« PreviousContinue »
With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing-
Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
Pros. To have no screen between this part he play'd
He thinks me now incapable; confederates
So dry he was for sway-wi' the King of Naples
O the heavens !
Pros. Mark his condition and the event; then tell me If this might be a brother.
I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
This King of Naples, being an enemy
The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness,
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.
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.
That hour destroy us?
Wherefore did they not
Well demanded, wench:
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, 140
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
Alack, what trouble
O, a cherubin
Thou didst smile,
Thou wast that did preserve me.
Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
Against what should ensue.
How came we ashore?
Pros. By Providence divine.
Some food we had and some fresh water that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his clarity, 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,
I prize above my dukedom.
But ever see that man!
Would I might
Now I arise: [Resumes his mantle.
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
Than other princesses can that have more time
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.
Mir. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you,
For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
For raising this sea-storm?
Know thus far forth.
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions :
Come away, servant, come. I am ready now.
Ari. 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
Hast thou, spirit,
I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak,
I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide,
Would not infect his reason?
Not a soul
Why, that's my spirit!
But was not this nigh shore?
Pros. But are they, Ariel, safe?
Close by, my master.
Not a hair perish'd;
On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
Of the king's ship
The mariners say how thou hast disposed
Who with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd
Past the mid season.
Pros. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously.
Ari. 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.
What is't thou canst demand?
How now? moody?
Pros. Before the time be out? no more!
Remember I have done thee worthy service;
Dost thou forget
From what a torment I did free thee?
Pros. 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
I do not, sir.
Pros. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and ervy
Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?
Ari. No, sir.
Thou hast. Where was she born? speak ;
Ari. Sir, in Argier.
O, was she so? I must
To enter human hearing, from Argier,
Thou know'st was banish'd for one thing she did
Ari. Ay, sir.
Pros. 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 earthly and abhorred commands,
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
A dozen years; within which space she died
And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans 280 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.
Yes, Caliban her son.
Pros. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
Do so, and after two days