SCENE II. The Cave of Hippolyto. Enter Prospero.

Pro.
'Tis not yet fit, I let my daughters know
That I have rear'd the princely heir of Mantua,
As I have them, from childhood in this isle.
His father, dying, bequeath'd him to my care,
That I should breed him equal to his birth.
O, thou false brother! was it not enough
To usurp my state, but that thou must betray
My pupil's dukedom to the Neapolitan,
And doom him to the fate design'd for me!—
By calculation of his birth, I saw
Death threatening him, if, till some time were pass'd,
He should behold the face of any woman;
And now the danger's nigh.—Hippolyto!—
Approach, young man; come forth:—Hippolyto!— Enter Hippolyto.

Hip.
Sir, I attend your pleasure.

Pro.
How I have lov'd thee from thy infancy,
Heaven knows, and thou thyself canst bear me witness;
Therefore accuse me not for thy restraint.

Hip.
I murmur not; but I may wonder at it.

Pro.
O, gentle youth, fate waits for thee abroad,
A black star threatens thee, and death unseen
Stands ready to devour thee.

Hip.
Sir, I have often heard you say, no creature
Liv'd in this isle, but those which man was lord of:—
Why then should I fear?

Pro.
But here are creatures which I nam'd not to thee;

Those dangerous enemies of men, call'd women.

Hip.
Women!—I never heard of them before.
What are women like?

Pro.
Imagine something 'tween young men and angels,
Fatally beauteous, and with killing eyes:
Their voices charm beyond the nightingale's;
They are all enchantment; those, who once behold them,
Are made their slaves for ever:—
Therefore, if you should chance to see them,—mark me,—
Avoid them straight, I charge you.

Hip.
Well, since you say they are so dangerous,
I'll so far shun them, as I may with safety
Of the unblemish'd honour which you taught me:
But let them not provoke me; for, I'm sure,
I shall not then forbear them.

Pro.
Go in, and read the book I gave you last.

Hip.
I shall obey you, sir. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Valley in the Island. Enter Prospero.

Pro.
So, so; I hope this lesson has secur'd him;
For I have been constrain'd to change his lodging
From the rude rock where I have bred him up,
And bring him to the neighbourhood of my cell,
Because the shipwreck happen'd near his mansion.—
How, my daughters!—
I thought I had instructed them enough.—

Enter Miranda and Dorinda.
Children, retire:—Why do you walk this way?

Mir.
It is within our bounds, sir.

Pro.
But both take heed, that path is very dangerous:
Remember what I told you.

Dor.
Is the man that way, sir?

Pro.
All, that you can imagine ill, is there:
The curled lion, and the rugged bear,
Are not so dreadful as that savage man.

Dor.
But I would stroke him, father,
And make him gentle, then he would not hurt me.

Pro.
You must not trust him, child.—But I must in;
For now my operant spells require my presence.—
Be you, Miranda, guardian to your sister. [Exit Prospero.

Dor.
Come, sister, let us walk the other way,
The man will catch us else; we've but two legs,
And he, perhaps, has four.

Mir.
Well, sister, though he have, yet look about you,
And we shall spy him, ere he come too near us.

Dor.
Come back, come back; that way is tow'rd his den.

Mir.
Let me alone: I'll venture first; for sure
He can devour but one of us at once.—
I will go softly:—if you see him first,
Be sure, you call me to take care of you. [Exit Miranda.

Dor.
Nay, I confess, I would fain see him too:
I find a longing in my very nature,
Because my father has forbidden me. [Exit Dorinda.

SCENE IV. The Cave of Hippolyto. Enter Hippolyto, reading.

Hip.
Prospero has often said that nature makes
Nothing in vain: why then are women made?
I'll ask that question, when I see him next. Enter Dorinda and Miranda, from behind.

Dor.
O, sister, there it is:—it walks about
Like one of us.

Mir.
Ay, just so,—and has legs as we have too.

Hip.
It strangely puzzles me: yet, 'tis most likely,
Women are somewhat between men and spirits.

Mir.
Hark, hark! it talks. Why, sure this is not it
My father meant:—'tis just like one of us.

Dor.
I am not half so much afraid on't as
I was:—see, see, it turns this way.—
Heav'n! what a pretty thing it is!

Mir.
I'll go nearer it.

Dor.
O no; 'tis dangerous, sister: I'll go to it.

Mir.
I would not for the world that you should venture;
My father charg'd me to secure you from it.

Dor.
I warrant you, this is a tame man, sister:
He will not hurt me; I see it by his looks.

Pro. [Without.]
What ho! what ho!—Miranda, child, where are you?

Mir.
Do you not hear my father call? go in.

Dor.
'Twas you he call'd, not me.—Make haste, make hase:—
You would not let my father wait, I hope.

Pro. [Without.]
Miranda, child,—

Mir.
Come, sister, come with me. [Exit Miranda.

Dor.
Though I die for't, I must have t'other peep.

Hip. [Turns, and sees her.]
What thing is that?
Sure 'tis some favourite infant of the sun.
My sight is dazzled.—I'll go nearer to it.—
May it not be that beauteous murderer, woman,
Whom I was charg'd to shun? Speak, speak,—what art thou,
Shining vision?

Dor.
Alas, I know not; but, I'm told, I am
A woman.—Do not hurt me, 'pray, fair thing.

Hip.
Won't you hurt me, fair thing? for, I was told,
A woman was my enemy.

Dor.
I never knew
What 'twas to be an enemy; nor can
I e'er prove so to that, which looks like you:
Although I fear you are a man, that lion,
That dangerous thing, of which I have been warn'd.
'Pray, tell me what you are.

Hip.
In truth, I was inform'd I am a man;
But, if I fright you, I shall wish I were
Some other creature.

Dor.
No, you do not fright me.

Pro. [Without.]
Dorinda!

Dor.
My father calls again. Ah! I must leave you.

Hip.
Alas, I'm subject to the same command.

Dor.
This is my first offence against my father,
Which severing us too cruelly does punish.

Hip.
And this is my first trespass too; but he
Hath more offended truth than we have him:
He said, our meeting would destructive be;
Yet I no death but in our parting see. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. A naked Part of the Island. Thunder, Wind, Rain. Enter Caliban, bearing a Bundle of Wood.

Cal.
All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
By inchmeal a disease! [Throws off his Load.
His spirits hear me,
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch,
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i'the mire,
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid them; but
For every trifle they are set upon me;
Sometime like apes, that mow and chatter at me,
And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks at my foot-fall; sometime am I
All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues,
Do hiss me into madness. [Wind and Rain.

Trinculo. [Without.]
O, O, O,—

Cal.
Lo, now! lo!
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. [Lies down. Enter Trinculo.

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: if it should thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond'

same cloud cannot chuse 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 the newest, poor John.— A strange fish! 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 has lately suffered by a thunderbolt.— [Wind and Rain.]—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.