John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Must. In the hollow of an old tree.

  Vent. Fill apace; we cannot live long in this barren island, and we may take a sup before death, as well as others drink at our funerals.

  Must. This is prize brandy; we steal custom, and it costs nothing. Let’s have two rounds more.

  Vent. Master, what have you saved?

  Steph. Just nothing but myself.

  Vent. This works comfortably on a cold stomach.

  Steph. Fill us another round.

  Vent. Look! Mustacho weeps. Hang losses, as long as we have brandy left! — Pr’ythee leave weeping.

  Steph. He sheds his brandy out of his eyes: He shall drink no more.

  Must. This will be a doleful day with old Bess. She gave me a gilt nutmeg at parting; that’s lost too: But, as you say, hang losses! Pr’ythee fill again.

  Vent. Beshrew thy heart, for putting me in mind of thy wife; I had not thought of mine else. Nature will shew itself, I must melt. I pr’ythee fill again: My wife’s a good old jade, and has but one eye left; but she will weep out that too, when she hears that I am dead.

  Steph. ‘Would you were both hanged, for putting me in thought of mine!

  Vent. But come, master, sorrow is dry: There’s for you again.

  Steph. A mariner had e’en as good be a fish as a man, but for the comfort we get ashore. O! for an old dry wench, now I am wet.

  Must. Poor heart, that would soon make you dry again. But all is barren in this isle: Here we may lie at hull, till the wind blow nor’ and by south, ere we can cry, a sail! a sail! a sight of a white apron: And, therefore, here’s another sup to comfort us.

  Vent. This isle’s our own, that’s our comfort; for the duke, the prince, and all their train, are perished.

  Must. Our ship is sunk, and we can never get home again: We must e’en turn savages, and the next that catches his fellow may eat him.

  Vent. No, no, let us have a government; for if we live well and orderly, heaven will drive shipwrecks ashore to make us all rich: Therefore let us carry good consciences, and not eat one another.

  Steph. Whoever eats any of my subjects, I’ll break out his teeth with my sceptre; for I was master at sea, and will be duke on land: You, Mustacho, have been my mate, and shall be my viceroy.

  Vent. When you are duke, you may chuse your viceroy; but I am a free subject in a new plantation, and will have no duke without my voice: And so fill me the other sup.

  Steph. [whispering.] Ventoso, dost thou hear, I will advance thee; pr’ythee, give me thy voice.

  Vent. I’ll have no whisperings to corrupt the election; and, to show that I have no private ends, I declare aloud, that I will be viceroy, or I’ll keep my voice for myself.

  Must. Stephano, hear me! I will speak for the people, because there are few, or rather none, in the isle, to speak for themselves. Know, then, that to prevent the farther shedding of christian blood, we are all content Ventoso shall be viceroy, upon condition I may be viceroy over him. Speak, good people, are you well agreed? what, no man answer? Well, you may take their silence for consent.

  Vent. You speak for the people, Mustacho! I’ll speak for them, and declare generally with one voice, one and all, that there shall be no viceroy but the duke, unless I be he.

  Must. You declare for the people, who never saw your face? Cold iron shall decide it!

  [Both draw.

  Steph. Hold, loving subjects! We will have no civil war during our reign. I do hereby appoint you both to be my viceroys over the whole island.

  Both. Agreed, agreed!

  Enter Trincalo, with a great bottle, half drunk.

  Vent. How! Trincalo, our brave boatswain!

  Must. He reels: Can he be drunk with sea-water?

  Trinc. [sings.] I shall no more to sea, to sea, Here I shall die ashore.

  This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral; but here’s my comfort.

  [Drinks.

  Sings.

  The master, the swabber, the gunner, and I, The surgeon, and his mate, Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us cared for Kate. For she had a tongue with a twang, Would cry to a sailor, Go hang! — She loved not the savour of tar, nor of pitch, Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch.

  This is a scurvy tune too; but here’s my comfort again.

  [Drinks.

  Steph. We have got another subject now: Welcome, welcome, into our dominions!

  Trinc. What subject, or what dominions? Here’s old sack, boys; the king of good fellows can be no subject. I will be old Simon the king.

  Must. Ha, old boy! how didst thou scape?

