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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.
Although this lord of weak remembrance, this
When he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded
That he's undrown'd.
me, That Ferdinand is drown'd?
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
Who's the next heir of Naples?
Then, tell me,
Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; 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 whom We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again; And, by that, destin'd 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.
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
Than now they are: there be, that can rule Na-
As well as he that sleeps; lords, that can prate
As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
For your advancement! Do you understand me?
And how does your content
Tender your own good fortune?
I remember, You did supplant your brother Prospero.
And look, how well my garments sit upon me;
Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kibe,
If he were that which now he's like; whoin I,
. Can lay to bed forever: whiles you, doing thus,
Thy case, dear friend,
(1) A bird of the jack-daw kind. (2) Ever. (3) Any hint.
Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan,
And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
O, but one word.
[They converse apart.
Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible.
Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger
That these, his friends, are in; and sends me forth, (For else his project dies,) to keep them living. [Sings in Gonzalo's ear.
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?
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.
Heard you this, Gonzalo? Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,
And that a strange one too, which did awake me:
For my poor son.
Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts! For he is, sure, i' the island.
Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done : [Aside. So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Another part of the Island. Enter Caliban, with a burden of wood. A norse 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,
(1) Make mouths.
Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment 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 bunbard1 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 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 thunderbolt. [Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best way is to creep under his gaberdine;2 there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud, till the dregs of the storm be past.
Enter Stephano, singing; a bottle in his hand.
Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea,
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral:
(1) A black jack of leather, to hold beer.