SCENE I.
Another Part of the Island.
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and Others.
Gon.
Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause
(So have we all) of joy, for our escape
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe4 note
Is common: every day, some sailor's wife,
The masters of some merchant5 note, and the merchant,
-- 32 --
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions
Can speak like us: then, wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.
Alon.
Pr'ythee, peace.
Seb.
He receives comfort like cold porridge.
Ant.
The visitors6 note will not give him o'er so.
Seb.
Look; he's winding up the watch of his wit:
by and by it will strike.
Gon.
Sir,—
Seb.
One:—tell.
Gon.
When every grief is entertain'd, that's offer'd,
Comes to the entertainer—
Seb.
A dollar.
Gon.
Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken
truer than you purposed.
Seb.
You have taken it wiselier than I meant you
should.
Gon.
Therefore, my lord,—
Ant.
Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!
Alon.
I pr'ythee, spare.
Gon.
Well, I have done. But yet—
Seb.
He will be talking.
Ant.
Which of them, he or Adrian7 note, for a good
wager, first begins to crow?
Seb.
The old cock.
Ant.
The cockrel.
Seb.
Done. The wager?
Ant.
A laughter.
Seb.
A match.
Adr.
Though this island seem to be desert,—
Seb.
Ha, ha, ha!
-- 33 --
Ant.
So, you're paid8 note.
Adr.
Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—
Seb.
Yet—
Adr.
Yet—
Ant.
He could not miss it.
Adr.
It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate
temperance.
Ant.
Temperance was a delicate wench9 note.
Seb.
Ay, and a subtle, as he most learnedly delivered. 11Q0017
Adr.
The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
Seb.
As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
Ant.
Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.
Gon.
Here is every thing advantageous to life.
Ant.
True; save means to live.
Seb.
Of that there's none, or little.
Gon.
How lush and lusty the grass looks10 note! how green!
Ant.
The ground, indeed, is tawny.
Seb.
With an eye of green in't1 note.
Ant.
He misses not much.
Seb.
No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.
Gon.
But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost
beyond credit—
Seb.
As many vouch'd rarities are.
Gon.
That our garments, being, as they were,
drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness,
and glosses; being rather new dyed, than stain'd
with salt water.
-- 34 --
Ant.
If but one of his pockets could speak, would it
not say, he lies?
Seb.
Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.
Gon.
Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as
when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of
the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis.
Seb.
'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in
our return.
Adr.
Tunis was never graced before with such a
paragon to their queen.
Gon.
Not since widow Dido's time.
Ant.
Widow? a pox o' that! How came that widow
in? Widow Dido!
Seb.
What if he had said, widower Æneas too? good
lord, how you take it!
Adr.
Widow Dido, said you? you make me study of
that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.
Gon.
This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.
Adr.
Carthage?
Gon.
I assure you, Carthage.
Ant.
His word is more than the miraculous harp.
Seb.
He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.
Ant.
What impossible matter will he make easy next?
Seb.
I think he will carry this island home in his
pocket, and give it his son for an apple.
Ant.
And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring
forth more islands.
Gon.
Ay?
Ant.
Why, in good time.
Gon.
Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem
now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at the marriage
of your daughter, who is now queen.
Ant.
And the rarest that e'er came there.
Seb.
Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.
Ant.
O! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.
Gon.
Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day
I wore it? I mean, in a sort.
-- 35 --
Ant.
That sort was well fish'd for.
Gon.
When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?
Alon.
You cram these words into mine ears, against
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,
My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,
Who is so far from Italy remov'd,
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou, mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan! what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee?
Fran.
Sir, he may live.
I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs: he trod the water,
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt,
He came alive to land.
Alon.
No, no; he's gone.
Seb.
Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss
That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,
But rather lose her to an African;
Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye,
Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.
Alon.
Pr'ythee, peace.
Seb.
You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise
By all of us; and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at
Which end o' the beam she'd bow 11Q00182 note. We have lost your son,
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
-- 36 --
More widows in them, of this business' making,
Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's
Your own.
Alon.
So is the dearest of the loss.
Gon.
My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
When you should bring the plaster.
Seb.
Very well.