  Trinc. Upon a butt of sack, boys, which the sailors threw overboard. — But are you alive, hoa! for I will tipple with no ghosts, till I’m dead. Thy hand, Mustacho, and thine, Ventoso; the storm has done its worst. — Stephano alive too! give thy boatswain thy hand, master.

  Vent. You must kiss it then; for I must tell you, we have chosen him duke, in a full assembly.

  Trinc. A duke! where? What’s he duke of?

  Must. Of this island, man. Oh, Trincalo, we are all made: The island’s empty; all’s our own, boy; and we will speak to his grace for thee, that thou mayest be as great as we are.

  Trinc. You great! what the devil are you?

  Vent. We two are viceroys over all the island; and, when we are weary of governing, thou shalt succeed us.

  Trinc. Do you hear, Ventoso? I will succeed you in both places, before you enter into them.

  Steph. Trincalo, sleep, and be sober; and make no more uproars in my country.

  Trinc. Why, what are you, sir; what are you?

  Steph. What I am, I am by free election; and you, Trincalo, are not yourself: but we pardon your first fault, because it is the first day of our reign.

  Trinc. Umph, were matters carried so swimmingly against me, whilst I was swimming, and saving myself for the good of the people of this island!

  Must. Art thou mad, Trincalo? Wilt thou disturb a settled government, where thou art a mere stranger to the laws of the country?

  Trinc. I’ll have no laws.

  Vent. Then civil war begins.

  [Vent. and Must. draw.

  Steph. Hold, hold! I’ll have no bloodshed; my subjects are but few: Let him make a rebellion by himself; and a rebel, I, duke Stephano, declare him. — Viceroys, come away.

  Trinc. And duke Trincalo declares, that he will make open war wherever he meets thee, or thy viceroys.

  [Exeunt Steph. Must. and Vent.

  Enter Caliban, with wood upon his back.

  Trinc. Ha! who have we here?

  Calib. All the infections, that the sun sucks up from fogs, fens, flats, on Prospero fall, and make him by inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me, and yet I needs must curse; but they’ll not pinch, fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i’the mire, nor lead me in the dark out of my way, unless he bid them. But for every trifle he sets them on me: Sometimes, like baboons, they mow and chatter at me, and often bite me; like hedge-hogs, then, they mount their prickles at me, tumbling before me in my barefoot way. Sometimes I am all wound about with adders, who, with their cloven tongues, hiss me to madness. — Ha! yonder stands one of his spirits, sent to torment me.

  Trinc. What have we here, a man, or a fish? This is some monster of the isle. Were I in England, as once I was, and had him painted, not a holiday fool there but would give me sixpence for the sight of him. Well, if I could make him tame, he were a present for an emperor. — Come hither, pretty monster; I’ll do thee no harm: Come hither!

  Calib. Torment me not; I’ll bring the wood home faster.

  Trinc. He talks none of the wisest; but I’ll give him a dram o’the bottle, that will clear his understanding. — Come on your ways, master monster, open your mouth: How now, you perverse moon-calf! what, I think you cannot tell who is your friend? — Open your chops, I say.

  [Pours wine down his throat.

  Calib. This is a brave god, and bears celestial liquor: I’ll kneel to
him.

  Trinc. He is a very hopeful monster. — Monster, what say’st thou, art thou content to turn civil and sober, as I am? for then thou shalt be my subject.

  Calib. I’ll swear upon that bottle to be true; for the liquor is not earthly. Did’st thou not drop from heaven?

  Trinc. Only out of the moon; I was the man in her, when time was. — By this light, a very shallow monster.

  Calib. I’ll shew thee every fertile inch in the isle, and kiss thy foot: I pr’ythee be my god, and let me drink.

  [Drinks again.

  Trinc. Well drawn, monster, in good faith!

  Calib. I’ll shew thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries; I’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. — A curse upon the tyrant whom I serve! I’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee.

  Trinc. The poor monster is loving in his drink.

  Calib. I pr’ythee let me bring thee where crabs grow; and I, with my long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts, shew thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how to snare the marmozet: I’ll bring thee to clustered filberts. Wilt thou go with me?

  Trinc. This monster comes of a good-natured race. — Is there no more of thy kin in this island?

