This Island's mine by Sycorax my Mother, Which thou tak'ft from me. When thou cameft firft To name the bigger Light, and how the lefs, The fresh Springs, Brine-pits; barren Place and fertile. Of Sycorax; Toads, Beetles, Bats light on you! you have, Which firft was mine own King: And here you fty me Pro. Thou moft lying Slave, Whom Stripes may move, not Kindness; I have us'd thee (Filth as thou art) with human Care, and lodg'd In mine own Cell, 'till thou didst seek to violate The Honour of my Child. Cal. Oh ho, oh ho, would't had been done! Mira. Abhorred Slave, Which any Print of Goodnefs will not take, Took Pains to make thee fpeak, taught thee each Hour With Words that made them known. But thy vile Race (Tho' thou didst learn) had that in't, which good Natures Could not abide to be with; therefore waft thou Defervedly confin'd into this Rock, who hadft Deferv'd more than a Prison. Cal. You taught me Language, and my Profit on't Is, I know how to curfe: The Red-plague rid you For learning me your Language. Pro. Hag-feed, hence! Fetch us in Fewel, and be quick, thou wer't beft What What I command, I'll rack thee with old Cramps, Cal. No, 'pray thee. I must obey, his Art is of fuch Pow'r, It would control my Dam's God Setebos, And make a Vaffal of him. Pro. So Slave, hence. [Exit Caliban. Enter Ferdinand, and Ariel invisible, playing and finging. ARIEL's SONG. Come unto thefe yellow Sands, Curt'fied when you have, and kist, The wild Waves whift; Foot it featly here and there, and sweet Sprights bear The Burthen. [Burthen difperfedly. Hark, bark, bough-wawgh: The Watch-Dogs bark, Bough-wawgh. Ari. Hark, bark, I hear the Strain of ftrutting Chanticlere, Cry Cock-adoodle-do Fer. Where should this Mufick be? I'th'Air, or th’Earth? ARIEL'S SONG. [Burthen: Ding-dong. Hark now I hear them, ding-dong Bell. Fer Fer. The Ditty does remember my drown'd Father; This is no mortal Bufinefs, nor no Sound That the Earth owes: I hear it now above me. Prò. The fringed Curtains of thine Eye advance, And fay what thou fee'ft yond. Mira. What is't, a Spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, Sir, Pro. No Wench, it eats, and fleeps, and hath fuch Senfes As we have; fuch. This Gallant which thou feeft Was in the Wreck: And but he's fomething ftain'd With Grief (that's Beauty's Canker) thou might't call him A goodly Perfon. He hath loft his Fellows, And ftrays about to find 'em. Mira. I might call him A thing divine, for nothing natural Pro. It goes on, I fee, As my Soul prompts it: Spirit, fine Spirit, I'll free thee Within two Days for this. Fer. Moft fure the Goddefs Vouchsafe my Pray'r Mira. No Wonder, Sir, Fer. My Language! Heav'ns! I am the best of them that fpeak this Speech, Pro. How? the best? What wer't thou if the King of Naples heard thee? Mira. Alack, for Mercy. Fer. Yes faith, and all his Lords, the Duke of Millan VOL. I. C And And his brave Son, being twain. Pro. The Duke of Millan And his more braver Daughter could controll thee, I'll fet thee free for this. A Word, good Sir, That e'er I figh'd for: Pity move my Father Fer. O, if a Virgin, And your Affection not gone forth; I'll make you Pro. Soft Sir, one Word more. They are both in eithers Pow'r: But this fwift Business I must uneafie make, left too light winning Make the Prize light. One Word more; I charge thee The Name thou ow'ft not, and haft put thy felf From me, the Lord on't. Fer. No, as I am a Man. Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in fuch a Temple. If the ill Spirit have fo fair an House, Good things will ftrive to dwell with't. Pro. Follow me. Speak not you for him: He's a Traitor. I'll manacle thy Neck and Feet together; Come, Sea-water fhalt thou drink, thy Food shall be The fresh-brook Mufcles, wither'd Roots, and Husks Fer. No, I will refift fuch Entertainment, 'till Mine Enemy has more Pow'r. [He draws, and is charmed from moving. Mira. O dear Father, Make not too rafh a Trial of him; for He's gentle, and not fearful. Pro. What I fay, My Foot my Tutor? Put thy Sword up, Traitor, Is poffeft with Guilt: Come from thy Ward, Mira. Befeech you, Father. Pro. Hence: Hang not on my Garments. I'll be his Surety. Pro. Silence: One Word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What,' Thou think'ft there are no more fuch Shapes as he, And they to him are Angels. Mira. My Affections Are then moft humble: I have no Ambition To fee a goodlier Man. Pro. Come on, obey: Thy Nerves are in their Infancy again, And have no Vigour in them. Fer. So they are: My Spirits, as in a Dream, are all bound up. Pro. It works: Come on. Thou haft done well, fine Ariel: Follow me Mira. Be of Comfort, My Father's of a better Nature, Sir, Than he appears by Speech: This is unwonted Pro. 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. C 2 [Exeunt. ACT |