# The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

## Part 179

Book page: https://www.cyberlibrary.org/en/books/the-complete-works-of-william-shakespeare-100/index.md

STEPHANO. Come, kiss.

TRINCULO. But that the poor monster’s in drink. An abominable monster!

CALIBAN. I’ll show thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries; I’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! I’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, Thou wondrous man.

TRINCULO. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!

CALIBAN. I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; Show thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how To snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee To clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?

STEPHANO. I prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the King and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here. Here, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again.

CALIBAN. [_Sings drunkenly._] _Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!_

TRINCULO. A howling monster, a drunken monster.

CALIBAN. _No more dams I’ll make for fish; Nor fetch in firing At requiring, Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish; ’Ban ’Ban, Cacaliban, Has a new master—Get a new man._ Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom, high-day, freedom!

STEPHANO. O brave monster! lead the way.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT III

SCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.

Enter Ferdinand bearing a log.

FERDINAND. There be some sports are painful, and 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 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 never like executor. I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, Most busy, least when I do it.

Enter Miranda and Prospero behind.

MIRANDA. Alas now, pray you, 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.

FERDINAND. O most dear mistress, The sun will set, before I shall discharge What I must strive to do.

MIRANDA. If you’ll sit down, I’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that; I’ll carry it to the pile.

FERDINAND. No, precious creature; I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by.

MIRANDA. 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 it is against.

PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Poor worm! thou art infected. This visitation shows it.

MIRANDA. You look wearily.

FERDINAND. No, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night. I do beseech you— Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers— What is your name?

MIRANDA. Miranda—O my father! I have broke your hest to say so.

FERDINAND. Admir’d Miranda! Indeed, the top of admiration; worth What’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady I have ey’d with best regard, and many a time Th’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues Have I lik’d several women; never any With so full soul but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d, And put it to the foil: but you, O you, So perfect and so peerless, are created Of every creature’s best.

MIRANDA. I do not know One of my sex; no woman’s face remember, Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen More that I may call men than you, good friend, And my dear father: how features are abroad, I am skilless of; but, by my modesty, The jewel in my dower, I would not wish Any companion in the world but you; Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Something too wildly, and my father’s precepts I therein do forget.

FERDINAND. I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda; I do think, a King; I would not so!—and would no more endure This wooden slavery than to suffer The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides, To make me slave to it; and for your sake Am I this patient log-man.

MIRANDA. Do you love me?

FERDINAND. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true; if hollowly, invert What best is boded me to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else i’ the world, Do love, prize, honour you.

MIRANDA. I am a fool To weep at what I am glad of.

PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between ’em!

FERDINAND. Wherefore weep you?

MIRANDA. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! I am your wife if you will marry me; If not, I’ll die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me; but I’ll be your servant, Whether you will or no.

FERDINAND. My mistress, dearest; And I thus humble ever.

MIRANDA. My husband, then?

FERDINAND. Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.

MIRANDA. And mine, with my heart in ’t: and now farewell Till half an hour hence.

FERDINAND. A thousand thousand!

[_Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda severally._]

PROSPERO. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are surpris’d withal; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I’ll to my book; For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining.

[_Exit._]

SCENE II. Another part of the island.

Enter Caliban with a bottle, Stephano and Trinculo.

STEPHANO. Tell not me:—when the butt is out we will drink water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and board ’em. Servant-monster, drink to me.

TRINCULO. Servant-monster! The folly of this island! They say there’s but five upon this isle; we are three of them; if th’ other two be brained like us, the state totters.

STEPHANO. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy head.

TRINCULO. Where should they be set else? He were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail.

STEPHANO. My man-monster hath drown’d his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty leagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard.

TRINCULO. Your lieutenant, if you list; he’s no standard.

STEPHANO. We’ll not run, Monsieur monster.

TRINCULO. Nor go neither. But you’ll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither.

STEPHANO. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf.

CALIBAN. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I’ll not serve him, he is not valiant.

TRINCULO. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed fish thou, was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as I today? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster?

CALIBAN. Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?

TRINCULO. “Lord” quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural!

CALIBAN. Lo, lo again! bite him to death, I prithee.

STEPHANO. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer, the next tree! The poor monster’s my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity.

CALIBAN. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas’d to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee?

STEPHANO. Marry. will I. Kneel and repeat it. I will stand, and so shall Trinculo.

Enter Ariel, invisible.

CALIBAN. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.

ARIEL. Thou liest.

CALIBAN. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou; I would my valiant master would destroy thee; I do not lie.

STEPHANO. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth.

TRINCULO. Why, I said nothing.

STEPHANO. Mum, then, and no more. Proceed.

