goodlier man.

Pro. Come on; obey:

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,

And have no vigour in them.

Fer. So they are:

[To Ferd.

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, or this man's threats
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough

Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted,

Which now came from him.

Pro. Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds: but thene

All points of my command.

Ari. To the syllable.

exactly do

stain'd with salt water.

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, he lies?

Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt. Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.

ACT II.

SCENE I. - Another part of the Island.
Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO,
ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others..

Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause
(So have we all) of joy; for our escape
Is much beyond our loss: Our hint of woe

Is common; every day, some sailor's wife,
The masters of some merchant, and the merchant,
Have just our theme of woe: but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions

Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.

Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Africk, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter, Claribel, to the king of Tunis.

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen.

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time.

Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! How came that widow in? Widow Dido!

Seb. What if he had said, widower Aeneas too? good lord, how you take it!

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge.
Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so.

Adr. Widow Dido, said you? you make me study of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

Adr. Carthage?

Gon. I assure you, Carthage.

Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp.

by and by it will strike.

Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's offer'd, pocket, and give it his son for an apple.

Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.

Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next?

Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his

Gon. Therefore, my lord,

marriage of your daughter, who is now queen.

Ant. Fye, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there.

Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.

Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and de- Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted licate temperance.

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench.

Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.
Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.

Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen.

Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life.

Ant. True; save means to live.

Seb. Of that there's none, or little.

'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke

To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,

As stooping to relieve him I not doubt,

He came alive to land.

Alon. No, no, he's gone.

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss;
That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,

Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks? how green? But rather lose her to an African;

I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee!

Fran. Sir, he may live;

I saw him beat the surges under him,

And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,

The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at

Seb. Please you, sir,

your son,

It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter.

I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have

More widows in them of this business' making,

Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's Your own.

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.

Gon. My lord Sebastian,

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in you rub the sore,

When you should bring the plaster.

Seb. Very well.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,

When you are cloudy.

Seb. Foul weather?

Ant. Very foul.

Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed.

Seb. Or docks, or mallows.

Gon. And were the king of it, What would I do?
Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine.

Gon. I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things: for no kind of traffick
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;

Letters should not be known; no use of service,
Of riches or of poverty; no contracts,
Successions; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;

No occupation; all men idle, all;

And women too; but innocent and pure:

No sovereignty:

Seb. And yet he would be king on't.
Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets

the beginning.

Gon. All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour; treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foizon, all abundance,

To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying among his subjects?

Ant. None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves.

Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir,

To excel the golden age.

majesty!

Seb. 'Save his majesty!

Ant. Long live Gonzalo!

Gon. And, do you mark me, sir?

Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing.

Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you: so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still. Ant. What a blow was there given ?

Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long.

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.

Enter ARIEL invisible, playing solemn music. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! Ant. It is the quality o' the climate.

Seb. Why

Doth it not then our eye-lids sink? I find not

Myself disposed to sleep.

Ant. Nor I; my spirits are nimble.

They fell together all, as by consent;

They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian?- O, what might? - No more :

And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,

What thou should'st be: the occasion speaksthee; and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.

Seb. What, art thou waking?

Ant. Do you not hear me speak?
Seb. I do; and, surely,

It is a sleepy language; and thou speak'st
Out of thy sleep: What is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep

With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
And yet so fast asleep.

Ant. Noble Sebastian,

Thou let'st thy fortune sleep - die rather; wink'st

Whiles thou art waking.

Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly;

There's meaning in thy snores.

Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you Must be so too, if heed me; which to do, Trebles thee o'er.

Seb. Well; I am standing water.

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow.
Seb. Do so: to ebb,

Hereditary sloth instructs me.

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The Dramatic Works of Shakespeare, Part 1