Seb.

He's gone.

Ant.

Then, tell me,

Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells

Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples

Can have no note, unless the sun were post,

(The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins Be rough and razorable: she, from whom

We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again;
And, by that, destin'd to perform an act,
Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come,
In yours and my discharge.
Seb.
What stuff is this?-how say you?

'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis;
So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions
There is some space.
Ant.

A space, whose every cubit

Seems to cry out, How shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples ?-Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake!-Say, this were death
That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse
Than now they are: There be, that can rule Naples

As well as he that sleeps; lords, that can prate

As amply, and unnecessarily,

As this Gonzalo; I myself could make

A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore

The mind that I do! what a sleep were this

For your advancement! Do you understand me ?

And, look, how well my garments sit upon me;
Much feater than before: My brother's servants
Were then my fellows, now they are my men.

Seb. But, for your conscience

Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? If it were a kybe,
"Twould put me to my slipper: But I feel not
This deity in my bosom: Twenty consciences,
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they,
And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother,
No better than the earth he lies upon,

If he were that which now he's like; whom I,
With this obedient steel, three inches of it,
Can lay to-bed for ever: whiles you, doing thus,
To the perpetual wink for aye might put
This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,
They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk;
They'll tell the clock to any business that

SCENE II. Another part of the island. Enter Caliban, with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard.

Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch, Fright me with urehin shows, pitch me i' the mire, Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark Out of my way unless he bid them; but For every trifle are they set upon me : Sometime like apes, that moe and chatter at me, And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount Their prieks at my foot-fall; sometime am I All wound with adders, who, with clöven tongues, Do hiss me into madness :-Lo! now! lo!

Enter Trinculo.

Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me,
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat;
Perchance, he will not mind me

Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i' the wind: yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here ? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and had but this fish

painted, not a holiday-fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast, there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunder-bolt. [Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till the dregs of the storm be past.

Enter Stephano, singing; a bottle in his hand.
Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die ashore;

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral:
Well, here's my comfort.
[Drinks.

The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,
The gunner, and his mate,

Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us car'd for Kate :

For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang:

She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch:

Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang.
This is a scurvy tune too: But here's my comfort.

Cal. Do not torment me: O!

[Drinks.

Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? De you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of Inde? Ha! I have not 'scap'd drowning to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot make him give ground: and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils.

Cal. The spirit torments me: O!

Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs : who hath got, as I take it, an ague: Where the devil should he learn our language? I will give him some relief if it be but for that: If I can recover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather.

Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee;

I'll bring my wood home faster.

Ste. He's in his fit now; and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit: if I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him: he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly.

Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt
Anon, I know it by thy trembling:
Now Prosper works upon thee.

Ste. Come on your ways; open your mouth: here is that which will give language to you, cat; open your mouth: this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend; open your chaps again.

Trin. I should know that voice: It should be-But he is drowned; and these are devils: O! defend me l

Ste. Four legs, and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague: Come, -Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth.

Trin. Stephano!

Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me Mercy! mercy

This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon.

Trin. Stephano!-if thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo;-be not afeard, -thy good friend Trinculo.

Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth! I'll pull thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed: How cam'st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? can he

vent Trinculos?

Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke: -But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine, for fear of the storm: And art thou living, Stephano? O Ste phano, two Neapolitans 'scaped!

Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about; my stomach is

not constant.

Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : I will kneel to him.

Ste. How didst thou 'scape? How cam'st thou hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved over-board, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore.

Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy True subject; for the liquor is not earthly. Ste. Here; swear then how thou escap'dst. Trin. Swama-shore, man, like a duck; I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn.

Ste. Here, kiss the book: Though thou can'st swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose.

Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this?

Ste. The whole butt, man; my cellar is in a rock by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, mooncalf? how does thine ague?

Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven?

Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee; I was the man in the moon, when time was.

Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee; My mistress shewed me thee, thy dog, and bush.

Ste. Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furnish it anon with new contents: swear.

Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster :-I afeard of him?-a very weak monster: -The man i' the moon ?-a most poor credulous monster:Well drawn, monster, in good sooth.

Cal. I'll shew thee every fertile inch o' the island; And kiss thy foot: I pr'ythee, be my god.

Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster; when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. Cal. I'll kiss thy foot: I'll swear myself thy subject. Ste. Come on then; down, and swear.

Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppyheaded monster: A most scurvy mouster! I could find it in my heart to beat him,

Trin. A most ridiculous monster; to make a wonder of a poor drunkard.

THERE be some sports are painful; but their labour
Delight in them sets off': some kinds of baseness
Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters
Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious; but

The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead,
And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is

Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed;
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
Upon a sore injunction: My sweet mistress
Weeps when she sees me work; and says, such baseness
Had ne'er like executor. I forget:

But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours;
Most busy-less, when I do it.

Enter Miranda; and Prospero at a distance.
Alas, now! pray you,

Mir.

Work not so hard: I would, the lightning had
Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile!
Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns,
'Twill weep for having wearied you: My father
Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;
He's safe for these three hours.

Fer.

O most dear mistress,

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by.

Mir.

It would become me, As well as it does you and I should do it With much more ease; for my good will is to it,

And yours against. Pro.

Poor worm! thou art infected;

This visitation shews it. Mir.

You look wearily.