ARIEL SINGS.
Spirits, who the curl'd clouds ride,
Down slope sun-beams deftly glide;
Through the fissure of the rock,
Rifted by the light'ning's shock,
Fiends, from nether fires ascend;
Nymphs, who on blue Neptune 'tend,
From the sea's pearl-paved bed,
Rear each coral-crowned head;
Elves, the mountain leave, or dell:
  List Ariel's call!
  Assemble all
At your potent master's cell!

Enter Spirits, Fiends, Nymphs, and Elves.

ARIEL SPEAKS.
YE various ministers of Prospero's power,
The spell-bound servitors of his high will!
By whom the mighty worker hath perform'd
Deeds, far beyond the stretch of human thought;
Soon shall our master's staff be buried low,
His magick-volume in the deep sea drown'd:
Strait he'll embark; attend him till on board,
And your last, duteous homage to him pay:
Then to the elements be ever free
T'enjoy his boon, your dear-lov'd liberty!

ARIEL SINGS.
Pure Spirit, fiend, mild nymph, and say,
Your duty done, make holiday!
And each enjoy their full desire;
Pervade the earth, or sea, or fire!
Or, on light pennon, upward fly,
To wanton in the summer sky!
Pure spirit, fiend, mild nymph, and say,
Your duty done, make holiday! Burthen.
Make holiday! Exeunt.

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