The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare, Adapted for Family Reading

Pro. Before the time be out? no more. Ari. I pr'ythee Remember, I have done thee worthy service; Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd

Without or grudge, or grumblings. Thou didst promise

To bate me a full year.

Pro.

Dost thou forget

From what a torment I did free thee?

Ari.

No.

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 bak'd with frost.

Ari.

I do not, sir.

Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot

her

The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy,
Was grown a
Ari. No, sir.
Pro.

hast

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 forget'st. This vile witch, Sy-

corax,

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 th' 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 didst painfully remain
A dozen years; within which 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 that she did litter here,
-A freckl'd 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 keepin 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. This 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.

Ari.
I thank thee, master.
Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an
oak,

And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.
Ari.

Pardon, master:
I will be correspondent to command,
And do my spriting gently.
Pro.

Do so, and after two days
I will discharge thee.
Ari.
That's my noble master!
What shall I do? say what? what shall I do?

Pro. Go, make thyself like a nymph o' th' sea:
be subject

To no sight but thine and mine; invisible
To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape,
And hither come in 't: go: hence, with diligence.
[Exit ARIEL.

Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;
Awake!

Mira. The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.

Pro.

Shake it off. Come on:

We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.

Mira.

'Tis a villain, sir,

But, as 'tis,

I do not love to look on.
Pro.
We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices
That profit us.-What hoa! slave! Caliban!
Thou earth, thou! speak.

Cal. [Within.] There's wood enough within.
Pro. Come forth, I say: there's other business
for thee.

Come, thou tortoise! when?

Enter ARIEL, like a Water-nymph.
Hark in thine ear.
Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,

Ari.
My lord, it shall be done. [Exit.
Pro. Thou poisonous slave, come forth!
Enter CALIBAN.

Cal. As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brush'd
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 cramps,

Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up;
urchins

Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd
As thick as honey-comb, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made 'em.

Cal.
I must eat my dinner.
This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest
first,

Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me,—
would'st give me

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 show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle,
The fresh springs, brine pits, 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 o' th' island.
Pro.
Thou most lying slave,
Whom stripes may move, not kindness, I have
us'd thee,

Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodg'd
thee

[hour

In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
The honour of my child. Abhorred slave,
Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each
One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble

A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known; but thy vile
race,
[good natures
Though thou didst learn, had that in 't which
Could not abide to be with: therefore wast thou
Deservedly confin'd into this rock,
Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. [on 't
Cal. You taught me language; and my profit
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you,
For learning me your language!
Pro.
Hag-seed, hence!
Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou 'rt best,
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice?
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

Cal.

No, 'pray thee!
I must obey. [Aside.] His art is of such pow'r,
It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
And make a vassal of him.
Pro.

So, slave; hence!

[Exit CALIBAN. Enter FERDINAND, and ARIEL (invisible,) playing and singing.

Bowgh-wawgh.

ARI. Hark, hark! I hear

The strain of strutting chanticlere
Cry, Cock-a-didle-dow.

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

It sounds no more;-and sure, it waits upon
Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the King my father's wrack,
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 'tis gone.-
No, it begins again."

ARIEL.-Song.

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

Mira. 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.

Pro. [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 muscles, wither'd roots, and
husks,

Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.
Fer.

No;

This is no mortal business, nor no sound
That the earth owes.-I hear it now above me.
Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance
And say, what thou seest yond'.
Mira.
What is 't? a spirit?
See 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 senses
[seest,
As we have,-such. This gallant, which thou [He draws, and is charmed from moving.
Was in the wrack; and but he's something Mira.
O, dear father!
stain'd
[call him Make not too rash a trial of him, for
With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st' He's gentle, and not fearful.

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

Pro.

What! I say: My foot my tutor?-Put thy sword up, traitor; Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy

conscience

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.
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 th' 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.

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,

[To FER.] Come on; obey:

So they are:

And have no vigour in them.

Fer.

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wrack of all my friends, nor this man's

threats,

To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid. All corners else o' th' earth
Let liberty make use of: space enough
Have I in such a prison.

Pro.

[Aside.] It works.
[Alternately to FER. and MIRA., and to ARI.
Come on.

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!-
Follow me.-Hark, what thou else shalt do me.
Mira.
Be of comfort.

My father's of a better nature, sir,
Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted,
Which now came from him.

Pro. [To ARIEL.] Thou shalt be as free
As mountain winds; but then, exactly do
All points of my command.

Ari.
To th' syllable.
Pro. Come, follow.-Speak not for him.

Act Second.

[Exeunt.

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.

Alon.

Pr'ythee, peace.
Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge.
Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so.
Seb. Look; he's winding up the watch of his
wit by and by it will strike.

Gon. Sir,

Seb. One-tell.

[offer'd,

Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that's Comes to th' entertainer

Seb. A dollar. Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you purpos'd.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

Gon. Therefore, my lord,—

Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his

tongue!

Alon. I pr'ythee, spare.

Gon. Well, I have done. But yet

Seb. He will be talking.

Ant. Which of them, he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? Seb. The old cock.

Ant. The cockrel.

Seb. Done. The wager?
Ant. A laughter.

Seb. A match.

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,-
Ant. Ha, ha, ha!

Seb. So, you're paid.

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,-
Seb. Yet-

Adr. Yet

Ant. He could not miss 't.

Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life.
Ant. True; save means to live.

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

Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!

Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny.
Seb. With an eye of green in 't.

Ant. He misses not much.

Seb. No: he doth but mistake the truth totally.

Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit

Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are.

Gon.-that our garments, being, as they were, drench'd in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and glosses; being rather new dy'd than stain'd with salt water.

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

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.

Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, 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.

a paragon to their Queen.
Adr. Tunis was never grac'd before with such

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time.

Ant. How came that widow in? Widow Dido!

Seb. What if he had said, widower Æneas too? Good Lord, how you take it.

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.

Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp.

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 pocket, and give it his son for an apple. Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.

Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queen. Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. Ant. O! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido. Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. [riage? Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marAlon. You cram these words into mine ears, against

Would I had never

The stomach of my sense.
Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,
My son is lost; and, in my rate, she, too,
Who is so far from Italy remov'd,

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, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To th' shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt, He came alive to land.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy.

Seb.

Ant.

Foul weather? Very foul. Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,Ant. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed. Seb. Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the King on 't, what would I do?

Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. Gon. I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries

Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, 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. 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 foison, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.

I would with such perfection govern, sir,
T' excel the golden age.
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 fall'n 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, 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. Ant. Go sleep, and hear us.

[All sleep but ALON., SEB., and ANT. Alon. What! all so soon asleep? I wish mine eyes [I find, Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: They are inclined to do so. Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow: when it doth, It is a comforter. Ant.

Seb.

We two, my lord, Will guard your person while you take your rest, And watch your safety. Alon.

Thank you. Wondrous heavy. [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL. Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! Ant. It is the quality o' th' climate. Why Doth it not, then, our eye-lids sink? I find not Myself dispos'd to sleep.

Seb.

Ant.

Nor I: my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent; [might, They dropp'd as by a thunder-stroke. What Worthy Sebastian?-0! what might?-No

Ant.
If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish,
Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,
You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed,
Most often do so near the bottom run
By their own fear or sloth.
Seb.

Thus, sir.

Pr'ythee, say on.
The setting of thine eye and cheek, proclaim
A matter from thee, and a birth, indeed,
Which throes thee much to yield.
Ant.
Although this lord of weak remembrance, (this,
Who shall be of as little memory,
When he is earth'd!) hath here almost persuaded
(For he's a spirit of persuasion,-only
Professes to persuade) the King, his son's alive,
'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd,
As he that sleeps here, swims.
Seb.

That he's undrown'd.
Ant.

I have no hope

True;

Ant.
And look how well my garments sit upon me;
Much feater than before. My brother's servants
Were then my fellows, now they are my men.
Seb. But for your conscience-

Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if 't were a kybe,
'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not
This deity in my bosom. Twenty consciences,
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they,
And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother,
No better than the earth he lies upon, [dead,
If he were that which now he's like, that's
Whom I, with this obedient steel-three inches
of it--

Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,
To the perpetual wink for aye might put
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course: for all the rest,
They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;
They'll tell the clock to any business that
We say befits the hour.

Seb.
Thy case, dear friend,
Shall be my precedent: as thou got'st Milan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st,
And I the King shall love thee.
Ant.
Draw together;
And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
To fall it on Gonzalo.

Seb.

O! but one word. [They converse apart. Enter ARIEL, with Music and Song.

O! out of that no hope,

What great hope have you! No hope, that way, is
Another way so high a hope, that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
[me,
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with

That Ferdinand is drown'd?

Seb.
Ant.

He's gone.
Then, tell me,

[dwells

Who's the next heir of Naples ?
Claribel.

Seb.
Ant. She that is Queen of Tunis; she that
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from

Naples

Can have no note, unless the sun were post,
(The man i' th' moon's too slow) till new-born
chins

Be rough and razorable; she, from whom

Ari. My master through his art foresees the
danger

That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth
(For else his project dies) to keep them living.
[Sings in GONZALO's ear.

While you here do snoring lie,
Open-ey'd conspiracy

His time doth take.

If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber, and beware:
Awake! Awake!

Ant. Then, let us both be sudden.
Gon. Now, good angels preserve the King!
[They wake.
Alon. Why, how now, hoa! awake! Why are
you drawn?

We all were sea-swallowed, though some cast Wherefore this ghastly looking?

again;

And by that destiny to perform an act,
Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come,
In yours and my discharge.

Seb. What stuff is this!-How say you?
'Tis true, my brother's daughter's Queen of Tunis;
So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions
There is some space.

Ant.
A space whose every cubit
Seeins to cry out, "How shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake!"-Say, this were death
That now hath seized them; why, they were no
[Naples
Than now they are. There be, that can rule
As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate
As amply, and unnecessarily,

worse

As this Gonzalo: I myself could make
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
The mind that I do! what a sleep were this
For your advancement! Do you understand me?
Seb. Methinks I do.

Ant.

And how does your content
Tender your own good fortune?
Seb.

I remember,

You did supplant your brother Prospero.

Gon.
What's the matter?
Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
Like bulls, or rather lions: did 't not wake you?
It struck mine ear most terribly.
Alon.
I heard nothing.
Ant. O! 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear,
To make an earthquake: sure, it was the roar
Of a whole herd of lions.

Alon.

Heard you this, Gonzalo? Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming[me. And that a strange one, too,-which did awake I shak'd you, sir, and cri'd: as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn.-There was a noise, That's verity: 'tis best we stand upon our guard, Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons. Alon. Lead off this ground, and let's make farther search

For my poor son.

Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts, For he is, sure, i' th' island.

Alon.

Lead away. [Exeunt.

Ari. Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have

done :

So, King, go safely on to seek thy son.

[Exit.

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