Ant.
And most chirurgeonly.
Gon.
It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
When you are cloudy.
Seb.
Foul weather? 11Q0019
Ant.
Very foul.
Gon.
Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,—
Ant.
He'd sow 't with nettle-seed.
Seb.
Or docks, or mallows.
Gon.
And were the king on't, what would I do?
Seb.
'Scape being drunk, for want of wine.
Gon.
I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things, for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate3 note;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil:
-- 37 --
No occupation, all men idle, all;
And women too, but innocent and pure;
No sovereignty:—
Seb.
Yet he would be king on't.
Ant.
The latter end of his commonwealth forgets
the beginning.
Gon.
All things in common nature should produce,
Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
Of its own kind, all foizon4 note, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.
Seb.
No marrying 'mong his subjects?
Ant.
None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves.
Gon.
I would with such perfection govern, sir,
To excel the golden age5 note.
Seb.
'Save his majesty!
Ant.
Long live Gonzalo!
Gon.
And, do you mark me, sir?—
Alon.
Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.
Gon.
I do well believe your highness; and did it to
minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such
sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to
laugh at nothing.
Ant.
'Twas you we laugh'd at.
Gon.
Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing
to you: so you may continue, and laugh at
nothing still.
Ant.
What a blow was there given!
Seb.
An it had not fallen flat-long.
Gon.
You are gentlemen of brave mettle: you would
-- 38 --
lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue
in it five weeks without changing.
Enter Ariel invisible, playing solemn music 11Q00206 note.
Seb.
We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.
Ant.
Nay, good my lord, be not angry.
Gon.
No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my
discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I
am very heavy?
Ant.
Go sleep, and hear us.
[All sleep but Alon. Seb. and Ant.
Alon.
What! all so soon asleep? I wish mine eyes
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find,
They are inclin'd to do so.
Seb.
Please you, sir,
Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.
Ant.
We two, my lord,
Will guard your person while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.
Alon.
Thank you. Wondrous heavy.—
[Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel.
Seb.
What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
Ant.
It is the quality o' the climate.
Seb.
Why
Doth it not, then, our eye-lids sink? I find not
Myself dispos'd to sleep.
Ant.
Nor I: my spirits are nimble.
They fell together all, as by consent;
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
Worthy Sebastian?—O! what might?—No more:—
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,
-- 39 --
What thou should'st be. Th' occasion speaks thee, and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.
Seb.
What! art thou waking?
Ant.
Do you not hear me speak?
Seb.
I do; and, surely,
It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st
Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
And yet so fast asleep.
Ant.
Noble Sebastian,
Thou let'st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink'st
Whiles thou art waking.
Seb.
Thou dost snore distinctly:
There's meaning in thy snores.
Ant.
I am more serious than my custom: you
Must be so too, if heed me; which to do,
Trebles thee o'er7 note.
Seb.
Well; I am standing water.
Ant.
I'll teach you how to flow.
Seb.
Do so: to ebb
Hereditary sloth instructs me.
Ant.
O!
If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish,
Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,
You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed,
Most often do so near the bottom run
By their own fear, or sloth.
Seb.
Pr'ythee, say on.
The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim
A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed,
Which throes thee much to yield.
Ant.
Thus, sir.
Although this lord of weak remembrance, this
(Who shall be of as little memory,
-- 40 --
When he is earth'd) hath here almost persuaded
(For he's a spirit of persuasion, only
Professes to persuade) the king, his son's alive,
'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd,
As he that sleeps here, swims.
Seb.
I have no hope
That he's undrown'd.
Ant.
O! out of that no hope,
What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is
Another way so high a hope, that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with me,
That Ferdinand is drown'd?
Seb.
He's gone.
Ant.
Then, tell me,
Who's the next heir of Naples?
Seb.
Claribel.
Ant.
She that is queen of Tunis; 11Q0021 she that dwells
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples
Can have no note, unless the sun were post,
(The man i' the moon's too slow) till new-born chins
Be rough and razorable; she, from whom8 note
We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again;
And by that destiny to perform an act,
Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come,
In yours and my discharge.
Seb.
What stuff is this!—How say you?
