Thou most lying slaue,
Whom stripes may moue, not kindnes: I haue vs’d thee
(Filth as thou art) with humane care, and lodg’d thee
In mine owne Cell, till thou didst seeke to violate
The honor of my childe.
Oh ho, oh ho, would’t had bene done:
Thou didst preuent me, I had peopel’d else
This Isle with Calibans.
Which any print of goodnesse wilt not take,
Being capable of all ill: I pittied thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each houre
One thing or other: when thou didst not (Sauage)
Know thine owne meaning; but wouldst gabble, like
A thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes
With words that made them knowne: But thy vild race
(Tho thou didst learn) had that in’t, which good natures
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
Deseruedly confin’d into this Rocke, who hadst
Deseru’d more then a prison.
You taught me Language, and my profit on’t
Is, I know how to curse: the red-plague rid you
For learning me your language.
Fetch vs in Fewell, and be quicke thou’rt best
To answer other businesse: shrug’st thou (Malice)
If thou neglectst, or dost vnwillingly
What I command, Ile racke thee with old Crampes,
Fill all thy bones with Aches, make thee rore,
That beasts shall tremble at thy dyn.
No, ’pray thee.
I must obey, his Art is of such pow’r,
It would controll my Dams god Setebos,
And make a vassaile of him.
Enter Ferdinand & Ariel, inuisible playing & singing.
Come vnto these yellow sands,
and then take hands:
Curtsied when you haue, and kist
the wilde waues whist:
Foote it featly heere, and there, and sweete Sprights beare
the burthen.Burthen dispersedly.
Harke, harke, bowgb wawgh: the watch-Dogges barke,
Hark, hark, I heare, the straine of strutting Chanticlere
Where shold this Mufick be? I’th aire, or th’earth?
It founds no more: and sure it waytes vpon
Some God’oth’Iland, sitting on a banke,
Weeping againe the King my Fathers wracke.
This Musickc crept by me vpon the waters,
Allaying both their fury, and my passion
With it’s sweet ayre: thence I haue follow’d it
(Or it hath drawne me rather) but ’tis gone.
No, it begins againe.
Full fadom fiue thy Father lies,
Of his bones are Corrall made:
Those are pearles that were his eies,
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a Sea-change
Into something rich, & strange.
Sea-Nimphs hourly ring his knell.
Harke now I heare them, ding-dong bell.
The Ditty do’s remember my drown’d father,
This is no mortall busines, nor no sound
That the earth owes: I heare it now aboue me.
The fringed Curtaines of thine eye aduance,
And say what thou see’st yond.
What is’t a Spirit?
Lord, how it lookes about: Beleeue me sir,
It carries a braue forme. But ’tis a spirit.
No wench, it eats, and sleeps, & hath such senses
As we haue: such. This Gallant which thou seest
Was in the wracke: and but hee’s something stain’d
With greefe (that’s beauties canker) yu might’st call him
A goodly person: he hath lost his fellowes,
And strayes about to finde ’em.
I might call him
A thing diuine, for nothing naturall
I euer saw so Noble.
It goes on I see
As my soule prompts it; Spirit, fine spirit, Ile free thee
Within two dayes for this.
Most sure the Goddesse
On whom these ayres attend: Vouchsafe my pray’r
May know if you remaine vpon this Island,
And that you will some good instruction giue
How I may beare me heere: my prime request
(Which I do last pronounce) is (O you wonder)
If you be Mayd, or no?
No wonder Sir,
But certainly a Mayd.
My Language? Heauens:
I am the best of them that speake this speech,
Were I but where ’tis spoken.
How? the best?
What wer’t thou if the King of Naples heard thee?
A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
To heare thee speake of Naples: he do’s heare me,
And that he do’s, I weepe: my selfe am Naples,
Who, with mine eyes (neuer since at ebbe) beheld
The King my Father wrack’t.
Alacke, for mercy.
Yes faith, & all his Lords, the Duke of Millaine
And his braue sonne, being twaine.
The Duke of Millaine
And his more brauer daughter, could controll thee
If now ’twere fit to do’t: At the first sight
They haue chang’d eyes: Delicate Ariel,
Ile set thee free for this. A word good Sir,
I feare you haue done your selfe some wrong: A word.
Why speakes my father so vngently? This
Is the third man that ere I saw: the first
That ere I sigh’d for: pitty moue my father
To be enclin’d my way.
O, if a Virgin,
And your affection not gone forth, Ile make you
The Queene of Naples.
Soft sir, one word more.
They are both in eythers pow’rs: But this swift busines
I must vneasie make, least too light winning
Make the prize light. One word more: I charge thee
That thou attend me: Thou do’st heere vsurpe
The name thou ow’st not, and hast put thy selfe
Vpon this Island, as a spy, to win it,
From me, the Lord on’t.
No, as I am a man.
Mir. Ther’s nothing ill, can dwell in such a Temple,
If the ill-spirit haue so fayre a house,
Good things will striue to dwell with’t.