The Island: before the Cell of PROSPERO. |
|
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA. |
Miro. If by your art, my dearest father, you have |
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. |
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, |
But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's cheek, |
Dashes the fire out. O! I have suffer'd |
With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, |
Who had, no doubt, some noble creatures in her, |
Dash'd all to pieces. O! the cry did knock |
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. |
Had I been any god of power, I would |
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er |
It should the good ship so have swallow'd and |
The fraughting souls within her. |
Pro. Be collected: |
No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart |
There's no harm done. |
Mira. O, woe the day! |
Pro. No harm. |
I have done nothing but in care of thee,— |
Of thee, my dear one! thee, my daughter!—who |
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing |
Of whence I am: nor that I am more better |
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, |
And thy no greater father. |
Mira. More to know |
Did never meddle with my thoughts. |
Pro. 'Tis time |
I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, |
And pluck my magic garment from me.—So: [Lays down his mantle. |
Lie there, my art.—Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. |
The direful spectacle of the wrack, which touch'd |
The very virtue of compassion in thee, |
I have with such provision in mine art |
So safely order'd, that there is no soul— |
No, not so much perdition as an hair, |
Betid to any creature in the vessel |
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down; |
For thou must now know further. |
Mira. You have often |
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd, |
And left me to a bootless inquisition, |
Concluding, 'Stay; not yet.' |
Pro. The hour's now come, |
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; |
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember |
A time before we came unto this cell? |
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not |
Out three years old. |
Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. |
Pro. By what? by any other house or person? |
Of anything the image tell me, that |
Hath kept with thy remembrance. |
Mira. 'Tis far off; |
And rather like a dream than an assurance |
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not |
Four or five women once that tended me? |
Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it |
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else |
In the dark backward and abysm of time? |
If thou remember'st aught ere thou cam'st here, |
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. |
Mira. But that I do not. |
Pro. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, |
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and |
A prince of power. |
Mira. Sir, are not you my father? |
Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and |
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father |
Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir |
A princess,—no worse issued. |
Mira. O, the heavens! |
What foul play had we that we came from thence? |
Or blessed was't we did? |
Pro. Both, both, my girl: |
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence; |
But blessedly holp hither. |
Mira. O! my heart bleeds |
To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, |
Which is from my remembrance. Please you, further. |
Pro. My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,— |
I pray thee, mark me,—that a brother should |
Be so perfidious!—he whom next thyself, |
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put |
The manage of my state; as at that time, |
Through all the signiories it was the first, |
And Prospero the prime duke; being so reputed |
In dignity, and for the liberal arts, |
Without a parallel: those being all my study, |
The government I cast upon my brother, |
And to my state grew stranger, being transported |
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle— |
Dost thou attend me? |
Mira. Sir, most heedfully. |
Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, |
How to deny them, who t'advance, and who |
To trash for over-topping; new created |
The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em, |
Or else new form'd 'em: having both the key |
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state |
To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was |
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, |
And suck'd my verdure out on't.—Thou attend'st not. |
Mira. O, good sir! I do. |
Pro. I pray thee, mark me. |
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated |
To closeness and the bettering of my mind |
With that, which, but by being so retir'd, |
O'erpriz'd all popular rate, in my false brother |
Awak'd an evil nature; and my trust, |
Like a good parent, did beget of him |
A falsehood in its contrary as great |
As my trust was; which had, indeed no limit, |
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, |
Not only with what my revenue yielded, |
But what my power might else exact,—like one, |
Who having, into truth, by telling of it, |
Made such a sinner of his memory, |
To credit his own lie,—he did believe |
He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution, |
And executing th' outward face of royalty, |
With all prerogative:—Hence his ambition growing,— |
Dost thou hear? |
Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. |
Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd |
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be |
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man,—my library |
Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties |
He thinks me now incapable; confederates,— |
So dry he was for sway,—wi' the king of Naples |
To give him annual tribute, do him homage; |
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend |
The dukedom, yet unbow'd,—alas, poor Milan!— |
To most ignoble stooping. |
Mira. O the heavens! |
Pro. Mark his condition and the event; then tell me |
If this might be a brother. |
Mira. I should sin |
To think but nobly of my grandmother: |
Good wombs have borne bad sons. |
Pro. Now the condition. |
This King of Naples, being an enemy |
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; |
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises |
Of homage and I know not how much tribute, |
Should presently extirpate me and mine |
Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan, |
With all the honours on my brother: whereon, |
A treacherous army levied, one midnight |
Fated to the purpose did Antonio open |
The gates of Milan; and, i' the dead of darkness, |
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence |
Me and thy crying self. |
Mira. Alack, for pity! |
I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, |
Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint, |
That wrings mine eyes to 't. |
Pro. Hear a little further, |
And then I'll bring thee to the present business |
Which now's upon us; without the which this story |
Were most impertinent. |
Mira. Wherefore did they not |
That hour destroy us? |
Pro. Well demanded, wench: |
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, |
So dear the love my people bore me, nor set |
A mark so bloody on the business; but |
With colours fairer painted their foul ends. |
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, |
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd |
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, |
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats |
Instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us, |
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh |
To the winds whose pity, sighing back again, |
Did us but loving wrong. |
Mira. Alack! what trouble |
Was I then to you! |
Pro. O, a cherubin |
Thou wast, that did preserve me! Thou didst smile, |
Infused with a fortitude from heaven, |
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, |
Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me |
An undergoing stomach, to bear up |
Against what should ensue. |
Mira. How came we ashore? |
Pro. By Providence divine. |
Some food we had and some fresh water that |
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, |
Out of his charity,—who being then appointed |
Master of this design,—did give us; with |
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, |
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness, |
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, |
From mine own library with volumes that |
I prize above my dukedom. |
Mira. Would I might |
But ever see that man! |
Pro. Now I arise:— [Resumes his mantle. |
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. |
Here in this island we arriv'd; and here |
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit |
Than other princes can, that have more time |
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful. |
Mira. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir,— |
For still 'tis beating in my mind,—your reason |
For raising this sea-storm? |
Pro. Know thus far forth. |
By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, |
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies |
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience |
I find my zenith doth depend upon |
A most auspicious star, whose influence |
If now I court not but omit, my fortunes |
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions; |
Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dulness, |
And give it way;—I know thou canst not choose.— [MIRANDA sleeps. |
Come away, servant, come! I'm ready now. |
Approach, my Ariel; come! |
|
Enter ARIEL. |
Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come |
To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, |
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride |
On the curl'd clouds: to thy strong bidding task |
Ariel and all his quality. |
Pro. Hast thou, spirit, |
Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? |
Ari. To every article. |
I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, |
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, |
I flam'd amazement: sometime I'd divide |
And burn in many places; on the topmast, |
The yards, and boresprit, would I flame distinctly, |
Then meet, and join: Jove's lightnings, the precursors |
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary |
And sight-outrunning were not: the fire and cracks |
Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune |
Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble, |
Yea, his dread trident shake. |
Pro. My brave spirit! |
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil |
Would not infect his reason? |
Ari. Not a soul |
But felt a fever of the mad and play'd |
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners, |
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, |
Then all a-fire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, |
With hair up-staring,—then like reeds, not hair,— |
Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty, |
And all the devils are here.' |
Pro. Why, that's my spirit! |
But was not this nigh shore? |
Ari. Close by, my master. |
Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe? |
Ari. Not a hair perish'd; |
On their sustaining garments not a blemish, |
But fresher than before: and, as thou bad'st me, |
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle. |
The king's son have I landed by himself; |
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs |
In an odd angle of the isle and sitting, |
His arms in this sad knot. |
Pro. Of the king's ship |
The mariners, say how thou hast dispos'd, |
And all the rest o' the fleet. |
Ari. Safely in harbour |
Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once |
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew |
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes; there she's hid: |
The mariners all under hatches stow'd; |
Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, |
I have left asleep: and for the rest o' the fleet |
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, |
And are upon the Mediterranean flote, |
Bound sadly home for Naples, |
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wrack'd, |
And his great person perish. |
Pro. Ariel, thy charge |
Exactly is perform'd: but there's more work: |
What is the time o' th' day? |
Ari.Past the mid season. |
Pro. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now |
Must by us both be spent most preciously. |
Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, |
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd |
Which is not yet perform'd me. |
Pro. How now! moody? |
What is 't thou canst demand? |
Ari. My liberty. |
Pro. Before the time be out? no more! |
Ari. I prithee |
Remember, I have done thee worthy service; |
Told thee no lies, made 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 |
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy |
Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her? |
Ari. No, sir. |
Pro. 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 damn'd witch, Sycorax, |
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 the 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 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. Pardon, master; |
I will be correspondent to command, |
And do my spiriting 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 of the 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. [Waking.] 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, |
I do not love to look on. |
Pro. But, as 'tis, |
We cannot miss him: he does make our fire, |
Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices |
That profit us.—What ho! 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? |
|
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; urchins |
Shall forth at vast of night, that they may work |
All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd |
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging |
Than bees that made them. |
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; wouldst 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. |
Cursed 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 |
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate |
The honour of my child. |
Cal. Oh ho! Oh ho!—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, |
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, |
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour |
One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, |
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like |
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes |
With words that made them known: but thy vile 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 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!— |
[Aside.] I must obey: his art is of such power, |
It would control my dam's god, Setebos, |
And make a vassal of him. |
Pro. So, slave; hence! [Exit CALIBAN. |
|
Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing and singing; FERDINAND following. |
|
ARIEL'S SONG. | |
| Come unto these yellow sands, |
| And then take hands: |
| Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd,— |
| The wild waves whist,— |
| Foot it featly here and there; |
| And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. |
| Hark, hark! [Burden: Bow, wow, dispersedly. |
| The watch-dogs bark: [Burden: Bow, wow, dispersedly. |
| Hark, hark! I hear |
| The strain of strutting Chanticleer [Cry, Cock-a-diddle-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 sings. | Full fathom 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: [Burden: ding-dong. |
| Hark! now I hear them,—ding-dong, bell. |
|
Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. |
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? |
Lord, 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 |
As we have, such; this gallant which thou see'st, |
Was in the wrack; and, but he's something stain'd |
With grief,—that's beauty's canker,—thou might'st call him |
A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows |
And strays about to find 'em. |
Mira. I might call him |
A thing divine; for nothing natural |
I ever saw so noble. |
Pro. [Aside.] It goes on, I see, |
As my soul prompts it.—Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee |
Within two days for this. |
Fer. Most sure, the goddess |
On whom these airs attend!—Vouchsafe, my prayer |
May know if you remain upon this island; |
And that you will some good instruction give |
How I may bear me here: my prime request, |
Which I do last pronounce, is,—O you wonder!— |
If you be maid or no? |
Mira. No wonder, sir; |
But certainly a maid. |
Fer. My language! heavens!— |
I am the best of them that speak this speech, |
Were I but where 'tis spoken. |
Pro. How! the best? |
What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee? |
Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders |
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me; |
And, that he does, I weep: myself am Naples, |
Who with mine eyes,—ne'er since et ebb,—beheld |
The king, my father wrack'd. |
Mira. Alack, for mercy! |
Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan, |
And his brave son being twain. |
Pro. [Aside.] The Duke of Milan, |
And his more braver daughter could control thee, |
If now 'twere fit to do't.—At the first sight [Aside.] |
They have changed eyes:—delicate Ariel, |
I'll set thee free for this!—[To FER.] A word, good sir; |
I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word. |
Mira. [Aside.] Why speaks my father so ungently? This |
Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first |
That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father |
To be inclin'd my way! |
Fer. [Aside.] O! if a virgin, |
And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you |
The Queen of Naples. |
Pro. Soft, sir: one word more— |
[Aside.] They are both in either's powers: but this swift business |
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning |
Make the prize light.—[To FER.] One word more: I charge thee |
That thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp |
The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself |
Upon this island as a spy, to win it |
From me, the lord on't. |
Fer. No, as I am a man. |
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.— |
[To MIRA.] Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.—[To FER.] 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; |
I will resist such entertainment till |
Mine enemy has more power. |
[He draws, and is charmed from moving. |
Mira. O dear father! |
Make not too rash a trial of him, for |
He's gentle, and not fearful. |
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 is no more such shapes as he, |
Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench! |
To the 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. [ToFER.] 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. |
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, |
The wrack of all my friends, or this man's threats, |
To whom I am subdued, 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.—[To FER.] Come on.— |
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!—[To FER.] Follow me.— |
[To ARIEL.] 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. Thou shalt be as free |
As mountain winds; but then exactly do |
All points of my command. |
Ari. To the syllable. |
Pro. [To FER.] Come, follow.—Speak not for him. [Exeunt. |
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