Pro. Fairly spoke; Sit then, and talk with her, fhe is thine own. Ari. What would my potent Mafter? here I am. In fuch another Trick; go bring the Rabble, Ari. Presently? Pro. Ay, with a Twink. Ari. Before you can fay Come, and go, And breathe twice; and cry, So, fo; Each one tripping on his Toe, Will be here with Mop and Mow. Do you love me, Mafter? No. Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel; do not approach 'Till thou do'ft hear me call. Ari. Well, I conceive. Pro. Look thou be true; do not give Dalliance Too much the Rein; the strongest Oaths are Straw Or else good-night your Vow. Fer. Iwarrant you, Sir, The white cold Virgin-Snow, upon my Heart, Pro. Well. Now come my Ariel, bring a Corolary, [Exit. Rather than want a Spirit, appear, and pertly. [Soft Mufick. No Tongue; all Eyes; be filent. Enter Iris. Iris. Ceres, moft bounteous Lady, the rich Leas To Ari. That's my noble Master: What shall I do? Say what? What shall I do? Pro. Go make thy felf like to a Nymph o'th' Sea. With Diligence. [Exit. Pre. Awake, dear Heart awake, thou haft flept well, Awake. Mira. The Strangeness of your Story put Heaviness in me. Pro. Shake it off: Come on, We'll vifit Caliban, my Slave, who never Yields us kind Answer. Mira. 'Tis a Villain, Sir, I do not love to look on.' We cannot mifs him: He does make our Fire, Fetch in our Wood, and ferves Offices That profit us. What hoa! Slave! Caliban! Thou Earth thou! fpeak. Cal. (within.) There's Wood enough within. Pro. Come forth, I fay, there's other Bufinefs for thee: Come thou Tortoys, when? Enter Ariel like a Water-Nymph. Fine Apparition: My quaint Ariel, Heark in thine Ear. Ari. My Lord, it shall be done. [Exit. Pro. Thou poifonous 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 And blifter you all o'er. Pro. For this, be fure, to Night thou shalt have Cramps, As thick as Hony-comb, each Pinch more stinging Cal. I must eat my Dinner; This Ifland's mine by Sycorax my Mother, Which thou tak'ft from me. When thou camest first Thou ftroak'dft me, and mad❜ft much of me; Would'ft give me 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! Which first 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 didft feek to violate The Honour of my Child. Cal. Oh ho, oh ho, would't had been done! Mira. Abhorred Slave, Which any Print of Goodness will not take, Took Pains to make thee fpeak, taught thee each Hour With Words that made them known. But thy vile Race 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 best 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, 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 fweet 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 feest Was in the Wreck: And but he's fomething ftain'd With Grief (that's Beauty's Canker) thou might'ft call him A goodly Perfon. He hath loft his Fellows, And strays 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 Vouchfafe 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 beft? 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 |