'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis;
So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions
There is some space.
Ant.
A space whose every cubit
Seems to cry out, “How shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples?”—Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake!—Say, this were death
-- 41 --
That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse
Than now they are. There be, that can rule Naples
As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate
As amply, and unnecessarily,
As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
The mind that I do! what a sleep were this
For your advancement! Do you understand me?
Seb.
Methinks, I do.
Ant.
And how does your content
Tender your own good fortune?
Seb.
I remember,
You did supplant your brother Prospero.
Ant.
True:
And look how well my garments sit upon me;
Much feater than before. My brother's servants
Were then my fellows, now they are my men.
Seb.
But, for your conscience—
Ant.
Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kybe,
'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not
This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences,
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they,
And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother,
No better than the earth he lies upon,
If he were that which now he's like, that's dead,
Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,
Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,
To the perpetual wink for aye might put
This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course: for all the rest,
They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;
They'll tell the clock to any business that
We say befits the hour.
Seb.
Thy case, dear friend,
Shall be my precedent: as thou got'st Milan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st,
-- 42 --
And I the king shall love thee.
Ant.
Draw together
And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
To fall it on Gonzalo.
Seb.
O! but one word.
[They converse apart.
Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible 9 note.
Ari.
My master through his art foresees the danger
That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth
(For else his project dies) to keep them living.
[Sings in Gonzalo's ear.
While you here do snoring lie,
Open-ey'd conspiracy
His time doth take.
If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber, and beware:
Awake! Awake!
Ant.
Then, let us both be sudden.
Gon.
Now, good angels, preserve the king!
[They wake.
Alon.
Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are you drawn?
Wherefore this ghastly looking? 11Q0022
Gon.
What's the matter?
Seb.
Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
Like bulls, or rather lions: did it not wake you?
It struck mine ear most terribly.
Alon.
I heard nothing.
Ant.
O! 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear,
To make an earthquake: sure, it was the roar
Of a whole herd of lions.
Alon.
Heard you this, Gonzalo?
-- 43 --
Gon.
Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,
And that a strange one too, which did awake me.
I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd; as mine eyes open'd,
I saw their weapons drawn.—There was a noise,
That's verily10 note: 'tis best we stand upon our guard,
Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons.
Alon.
Lead off this ground, and let's make farther search
For my poor son.
Gon.
Heavens keep him from these beasts,
For he is, sure, i' the island.
Alon.
Lead away.
[Exeunt.
Ari.
Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have done:
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Another part of the Island.
Enter Caliban, with a burden of wood.
A noise of thunder heard.
Cal.
All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,
And yet I needs must curse; but they'll nor pinch,
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire,
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
For every trifle are they set upon me:
Sometime like apes, that moe1 note and chatter at me,
-- 44 --
And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks at my foot-fall: sometime am I
All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues
Do hiss me into madness.—Lo, now! lo!
Enter Trinculo.
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat;
Perchance, he will not mind me.
Trin.
Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any
weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it
sing i' the wind: yond' same black cloud, yond' huge
one, looks like a foul bombard2 note that would shed his
liquor. If it should thunder, as it did before, I know
not where to hide my head: yond' same cloud cannot
choose but fall by pailfuls.—What have we here? a
man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish: he smells
like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind
of, not of the newest, Poor-John. A strange fish!
Were I in England now, (as once I was) and had but
this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would
give a piece of silver: there would this monster make
a man: any strange beast there makes a man. When
they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they
will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a
man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I
do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer; this is
no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a
thunder-bolt. [Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come
-- 45 --
again: my best way is to creep under his gaberdine;
there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a
man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till
the dregs of the storm be past. 11Q0023
Enter Stephano, singing; a bottle in his hand.
Ste.
I shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die a-shore.—
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral.
Well, here's my comfort.
[Drinks.
The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,
Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us car'd for Kate;
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang:
She lov'd not the savour of tar, nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where-e'er she did itch;
Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang.
This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort.
[Drinks.
Cal.
Do not torment me: O!
Ste.
What's the matter? Have we devils here?
Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of
Inde? Ha! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be afeard
now of your four legs; for it hath been said, as proper
a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give
ground, and it shall be said so again, while Stephano
breathes at nostrils.