CALIBAN. I say, by sorcery he got this isle; From me he got it. If thy greatness will, Revenge it on him,—for I know thou dar’st; But this thing dare not,—

STEPHANO. That’s most certain.

CALIBAN. Thou shalt be lord of it and I’ll serve thee.

STEPHANO. How now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party?

CALIBAN. Yea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep, Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head.

ARIEL. Thou liest. Thou canst not.

CALIBAN. What a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch! I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, And take his bottle from him: when that’s gone He shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him Where the quick freshes are.

STEPHANO. Trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word further, and by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors, and make a stock-fish of thee.

TRINCULO. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go farther off.

STEPHANO. Didst thou not say he lied?

ARIEL. Thou liest.

STEPHANO. Do I so? Take thou that.

[_Strikes Trinculo._]

As you like this, give me the lie another time.

TRINCULO. I did not give the lie. Out o’ your wits and hearing too? A pox o’ your bottle! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers!

CALIBAN. Ha, ha, ha!

STEPHANO. Now, forward with your tale.—Prithee stand further off.

CALIBAN. Beat him enough: after a little time, I’ll beat him too.

STEPHANO. Stand farther.—Come, proceed.

CALIBAN. Why, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him I’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him, Having first seiz’d his books; or with a log Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember First to possess his books; for without them He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not One spirit to command: they all do hate him As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. He has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,— Which, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal. And that most deeply to consider is The beauty of his daughter; he himself Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman But only Sycorax my dam and she; But she as far surpasseth Sycorax As great’st does least.

STEPHANO. Is it so brave a lass?

CALIBAN. Ay, lord, she will become thy bed, I warrant, And bring thee forth brave brood.

STEPHANO. Monster, I will kill this man. His daughter and I will be king and queen,—save our graces!—and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo?

TRINCULO. Excellent.

STEPHANO. Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but while thou liv’st, keep a good tongue in thy head.

CALIBAN. Within this half hour will he be asleep. Wilt thou destroy him then?

STEPHANO. Ay, on mine honour.

ARIEL. This will I tell my master.

CALIBAN. Thou mak’st me merry. I am full of pleasure. Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch You taught me but while-ere?

STEPHANO. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing.

[_Sings._]

_Flout ’em and cout ’em, and scout ’em and flout ’em: Thought is free._

CALIBAN. That’s not the tune.

[_Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe._]

STEPHANO. What is this same?

TRINCULO. This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody.

STEPHANO. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest a devil, take ’t as thou list.

TRINCULO. O, forgive me my sins!

STEPHANO. He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us!

CALIBAN. Art thou afeard?

STEPHANO. No, monster, not I.

CALIBAN. Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices, That, if I then had wak’d after long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d, I cried to dream again.

STEPHANO. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing.

CALIBAN. When Prospero is destroyed.

STEPHANO. That shall be by and by: I remember the story.

TRINCULO. The sound is going away. Let’s follow it, and after do our work.

STEPHANO. Lead, monster: we’ll follow. I would I could see this taborer! he lays it on. Wilt come?

TRINCULO. I’ll follow, Stephano.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. Another part of the island.

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, &c.

GONZALO. By ’r lakin, I can go no further, sir; My old bones ache: here’s a maze trod, indeed, Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience, I needs must rest me.

ALONSO. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, Who am myself attach’d with weariness To th’ dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest. Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it No longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.

ANTONIO. [_Aside to Sebastian._] I am right glad that he’s so out of hope. Do not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose That you resolv’d to effect.

SEBASTIAN. [_Aside to Antonio._] The next advantage Will we take throughly.

ANTONIO. [_Aside to Sebastian._] Let it be tonight; For, now they are oppress’d with travel, they Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance As when they are fresh.

SEBASTIAN. [_Aside to Antonio._] I say, tonight: no more.

Solemn and strange music: and Prospero above, invisible. Enter several strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet: they dance about it with gentle actions of salutation; and inviting the King &c., to eat, they depart.

ALONSO. What harmony is this? My good friends, hark!

GONZALO. Marvellous sweet music!

ALONSO. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?

SEBASTIAN. A living drollery. Now I will believe That there are unicorns; that in Arabia There is one tree, the phoenix’ throne; one phoenix At this hour reigning there.

ANTONIO. I’ll believe both; And what does else want credit, come to me, And I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie, Though fools at home condemn them.

GONZALO. If in Naples I should report this now, would they believe me? If I should say, I saw such islanders,— For, certes, these are people of the island,— Who, though, they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find Many, nay, almost any.

PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Honest lord, Thou hast said well; for some of you there present Are worse than devils.

ALONSO. I cannot too much muse Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing— Although they want the use of tongue—a kind Of excellent dumb discourse.

PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Praise in departing.

FRANCISCO. They vanish’d strangely.