  Calib. Divine, here is but one besides myself; my lovely sister, beautiful and bright as the full moon!

  Trinc. Where is she?

  Calib. I left her clambering up a hollow oak, and plucking thence the dropping honey-combs. — Say, my king, shall I call her to thee?

  Trinc. She shall swear upon the bottle too. If she proves handsome, she is mine. — Here, monster, drink again for thy good news; thou shalt speak a good word for me.

  [Gives him the bottle.

  Calib. Farewell, old master, farewell, farewell!

  Sings. No more dams I’ll make for fish; Nor fetch in firing, at requiring; Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish: Ban, ban, Ca-caliban, Has a new master, get a new man.

  Hey-day! freedom, freedom!

  Trinc. Here’s two subjects got already, the monster, and his sister: Well, duke Stephano, I say, and say again, wars will ensue, and so I drinks. [Drinks.] From this worshipful monster, and mistress monster, his sister, I’ll lay claim to this island by alliance. — Monster, I say, thy sister shall be my spouse; come away, brother monster; I’ll lead thee to my butt, and drink her health.

  [Exeunt.

  SCENE II. — Cypress trees and a Cave.

  Enter Prospero alone.

  Prosp. ’Tis not yet fit to let my daughters know, I keep the infant duke of Mantua So near them in this isle; Whose father, dying, bequeathed him to my care; Till my false brother (when he designed to usurp My dukedom from me) exposed him to that fate, He meant for me. By calculation of his birth, I saw Death threat’ning him, if, till some time were past, He should behold the face of any woman: And now the danger’s nigh. — Hippolito!

  Enter Hippolito.

  Hip. Sir, I attend your pleasure.

  Prosp. How I have loved thee, from thy infancy, Heaven knows, and thou thyself canst bear me witness; Therefore accuse not me of thy restraint.

  Hip. Since I knew life, you’ve kept me in a rock; And you, this day, have hurried me from thence, Only to change my prison, not to free me. I murmur not, but I may wonder at it.

  Prosp. O, gentle youth! fate waits for thee abroad; A black star threatens thee; and death, unseen, Stands ready to devour thee.

  Hip. You taught me Not to fear him in any of his shapes: — Let me meet death rather than be a prisoner.

  Prosp. ’Tis pity he should seize thy tender youth.

  Hip. Sir, I have often heard you say, no creature Lived in this isle, but those which man was lord of. Why, then, should I fear?

  Prosp. But here are creatures which I named not to thee, Who share man’s sovereignty by nature’s laws, And oft depose him from it.

  Hip. What are those creatures, sir?

  Prosp. Those dangerous enemies of men, called women.

  Hip. Women! I never heard of them before. — What are women like?

  Prosp. Imagine something between young men and angels; Fatally beauteous, and have killing eyes; Their voices charm beyond the nightingale’s; They are all enchantment: Those, who once behold them, Are made their slaves for ever.

  Hip. Then I will wink, and fight with them.

  Prosp. ’Tis but in vain; They’ll haunt you in your very sleep.

  Hip. Then I’ll revenge it on them when I wake.

  Prosp. You are without all possibility of revenge; They are so beautiful, that you can ne’er attempt, Nor wish, to hurt them.

  Hip. Are they so beautiful?

  Prosp. Calm sleep is not so soft; nor winter suns, Nor summer shades, so pleasant.

  Hip. Can they be fairer than the plumes of swans? Or more delightful than the peacock’s feathers? Or than the gloss upon the necks of doves? Or have more various beauty than the rainbow? — These I have seen, and, without danger, wondered at.

  Prosp. All these are far below them: Nature made Nothing but woman dangerous and fair. Therefore if you should chance to see them, Avoid them straight, I charge you.

  Hip. Well, since you say they are so dangerous, I’ll so far shun them, as I may with safety Of the unblemished honour, which you taugt me. But let them not provoke me, for I’m sure I shall not then forbear them.

  Prosp. Go in, and read the book I gave you last. To-morrow I may bring you better news.

  Hip. I shall obey you, sir.

  [Exit Hip.