Cal.
The spirit torments me: O!
Ste.
This is some monster of the isle, with four legs,
who hath got, as I take it, as ague. Where the devil
should he learn our language? I will give him some
relief, if it be but for that: if I can recover him, and
-- 46 --
keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's
a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-
leather.
Cal.
Do not torment me, pr'ythee: I'll bring my
wood home faster.
Ste.
He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the
wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never
drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If
I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take
too much for him: he shall pay for him that hath him,
and that soundly.
Cal.
Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt
anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works
upon thee.
Ste.
Come on your ways: open your mouth; here is
that which will give language to you, cat. Open your
mouth: this will shake your shaking, I can tell you,
and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend;
open your chaps again.
Trin.
I should know that voice. It should be—
but he is drowned, and these are devils. O! defend
me!—
Ste.
Four legs, and two voices! a most delicate
monster. His forward voice, now, is to speak well of
his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches,
and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover
him, I will help his ague. Come,—Amen! I
will pour some in thy other mouth.
Trin.
Stephano!
Ste.
Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy!
mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave
him; I have no long spoon.
Trin.
Stephano!—if thou beest Stephano, touch me,
and speak to me, for I am Trinculo:—be not afeard,—
thy good friend Trinculo.
Ste.
If thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I'll pull
thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs, these
-- 47 --
are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed! How cam'st
thou to be the siege of this moon-calf3 note? Can he vent
Trinculos?
Trin.
I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke.
—But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now,
thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I
hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear
of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano? O
Stephano! two Neapolitans 'scap'd?
Ste.
Pr'ythee, do not turn me about: my stomach is
not constant.
Cal.
These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.
That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor:
I will kneel to him.
Ste.
How didst thou 'scape? How cam'st thou
hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither.
I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors
heaved over-board, by this bottle! which I made of
the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was
cast a-shore.
Cal.
I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true
subject, for the liquor is not earthly.
Ste.
Here: swear, then, how thou escap'dst.
Trin.
Swam a-shore, man, like a duck. I can swim
like a duck, I'll be sworn.
Ste.
Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim
like a duck, thou art made like a goose.
Trin.
O Stephano! hast any more of this?
Ste.
The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by
the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf!
how does thine ague?
Cal.
Hast thou not dropped from heaven?
Ste.
Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I was the
man in the moon, when time was.
-- 48 --
Cal.
I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee:
my mistress showed me thee, and thy dog, and thy
bush.
Ste.
Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furnish
it anon with new contents: swear.
Trin.
By this good light, this is a very shallow monster:—
I afeard of him?—a very weak monster.—The
man i' the moon!—a most poor credulous monster.—
Well drawn, monster, in good sooth.
Cal.
I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island;
and I will kiss thy foot. I pr'ythee, be my god.
Trin.
By this light, a most perfidious and drunken
monster: when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle.
Cal.
I'll kiss thy foot: I'll swear myself thy subject.
Ste.
Come on, then; down, and swear.
Trin.
I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed
monster. A most scurvy monster: I could
find in my heart to beat him,—
Ste.
Come, kiss.
Trin.
—But that the poor monster's in drink. An
abominable monster!
Cal.
I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries;
I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
Thou wondrous man.
Trin.
A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder
of a poor drunkard!
Cal.
I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmozet: I'll bring thee
To clustering filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee
Young scamels4 note from the rock: Wilt thou go with me?
-- 49 --
Ste.
I pr'ythee now, lead the way, without any more
talking.—Trinculo, the king and all our company else
being drowned, we will inherit here.—Here; bear my
bottle.—Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by
again.
Cal.
Farewell, master; farewell, farewell5 note.
[Sings drunkenly.
Trin.
A howling monster; a drunken monster.
Cal.
No more dams I'll make for fish;
Nor fetch in firing
At requiring,
Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish; 11Q0024
'Ban 'Ban, Ca—Caliban,
Has a new master—Get a new man6 note.
Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom! hey-day, freedom!
Ste.
O brave monster! lead the way.
[Exeunt.
-- 50 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
