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George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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SCENE III. Enter Ariel.

Ari.
All hail, great master! grave Sir, hail! I come
To answer thy best pleasure. Be't to fly;
To swim; to dive into the fire; to ride
On the curl'd clouds: to thy strong bidding, task
Ariel and all his qualities.

Pro.
Hast thou, spirit,
Perform'd to point the tempest that I bad thee?

Ari.
To every article.
I'boarded the King's ship: now on the beak,
Now in the waste, the deck, in every cabin,
I flam'd amazement. Sometimes I'd divide,

-- 13 --


And burn in many places; on the top-mast,
The yards and bolt-sprit would I flame distinctly,
Then meet and join. Jove's lightning, the precursers
Of dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
And sight out-running were not; the fire and cracks
Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,
Yea, his dread trident shake.

Pro.
My brave spirit!
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coyl
Would not infect his reason?

Ari.
Not a soul
But felt a feaver of the mind, and plaid
Some tricks of desperation: all but mariners
Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel,
Then all a-fire with me: the King's son Ferdinand
With hair up-staring (then like reeds, not hair)
Was the first man that leap'd; cry'd hell is empty,
And all the devils are here.

Pro.
Why that's my spirit!
But was not this nigh shore?

Ari.
Close by, my master.

Pro.
But are they, Ariel, safe?

Ari.
Not a hair perished?
On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
But fresher than before. And as thou badst me,
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the Isle:
The King's son have I landed by himself,
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs,
In an odd angle of the Isle, and sitting,
His arms in this sad knot.

Pro.
Of the King's ship,
The mariners, say how thou hast dispos'd,

-- 14 --


And all the rest o'th' fleet?

Ari.
Safely in harbour
Is the King's ship; in the deep nook, where once
Thou call'dst me up at midnight, to fetch dew
From the still-vext Bermoothes, there she's hid:
The mariners all under hatches stow'd,
Who with a charm join'd to their suffered labour,
I've left asleep; and for the rest o'th' fleet
(Which I dispers'd) they all have met again,
And are on the Mediterranean flote,
Bound sadly home for Naples,
Supposing that they saw the King's ship wrackt,
And his great person perish.

Pro.
Ariel, thy charge
Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work:
What is the time o'th' day?

Ari.
Past the mid season.

Pro.
At least two glasses: the time 'twixt six and now
Must by us both be spent most preciously.

Ari.
Is there more toil? since thou dost give me pains,
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd,
Which is not yet perform'd me.

Pro.
How now? moody?
What is't thou canst demand?

Ari.
My liberty.

Pro.
Before the time be out? no more.

Ari.
I pr'ythee
Remember I have done thee worthy service,
Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd
Without or grudge or grumblings; thou didst promise
To bate me a full year.

Pro.
Dost thou forget
From what a torment I did free thee?

-- 15 --

Ari.
No.

Pro.
Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze
Of the salt deep;
To run upon the sharp wind of the North,
To do me business in the veins o'th' earth,
When it is bak'd with frost.

Ari.
I do not, Sir.

Pro.
Thou ly'st, malignant thing: hast thou forgot
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?

Ari.
No, Sir.

Pro.
Thou hast: where was she born? speak; tell me.

Ari.
Sir, in Argier.

Pro.
Oh, was she so? I must
Once in a month recount what thou hast been,
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing, from Argier
Thou know'st was banish'd: for one thing she did
They would not take her life. Is this not true?

Ari.
Ay, Sir.

Pro.
This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child,
And here was left by th' sailors; thou my slave,
As thou report'st thy self, wast then her servant.
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthly and abhorr'd commands,
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
By help of her more potent ministers;
And in her most unmitigable rage,
Into a cloven pine; within which rift
Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain
A dozen years, within which space she dy'd,
And left thee there: where thou didst vent thy groans

-- 16 --


As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this Island
(Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckl'd whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with
A human shape.

Ari.
Yes; Caliban her son.

Pro.
Dull thing, I say so: he, that Caliban
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts
Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
Could not again undo: it was mine art,
When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape
The pine, and let thee out.

Ari.
I thank thee, master.

Pro.
If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak
And peg thee in his knotty entrails, 'till
Thou'st howl'd away twelve winters.

Ari.
Pardon, master.
I will be correspondent to command,
And do my sp'riting gently.

Pro.
Do so: and after two days
I will discharge thee.

Ari.
That's my noble master:
What shall I do? say what? what shall I do?

Pro.
Go make thy self like to a nymph o'th' sea.
Be subject to no sight but mine: invisible
To every eye-ball else. Go take this shape,
And hither come in it: go hence with diligence. [Exit Ari.
  Awake, dear heart awake, thou hast slept well,
Awake.

Mira.
The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.

-- 17 --

Pro.
Shake it off: come on,
We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.

Mira.
'Tis a villain, Sir,
I do not love to look onβ€”

Pro.
But as 'tis
We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices
That profit us. What hoa! slave! Caliban!
Thou earth thou! speak.

Cal. (within.)
There's wood enough within.

Pro.
Come forth, I say, there's other business for thee. Enter Ariel like a Water-Nymph.
Fine apparition! my quaint Ariel,
Hark in thine ear.

Ari.
My lord, it shall be done.
[Exit.

Pro.
Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
Upon thy wicked dam; come forth, thou tortoise.
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George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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