&plquo;Are melted into air, into thin air;
&plquo;And, like the baseless fabrick of th' air-visions
&plquo;The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
&plquo;The solemn temples, the great globe it self,
&plquo;Yea, all, which it inherit, shall dissolve;
&plquo;And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

&plquo;^{9 note}Leave not a rack behind! we are such stuff
&plquo;As dreams are made on, and our little life
&plquo;Is rounded with a sleep.&prquo;—^{1 note}
Sir, I am vext;
Bear with my weakness, my old brain is troubled:
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity;
If thou be pleas'd, retire into my cell,
And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk,
To still my beating mind.

Fer. Mira.
We wish your peace. [Exe. Fer. and Mir.

Pro.
Come with a thought;—I thank you:—,
Ariel, come. Prospero comes forward from the Cell; enter Ariel to him.

Ari.
Thy thoughts I cleave to; what's thy pleasure?

Pro.
Spirit,
We must prepare to meet with Caliban.

Ari.
Ay, my commander; when I presented Ceres,
I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd,
Lest I might anger thee.

Pro.
Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets?

Ari.
I told you, Sir, they were red hot with drinking;
So full of valour, that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor,
At which, like unbackt colts, they prickt their ears,
Advanc'd their eye-lids, lifted up their noses,
As they smelt musick; so I charm'd their ears,
That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd through
Tooth'd briars, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns,
Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them
I' th' filthy mantled pool beyond your cell,
There dancing up to th' chins, that the foul lake
O'er-stunk their feet.

Pro.
This was well done, my bird;
Thy shape invisible retain thou still;
^{2 note}
The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither,
For stale to catch these thieves.

Ari.
I go, I go. [Exit.

Pro.
A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,

Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;
And, as with age, his body uglier grows,
So his mind cankers; I will plague them all,
Even to roaring: come, hang them on this line. [Prospero remains invisible.