Once in a Month recount what thou hast been, Thou know'ft was banish'd: For one thing she did Pro. This blue-ey'd Hag was hither brought with Child, And here was left by th' Sailors; thou my Slave, As thou report'ft thy felf, waft then her Servant. To act her earthly and abhor'd Commands, A dozen Years; within which Space the dy'd, A frekel'd Whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with Ari. Yes; Caliban her Son. Pro. Dull Thing, I fay fo: He, that Caliban Ari. I thank thee, Master. Pro. If thou more murmur'ft, I will rend an Oak And peg thee in his knotty Entrails, 'till Thou haft howl'd away twelve Winters. Ari. Pardon, Mafter. I will be correfpondent to Command, Pro. Do fo: And after two Days Ari, Ari. That's my noble Master: What fhall I do? Say what? What shall I do? Pro. Go make thy felf like to a Nymph o' th' Sea. With Diligence. [Exit. Pro. Awake, dear Heart awake, thou haft slept well, Awake. Mira. The Strangeness of your Story put Heavinefs in me. Pro. Shake it off: Come on, We'll vifit Caliban, my Slave, who never Mira. 'Tis a Villain, Sir, I do not love to look on, We cannot mifs him: He does make our Fire, Fetch in our Wood, and ferves Offices That profit us. What hoa! Slave! Caliban! Thou Earth thou! fpeak. Cal. (within.) There's Wood enough within. Pro. Come forth, I fay, there's other Bufinefs for thee: Come thou Tortoys, when? Enter Ariel like a Water-Nymph. Fine Apparition; My quaint Ariel, Heark in thine Ear. Ari. My Lord, it shall be done. [Exit. Pro. Thou poifonous Slave, got by the Devil himself Upon thy wicked Dam; come forth. Enter Caliban. Cal. As wicked Dew, as e'er my Mother brush'd With Ravens Feather from unwholfome Fen, Drop on you both: A South-weft blow on ye, And blifter you all o'er. Pro. For this, be fure, to Night thou fhalt have Cramps, As thick as Hony-comb, each Pinch more ftinging Cal. I muft eat my Dinner; This Ifland's mine by Sycorax my Mother, Which thou tak'ft from me. When thou cameft first Thou ftroak'dft me, and mad'ft much of me; Would'st give me Water with Berries in't; and teach me how To name the bigger Light, and how the lefs, That burn by Day and Night: And then I lov'd thee, The fresh Springs, Brine-pits; barren Place and fertile. Of Sycorax; Toads, Beetles, Bats light on you! Which firft was mine own King: And here you fty me Pro. Thou moft lying Slave, Whom Stripes may move, not Kindnefs; I have us'd thee (Filth as thou art) with human Care, and lodg'd In mine own Cell, 'till thou didst feek to violate The Honour of my Child. Cal. Oh ho, oh ho, would't had been done! Mira, Abhorred Slave, Which any Print of Goodnefs will not take. Took Pains to make thee speak, taught thee each Hour Deservedly confin'd into this Rock, who hadft Deferv'd more than a Prifon. Cal. You taught me Language, and my Profit on't Is, I know how to curfe: The Red-plague rid you For learning me your Language. Pro. Hag-feed, hence! Fetch us in Fewel, and be quick, thou wer't best What What I command, I'll rack thee with old Cramps, Cal. No, 'pray thee. I muft obey, his Art is of fuch Pow'r, And make a Vaffal of him. Pro, So Slave, hence. [Exit Caliban. Enter Ferdinand, and Ariel invisible, playing and finging. ARIEL'S SONG. Come unto thefe yellow Sands, Curt'fied when you have, and kist, Foot it featly here and there, and Sweet Sprights hear The Burthen. [Burthen difperfedly. Hark, bark, bough-wawgh: The Watch-Dogs bark, Bough-wawgh. Ari. Hark, bark, I hear the Strain of ftrutting Chanticlere, Fer. Where fhould this Mufick be? I'th' Air, crth' Earth? ARIEL'S SONG. " Full Fathom five thy Father lyes, [Burthen: Ding-dong. Hark now I hear them, ding-dong Bell. Fer. Fer. The Ditty does remember my drown'd Father; This is no mortal Bufinefs, nor no Sound That the Earth owes: I hear it now above me. Pro. The fringed Curtains of thine Eye advance, And fay what thou fee'ft yond. Mira. What is't, a Spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, Sir, It carries a brave Form. But 'tis a Spirit. Pro. No Wench, it eats, and fleeps, and hath fuch Senfes As we have; fuch. This Gallant which thou feeft Was in the Wreck: And but he's fomething ftain'd And ftrays about to find 'em. Mira. I might call him A thing divine, for nothing natural I ever faw fo noble. Pro. It goes on, I fee, As my Soul prompts it: Spirit, fine Spirit, I'll free thee Fer. Moft fure the Goddess On whom these Ayres attend. Vouchsafe my Pray'r If Mira. No Wonder, Sir, But certainly a Maid. Fer, My Language! Heav'ns! I am the best of them that fpeak this Speech, Pro. How? the beft? What wer't thou if the King of Naples heard thee? Mira. Alack, for Mercy. Fer. Yes faith, and all his Lords, the Duke of Millan And |