  Prosp. So, so; I hope this lesson has secured him, For I have been constrained to change his lodging From yonder rock, where first I bred him up, And here have brought him home to my own cell, Because the shipwreck happened near his mansion. I hope he will not stir beyond his limits, For hitherto he hath been all obedience: The planets seem to smile on my designs, And yet there is one sullen cloud behind: I would it were dispersed!

  Enter Miranda and Dorinda.

  How, my daughters! I thought I had instructed them enough: Children! retire; why do you walk this way?

  Mir. It is within our bounds, sir.

  Prosp. But both take heed, that path is very dangerous; remember what I told you.

  Dor. Is the man that way, sir?

  Prosp. All that you can imagine ill is there. The curled lion, and the rugged bear, Are not so dreadful as that man.

  Mir. Oh me, why stay we here then?

  Dor. I’ll keep far enough from his den, I warrant him.

  Mir. But you have told me, sir, you are a man; And yet you are not dreadful.

  Prosp. Ay, child; but I Am a tame man; old men are tame by nature, But all the danger lies in a wild young man.

  Dor. Do they run wild about the woods?

  Prosp. No, they are wild within doors, in chambers, and in closets.

  Dor. But, father, I would stroak them, and make them gentle; then sure they would not hurt me.

  Prosp. You must not trust them, child: No woman can come near them, but she feels a pain, full nine months. Well, I must in; for new affairs require my presence: Be you, Miranda, your sister’s guardian.

  [Exit Pros.

  Dor. Come, sister, shall we walk the other way? The man will catch us else: We have but two legs, And he, perhaps, has four.

  Mir. Well, sister, though he have; yet look about you.

  Dor. Come back! that way is towards his den.

  Mir. Let me alone; I’ll venture first, for sure he can Devour but one of us at once.

  Dor. How dare you venture?

  Mir. We’ll find him sitting like a hare in’s form, And he shall not see us.

  Dor. Ay, but you know my father charged us both.

  Mir. But who shall tell him on’t? we’ll keep each other’s counsel.

  Dor. I dare not, for the world.

  Mir. But how shall we hereafter shun him, if we do not know him first?

  Dor. Nay, I confess I would fain see him too. I find it in my nature, because my father has forbidden me.

  Mir. Ay, there’s it, sister; if he had
said nothing, I had been quiet. Go softly, and if you see him first, be quick, and beckon me away.

  Dor. Well, if he does catch me, I’ll humble myself to him, and ask him pardon, as I do my father, when I have done a fault.

  Mir. And if I can but escape with life, I had rather be in pain nine months, as my father threatened, than lose my longing.

  [Exeunt.

  SCENE III.

  Enter Hippolito.

  Hip. Prospero has often said, that nature makes Nothing in vain: Why then are women made? Are they to suck the poison of the earth, As gaudy coloured serpents are? I’ll ask That question, when next I see him here.

  Enter Miranda and Dorinda peeping.

  Dor. O sister, there it is! it walks about Like one of us.

  Mir. Ay, just so, and has legs as we have too.

  Hip. It strangely puzzles me: Yet ’tis most likely, Women are somewhat between men and spirits.

  Dor. Hark! it talks: — sure this is not it my father meant, For this is just like one of us: Methinks, I am not half so much afraid on’t as I was; see, now it turns this way.

  Mir. Heaven! what a goodly thing it is!

  Dor. I’ll go nearer it.

  Mir. O no, ’tis dangerous, sister! I’ll go to it. I would not for the world that you should venture. My father charged me to secure you from it.

  Dor. I warrant you this is a tame man; dear sister, He’ll not hurt me, I see it by his looks.

  Mir. Indeed he will! but go back, and he shall eat me first: Fie, are you not ashamed to be so inquisitive?

  Dor. You chide me for it, and would give him yourself.

  Mir. Come back, or I will tell my father. Observe how he begins to stare already! I’ll meet the danger first, and then call you.

  Dor. Nay, sister, you shall never vanquish me in kindness. I’ll venture you no more than you will me.

  Prosp. [within.] Miranda, child, where are you?

  Mir. Do you not hear my father call? Go in.

  Dor. ’Twas you he named, not me; I will but say my prayers, and follow you immediately.

  Mir. Well, sister, you’ll repent it.

  [Exit Mir.

  Dor. Though I die for it, I must have the other peep.