Complete Plays, The

Home > Fiction > Complete Plays, The > Page 39
Complete Plays, The Page 39

by William Shakespeare


  Dost thou hear?

  Miranda

  Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

  Prospero

  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.

  Miranda

  O the heavens!

  Prospero

  Mark his condition and the event; then tell me

  If this might be a brother.

  Miranda

  I should sin

  To think but nobly of my grandmother:

  Good wombs have borne bad sons.

  Prospero

  Now the condition.

  The 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.

  Miranda

  Alack, for pity!

  I, not remembering how I cried out then,

  Will cry it o’er again: it is a hint

  That wrings mine eyes to’t.

  Prospero

  Hear a little further

  And then I’ll bring thee to the present business

  Which now’s upon’s; without the which this story

  Were most impertinent.

  Miranda

  Wherefore did they not

  That hour destroy us?

  Prospero

  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 prepared

  A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg’d,

  Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats

  Instinctively had 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.

  Miranda

  Alack, what trouble

  Was I then to you!

  Prospero

  O, a cherubim

  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 burthen groan’d; which raised in me

  An undergoing stomach, to bear up

  Against what should ensue.

  Miranda

  How came we ashore?

  Prospero

  By Providence divine.

  Some food we had and some fresh water that

  A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,

  Out of his charity, 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 loved my books, he furnish’d me

  From mine own library with volumes that

  I prize above my dukedom.

  Miranda

  Would I might

  But ever see that man!

  Prospero

  Now I arise:

  Resumes his mantle

  Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.

  Here in this island we arrived; and here

  Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit

  Than other princesses can that have more time

  For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.

  Miranda

  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?

  Prospero

  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 inclined to sleep; ’tis a good dulness,

  And give it way: I know thou canst not choose.

  Miranda sleeps

  Come away, servant, come. I am ready now.

  Approach, my Ariel, come.

  Enter Ariel

  Ariel

  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.

  Prospero

  Hast thou, spirit,

  Perform’d to point the tempest that I bade thee?

  Ariel

  To every article.

  I boarded the king’s ship; now on the beak,

  Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,

  I flamed amazement: sometime I’ld divide,

  And burn in many places; on the topmast,

  The yards and bowsprit, 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.

  Prospero

  My brave spirit!

  Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil

  Would not infect his reason?

  Ariel

  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 afire 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.’

  Prospero

  Why that’s my spirit!

  But was not this nigh shore?

  Ariel

  Close by, my master.

  Prospero

  But are they, Ariel, safe?

  Ariel

  Not a hair perish’d;

  On their sustaining garments not a blemish,

  But fresher than before: and, as thou badest me,

  In troops I have dispersed 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.

  Prospero

  Of the king’s ship

  The mariners say how thou hast disposed

  And all the rest o’ the fleet.

  Ariel

  Safely i
n 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 dispersed, they all have met again

  And are upon the Mediterranean flote,

  Bound sadly home for Naples,

  Supposing that they saw the king’s ship wreck’d

  And his great person perish.

  Prospero

  Ariel, thy charge

  Exactly is perform’d: but there’s more work.

  What is the time o’ the day?

  Ariel

  Past the mid season.

  Prospero

  At least two glasses. The time ’twixt six and now

  Must by us both be spent most preciously.

  Ariel

  Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,

  Let me remember thee what thou hast promised,

  Which is not yet perform’d me.

  Prospero

  How now? moody?

  What is’t thou canst demand?

  Ariel

  My liberty.

  Prospero

  Before the time be out? no more!

  Ariel

  I prithee,

  Remember I have done thee worthy service;

  Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served

  Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise

  To bate me a full year.

  Prospero

  Dost thou forget

  From what a torment I did free thee?

  Ariel

  No.

  Prospero

  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’ the earth

  When it is baked with frost.

  Ariel

  I do not, sir.

  Prospero

  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?

  Ariel

  No, sir.

  Prospero

  Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me.

  Ariel

  Sir, in Argier.

  Prospero

  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?

  Ariel

  Ay, sir.

  Prospero

  This blue-eyed 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.

  Ariel

  Yes, Caliban her son.

  Prospero

  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 arrived and heard thee, that made gape

  The pine and let thee out.

  Ariel

  I thank thee, master.

  Prospero

  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.

  Ariel

  Pardon, master;

  I will be correspondent to command

  And do my spiriting gently.

  Prospero

  Do so, and after two days

  I will discharge thee.

  Ariel

  That’s my noble master!

  What shall I do? say what; what shall I do?

  Prospero

  Go make thyself like a nymph o’ 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!

  Miranda

  The strangeness of your story put

  Heaviness in me.

  Prospero

  Shake it off. Come on;

  We’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never

  Yields us kind answer.

  Miranda

  ’Tis a villain, sir,

  I do not love to look on.

  Prospero

  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.

  Caliban

  [Within] There’s wood enough within.

  Prospero

  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.

  Ariel

  My lord it shall be done.

  Exit

  Prospero

  Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself

  Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

  Enter Caliban

  Caliban

  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!

  Prospero

  For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,

  Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins

  Shall, for that 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 ’em.

  Caliban

  I must eat my dinner.

  This island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother,

  Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first,

  Thou strokedst me and madest 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 loved thee

  And show’d thee all the qualities o’ the 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’ the island.

  Prospero

  Thou most lying slave,

  Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee,

  Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged thee

  In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate

  The honour of my child.

  Caliban

  O ho, O ho! would’t had been done!

  Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else

  This isle with Calibans.

  Prospero

  Abhorred slave,

  Which any print of goodness wilt 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 confined into this rock,

  Who hadst deserved more than a prison.

  Caliban

  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!

  Prospero

  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.

  Caliban

  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.

  Prospero

  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:

  Courtsied when you have and kiss’d

  The wild waves whist,

  Foot it featly here and there;

  And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.

  Hark, hark!

  Burthen (dispersedly, within)

  The watch-dogs bark!

  Burthen Bow-wow

  Hark, hark! I hear

  The strain of strutting chanticleer

  Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.

  Ferdinand

  Where should this music be? i’ the air or the earth?

  It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon

  Some god o’ the island. Sitting on a bank,

  Weeping again the king my father’s wreck,

  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.

 

‹ Prev