PROSPERO.
Call yourselves men no more, vile homicides!
Far worse than brutes; nay, e'en the hell-born monster,
And his infernal dam, you foully join'd,
And tempted to this most unheard-of act!

ANTHONIO.
Rave on,—we care not;—soon your lungs will fail.

CALIBAN.
Ho, ho, ho, ho! I now shall be reveng'd
For all my pinches, stitches, racking cramps!
My unthank'd services, and toilsome tasks!
Bearing huge logs of wood, for needful fire
To dress the meat I first had hunted down;
From the quick freshes fetching wholsome drink;
For luscious shell-fish, or choice callow birds,
Climbing steep craggy cliffs, and brittle boughs;
From which when I have fallen, and gotten hurt,
To heal my wounds thou, tyrant, gave'st me blows!

PROSPERO.
Lying, forgetful, most ungrateful brute!
And you two demi-devils! is it thus
(Complotting with that beast to famish us)
You both requite forgiveness of your crimes?

ANTHONIO.
We would have done't by still much shorter means,
Had we not been o'erheard.

SEBASTIAN.
But, 'tis as well;
You cannot long hold out on empty air.

GONZALO.
No more can you, sage sirs! you've wisely done,
Destroying that which soon yourselves will want.

ANTHONIO.
Fret not at that, old greybeard! there's no cause.
We had been dolts indeed, not to preserve
Full plenty for ourselves; tho' none for you!

FERDINAND.
That may, perhaps, be ours! let us, my friends,
Assail the triple knot; and, when subdued,
Teach them the way to fast, as they'd teach us.

CALIBAN.
Try first to master me, weak, stripling boy!
I guard the food, and eke delicious wine;
O'er-cover'd with that now-despised robe!
And, 'less on land ye go in search of more,
Ye, famishing, shall see us glut and gorge,
While, ravenous grown, each other ye devour!

PROSPERO.
Foul hag-seed, hence! down to the hold, begone!

CALIBAN.
Begone thyself, proud tyrant! I'll not budge.
My cruel master thou hast been too long!
I now am thine!—and, if thou disobey'st,

The stripes and pinches thou did'st oft give me,
On thy curst flesh will I, tenfold, repay!

PROSPERO.
How now, bold slave! this language to thy lord?
Who, with a word, can strike thee, instant, dead!

CALIBAN.
Thou ly'st! thou can'st not; impotent and vain!
Thy spells, thy charms, yea all thy pow'r is gone:
Which did controul the great and lesser lights,
Subjected spirits, and made me thy slave!
In that same sea thy potent magick storm'd,
Like a dull thing thou drowned'st all thine art!
Now Caliban, more strong, is Prosper's lord;
And thou must him obey, as he did thee.

PROSPERO.
Too true it is, my gentle, suff'ring friends!
Most rash and unadvised was the act,
Which has reduc'd us to this piteous plight;—
I us'd my art to draw you into danger,
And now lack art to set you free again!

ALONSO.
Alas, good sir! I am the cause of all,
And I alone should suffer! had not I
At your expulsion treach'rously conniv'd,
These mischiefs consequent would not have happ'd!

GONZALO.
'Tis even so, in sooth! but, let us now
'Gainst our calamities bear up like men!

FERDINAND.
Let us encounter them, nor doubt success!—
Conquest, or death, is the alternative;
Should we, unhappily, of victory fail,
Better than lingering famine instant death!

SEBASTIAN.
Then turn to me, young prince! thou and thy sire!
For Naples' crown a legion would I fight.

ANTHONIO.
And I for Milan! Prospero advance!

FRANCISCO.
Foul traitors, hold! nor thus assail your lords!

ADRIAN.
First conquer us;—we'll die in their defence!

GONZALO.
Loyal, and gallant! we'll confront these fiends;
Nor to the hazard put more precious lives!
Of forty devils were the pow'r combin'd,
Thus would I strive to quell this hell-born beast! [Gonzalo, striking at Caliban, is seized by him.]

CALIBAN.
Ho, ho, ho, ho! thy sword is blunt, old man!
Now could I grind thy pithless bones to dust;
Rend ye to shreds, or tread ye into clay!
But, get ye gone!—ye may as soon wound air,
Water, or fire, as charmed Caliban!
The spirit of my dam is strong in me!
Hath callous made me to weak mortals' blows;
And your united force I stand, and dare!
Ho, ho, ho, ho! what, are ye all afeard?

GONZALO.
By'r lakin! I yet never was before;
But my old blood's now curdled in my veins.

PROSPERO.
Put up your swords, good sirs! they're but as straws;
A charmed life, in aid of strength, now given,
This beast hath pow'r to bring us all to nought!
My life alone fell Sycorax doth seek;
And that, to save you, will I gladly yield!
Thou more-than-devil! speak thy dam's behest;
Which, though destruction follow, I obey!

CALIBAN.
Make straight to land, dread Sycorax commands!
What there shall hap I know not;—but, I have hope

All but thy daughter will my dam destroy!
My frustrate purpose then will I effect,
And people th' unknown clime with Calibans!

FERDINAND.
Peace, monster, peace! heav'n ne'er will that permit.

PROSPERO.
Patience, my son! my life alone is sought;
And what's a life, compared with chastity,
Connubial crown! we come and go as fast,
As mill-sail shadows course each other o'er
The sunny earth, in swift successive round!
Nor can I perish, but by that decree,
To which who would not chearfully resign!
For land, ho! pilot; fearless I'll ashore,
To prove the utmost malice of the fiend!
Lament not, should I sall;—they are not ills,
Tho' they appear such, righteous heaven wills THE SCENE CLOSES.

AN AERIAL SCENE. Enter Ariel, meeting other Spirits.

ARIEL.
'Tis done, my pure co-mates! the word is giv'n!
For land! heroically Prosp'ro said;
And even now the vessel swiftly sails
To the enchanted shore it ne'er shall leave:
Where, to his grief, Alonso soon shall find
His daughter, and her moorish lord, enthrall'd
By a vile forc'ress, Hyrca, leagued with Sycorax!
Now is the time to prove, celestial bands!
If hellish fiends to us superior are;—
Long have they vaunted, with their burning breath
To dim and scorch our bright ethereal forms;
To hazard that, without good cause, were fond:
But, now, to shield fair virtue is good cause!
By art, or force, then let's essay the deed;
And to good Prosp'ro's rescue instant fly.—
In phalanx firm, with heav'nly armour dight;
Virtue the word! for virtue strongly fight!

ARIEL SINGS.
Virtue's the word!
Sound the trumpet of heaven!
Draw th' adamant sword,
Temper'd seven times seven!
To war against hell,
And its votaries quell,
Draw th' adamant sword!
Sound the trumpet of heaven! Burthen.
Virtue's the word! &c. END OF ACT THE THIRD.

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