Shakespeare's First Folio Part 4

Ar. No

Pro. Thou do'st: & thinkst it much to tread y Ooze Of the salt deepe; To run vpon the sharpe winde of the North, To doe me businesse in the veines o'th' earth When it is bak'd with frost

Ar. I doe not Sir

Pro. Thou liest, malignant Thing: hast thou forgot The fowle Witch Sycorax, who with Age and Enuy Was growne into a hoope? hast thou forgot her?

Ar. No Sir

Pro. Thou hast: where was she born? speak: tell me:

Ar. Sir, in Argier

Pro. Oh, was she so: I must Once in a moneth recount what thou hast bin, Which thou forgetst. This d.a.m.n'd Witch Sycorax For mischiefes manifold, and sorceries terrible To enter humane hearing, from Argier Thou know'st was banish'd: for one thing she did They wold not take her life: Is not this true?

Ar. I, Sir

Pro. This blew ey'd hag, was. .h.i.ther brought with child, And here was left by th' Saylors; thou my slaue, As thou reportst thy selfe, was then her seruant, And for thou wast a Spirit too delicate To act her earthy, and abhord commands, Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee By helpe of her more potent Ministers, And in her most vnmittigable rage, Into a clouen Pyne, within which rift Imprison'd, thou didst painefully remaine A dozen yeeres: within which s.p.a.ce she di'd, And left thee there: where thou didst vent thy groanes As fast as Mill-wheeles strike: Then was this Island (Saue for the Son, that he did littour heere, A frekelld whelpe, hag-borne) not honour'd with A humane shape

Ar. Yes: Caliban her sonne

Pro. Dull thing, I say so: he, that Caliban Whom now I keepe in seruice, thou best know'st What torment I did finde thee in; thy grones Did make wolues howle, and penetrate the b.r.e.a.s.t.s Of euer-angry Beares; it was a torment To lay vpon the d.a.m.n'd, which Sycorax Could not againe vndoe: it was mine Art, When I arriu'd, and heard thee, that made gape The Pyne, and let thee out

Ar. I thanke thee Master

Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an Oake And peg-thee in his knotty entrailes, till Thou hast howl'd away twelue winters

Ar. Pardon, Master, I will be correspondent to command And doe my spryting, gently

Pro. Doe so: and after two daies I will discharge thee

Ar. That's my n.o.ble Master: What shall I doe? say what? what shall I doe?

Pro. Goe make thy selfe like a Nymph o'th' Sea, Be subiect to no sight but thine, and mine: inuisible To euery eye-ball else: goe take this shape And hither come in't: goe: hence With diligence.

Enter.

Pro. Awake, deere hart awake, thou hast slept well, Awake

Mir. The strangenes of your story, put Heauinesse in me

Pro. Shake it off: Come on, Wee'll visit Caliban, my slaue, who neuer Yeelds vs kinde answere

Mir. 'Tis a villaine Sir, I doe not loue to looke on

Pro. But as 'tis We cannot misse him: he do's make our fire, Fetch in our wood, and serues in Offices That profit vs: What hoa: slaue: Caliban: Thou Earth, thou: speake

Cal. within. There's wood enough within

Pro. Come forth I say, there's other busines for thee: Come thou Tortoys, when?

Enter Ariel like a water Nymph.

Fine apparision: my queint Ariel, Hearke in thine eare

Ar. My Lord, it shall be done.

Enter.

Pro. Thou poysonous slaue, got by y diuell himselfe Vpon thy wicked Dam; come forth.

Enter Caliban.

Cal. As wicked dewe, as ere my mother brush'd With Rauens feather from vnwholesome Fen Drop on you both: A Southwest blow on yee, And blister you all ore

Pro. For this be sure, to night thou shalt haue cramps, Side-st.i.tches, that shall pen thy breath vp, Vrchins Shall for that vast of night, that they may worke All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd As thicke as hony-combe, each pinch more stinging Then Bees that made 'em

Cal. I must eat my dinner: This Island's mine by Sycorax my mother, Which thou tak'st from me: when thou cam'st first Thou stroakst me, & made much of me: wouldst giue me Water with berries in't: and teach me how To name the bigger Light, and how the lesse That burne by day, and night: and then I lou'd thee And shew'd thee all the qualities o'th' Isle, The fresh Springs, Brine-pits; barren place and fertill, Curs'd be I that did so: All the Charmes Of Sycorax: Toades, Beetles, Batts light on you: For I am all the Subiects that you haue, Which first was min owne King: and here you sty-me In this hard Rocke, whiles you doe keepe from me The rest o'th' Island

Pro. Thou most lying slaue, Whom stripes may moue, not kindnes: I haue vs'd thee (Filth as thou art) with humane care, and lodg'd thee In mine owne Cell, till thou didst seeke to violate The honor of my childe

Cal. Oh ho, oh ho, would't had bene done: Thou didst preuent me, I had peopel'd else This Isle with Calibans

Mira. Abhorred Slaue, Which any print of goodnesse wilt not take, Being capable of all ill: I pittied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each houre One thing or other: when thou didst not (Sauage) Know thine owne meaning; but wouldst gabble, like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them knowne: But thy vild race (Tho thou didst learn) had that in't, which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou Deseruedly confin'd into this Rocke, who hadst Deseru'd more then 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

Pros. Hag-seed, hence: Fetch vs in Fewell, and be quicke thou'rt best To answer other businesse: shrug'st thou (Malice) If thou neglectst, or dost vnwillingly What I command, Ile racke thee with old Crampes, Fill all thy bones with Aches, make thee rore, That beasts shall tremble at thy dyn

Cal. No, 'pray thee.

I must obey, his Art is of such pow'r, It would controll my Dams G.o.d Setebos, And make a va.s.saile of him

Pro. So slaue, hence.

Exit Cal.

Enter Ferdinand & Ariel, inuisible playing & singing.

Ariel Song. Come vnto these yellow sands, and then take hands: Curtsied when you haue, and kist the wilde waues whist: Foote it featly heere, and there, and sweete Sprights beare the burthen.

Burthen dispersedly.

Harke, harke, bowgh wawgh: the watch-Dogges barke, bowgh-wawgh

Ar. Hark, hark, I heare, the straine of strutting Chanticlere cry c.o.c.kadidle-dowe

Fer. Where shold this Musick be? I'th aire, or th' earth?

It sounds no more: and sure it waytes vpon Some G.o.d o'th' Iland, sitting on a banke, Weeping againe the King my Fathers wracke.