Into a cloven pine; within which rift 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 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 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. 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. Pro. I will discharge thee. Do so; and after two days Ari. That's my noble master! What shall I do? say what: what shall I do? Pro. Go make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea; Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible To every eye-ball else. Go, take this shape, And hither come in't: 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. I do not love to look on. Pro. 'Tis a villain, sir, But, as 'tis, We cannot miss1 him: he does make our fire, Cal. [Within.] There's wood enough within. Pro. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee; Come forth, thou tortoise! when? Re-enter Ariel, like a water-nymph. Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy wicked dam, 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; urchins2 Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made them. Cal. I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax, my mother, (1) Do without. (2) Fairies. 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 Cursed be I that did so!-All the charms Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me 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 In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour of my child. Cal. O ho, Oho!-'would it had been done! Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else This isle with Calibans. Pro. Abhorred slave; Which any print of goodness will not take, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, race, Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou Deservedly confin'd into this rock, Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse: the red plague rid1 you, For learning me your language! Pro. Hag-seed, hence! What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; Cal. No, 'pray thee! I must obey his art is of such power, Pro. [Aside. So, slave; hence! Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing; Ferdinand following him. ARIEL'S SONG. Come unto these yellow sands, Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark! Bur Bowgh, wowgh. The watch-dogs bark: [dispersedly. [dispersedly. Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticlere, Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. Fer. Where should this music be? the air, or the earth? (1) Destroy. (2) Still, silent. It sounds no more :-and sure, it waits upon Ariel sings. Full fathom five thy father lies; 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 Mira. Pro. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses As we have, such: this gallant which thou seest A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows, I might call him Mira. (1) Owns. |