SEBASTIAN. No matter, since They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.— Will’t please you taste of what is here?

ALONSO. Not I.

GONZALO. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys, Who would believe that there were mountaineers Dewlapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em Wallets of flesh? Or that there were such men Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find Each putter-out of five for one will bring us Good warrant of.

ALONSO. I will stand to, and feed, Although my last, no matter, since I feel The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, Stand to, and do as we.

Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a Harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.

ARIEL. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, That hath to instrument this lower world And what is in’t,—the never-surfeited sea Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island Where man doth not inhabit; you ’mongst men Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; And even with such-like valour men hang and drown Their proper selves.

[_Seeing Alonso, Sebastian &c., draw their swords._]

You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate: the elements Of whom your swords are temper’d may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that’s in my plume. My fellow-ministers Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, And will not be uplifted. But, remember— For that’s my business to you,—that you three From Milan did supplant good Prospero; Expos’d unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Incens’d the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, They have bereft; and do pronounce, by me Ling’ring perdition,—worse than any death Can be at once,—shall step by step attend You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from— Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls Upon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow, And a clear life ensuing.

[_He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again, and dance, with mocks and mows, and carry out the table._]

PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Bravely the figure of this Harpy hast thou Perform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring. Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life And observation strange, my meaner ministers Their several kinds have done. My high charms work, And these mine enemies are all knit up In their distractions; they now are in my power; And in these fits I leave them, while I visit Young Ferdinand,—whom they suppose is drown’d,— And his and mine lov’d darling.

[_Exit above._]

GONZALO. I’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you In this strange stare?

ALONSO. O, it is monstrous! monstrous! Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i’ th’ ooze is bedded; and I’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.

[_Exit._]

SEBASTIAN. But one fiend at a time, I’ll fight their legions o’er.

ANTONIO. I’ll be thy second.

[_Exeunt Sebastian and Antonio._]

GONZALO. All three of them are desperate: their great guilt, Like poison given to work a great time after, Now ’gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly And hinder them from what this ecstasy May now provoke them to.

ADRIAN. Follow, I pray you.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT IV

SCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.

Enter Prospero, Ferdinand and Miranda.

PROSPERO. If I have too austerely punish’d you, Your compensation makes amends: for I Have given you here a third of mine own life, Or that for which I live; who once again I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, Do not smile at me that I boast her off, For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her.

FERDINAND. I do believe it Against an oracle.

PROSPERO. Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition Worthily purchas’d, take my daughter: but If thou dost break her virgin knot before All sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rite be minister’d, No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall To make this contract grow; but barren hate, Sour-ey’d disdain, and discord shall bestrew The union of your bed with weeds so loathly That you shall hate it both: therefore take heed, As Hymen’s lamps shall light you.

FERDINAND. As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong’st suggestion Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust, to take away The edge of that day’s celebration, When I shall think, or Phoebus’ steeds are founder’d, Or Night kept chain’d below.

PROSPERO. Fairly spoke: Sit, then, and talk with her, she is thine own. What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!

Enter Ariel.

ARIEL. What would my potent master? here I am.

PROSPERO. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service Did worthily perform; and I must use you In such another trick. Go bring the rabble, O’er whom I give thee power, here to this place. Incite them to quick motion; for I must Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise, And they expect it from me.

ARIEL. Presently?

PROSPERO. Ay, with a twink.

ARIEL. Before you can say “Come” and “Go,” And breathe twice, and cry “so, so,” Each one, tripping on his toe, Will be here with mop and mow. Do you love me, master? no?

PROSPERO. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach Till thou dost hear me call.

ARIEL. Well, I conceive.

[_Exit._]

PROSPERO. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw To th’ fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious, Or else good night your vow!

FERDINAND. I warrant you, sir; The white cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver.

PROSPERO. Well. Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary, Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly. No tongue! all eyes! be silent.

[_Soft music._]

A Masque. Enter Iris.

IRIS. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep; Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, Where thou thyself dost air: the Queen o’ th’ sky, Whose wat’ry arch and messenger am I, Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace, Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, To come and sport; her peacocks fly amain: Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.

Enter Ceres.

CERES. Hail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers Diffusest honey drops, refreshing showers; And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown My bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down, Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen Summon’d me hither to this short-grass’d green?

IRIS. A contract of true love to celebrate, And some donation freely to estate On the blest lovers.

CERES. Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, Her and her blind boy’s scandal’d company I have forsworn.

IRIS. Of her society Be not afraid. I met her deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid Till Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain. Mars’s hot minion is return’d again; Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, And be a boy right out.

CERES. Highest queen of State, Great Juno comes; I know her by her gait.

Enter Juno.

JUNO. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, And honour’d in their issue.

[_They sing._]

JUNO. _Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you! Juno sings her blessings on you._