SCENE IV.
Enter Caliban.
3 note
&wlquo;Cal.
&wlquo;As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brush'd
&wlquo;With raven's feather from unwholsom fen,
&wlquo;Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye,
&wlquo;And blister you all o'er!&wrquo;
Pro.
For this, be sure, to night thou shalt have cramps,
Side-stiches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins
-- 20 --
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd
As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made 'em.
&wlquo;Cal.
&wlquo;I must eat my dinner.
&wlquo;This Island's mine by Sycorax my mother,
&wlquo;Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest first,
&wlquo;Thou stroak'dst me, and mad'st much of me; and would'st give me
&wlquo;Water with berries in't; and teach me how
&wlquo;To name the bigger light, and how the less,
&wlquo;That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee,
&wlquo;And shew'd thee all the qualities o'th' Isle,
&wlquo;The fresh springs, brine-pits; barren place, and fertile.
&wlquo;Curs'd be I, that I did so! all the charms
&wlquo;Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
&wlquo;For I am all the subjects that you have,
&wlquo;Who first was mine own King; and here you sty me&wrquo;
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
The rest of th' Island.
Pro.
Thou most lying slave,
Whom Stripes may move, not kindness; I have us'd thee
(Filth as thou art) with humane care, and lodg'd
In mine own cell, 'till thou didst seek to violate
The honour of my child.
Cal.
Oh ho, oh ho!—I wou'd, it had been done!
Thou didst prevent me, I had peopled else
This Isle with Calibans.
Pro.
4 noteAbhorred slave;
Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pity'd thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
-- 21 --
One thing or other. 5 note
When thou couldst not, savage,
Shew thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known. But thy vile race
(Tho' thou didst learn) had that in't, which good natures
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
Deservedly confin'd into this rock,
Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison—
Cal.
You taught me language, and my profit on't
Is, I know how to curse: the red plague rid you,
For learning me your language!
-- 22 --
Pro.
Hag-seed, hence!
Fetch us in fewel, and be quick (thou wert' best)
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice?
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps;
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.
Cal.
No, 'pray thee.
I must obey; his art is of such pow'r,
It would controul my dam's god Setebos,
And make a vassal of him.
Pro.
So, slave, hence!
[Exit Caliban.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
