1 man i'th' moon? - a most poor credulous monster: well drawn, monster, in good footh. Cal. I'll shew thee every fertile inch o'th' Isle, 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 afleep, he'll rob his bottle. Cal. I'll kiss thy foot. I'll swear my felf thy subject. Ste. Come on then; down, and swear. Trin. I shall laugh my self to death at this puppyheaded 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 shew thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, Thou wond'rous man. Trin. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard. Cal. I pry'thee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; Shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how To snare the nimble marmazet; I'll bring thee To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee (19) Young Shamois from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the way without any more (19) Young Scamels from the Rock.] I can no where else meet with such a Word as Scamel, which has possess'd all the Editions. Shakespeare must certainly either have wrote Shamois (as Mr. Warburton and I have both conjectur'd) i. e. young Kids: or Sea-malls. The Sea-mall, or Seamell, or Sea-mew (according to Willoughby,) is that Bird, which is call'd Larus cinereus minor; it feeds upon Fish, and frequents the Banks of Lakes. It is not impossible, but our Poet might here intend this Bird. Or, again, (and which comes near to Scamel, in the Traces of the Letters.) Ray tells us of another Bird, call'd the Stannel, (the fame with the Tinnunculus among the Latins, and κεγχεὶς amongst the Greeks;) of the Hawk Species. It is no Matter which of the three Readings we embrace, so we take a Word fignifying the Name of fomething in Nature. D4 talking talking. Trinculo, the King and all our company else being drown'd, we will inherit here. Here, bear my bottle; fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again. Cal. [Sings drunkenly.] Farewel, master; farewel, farewel. Trin. A howling monster; a drunken monster. Cal. No more dams I'll make for fish, Nor fetch in firing at requiring, Nor Scrape trencher, nor wash dish, Ban' Ban', Cacalyban Has a new master, get a new man. Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey day, freedom! Ste. O brave monster, lead the way. ACTIII. [Exeunt. SCENE, before Prospero's Cell. Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. FERDINAND. HERE be some sports are painful, but their labour Delight in them fets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters Had ne'er like executer, I forget; But these sweet thoughts do ev'n refresh my labour, Most busie-less, when I do it. (20) Enter Miranda; and Prospero, at a distance unseen. Work not fo hard; I would the lightning had Fer. O most dear mistress, Mira. If you'll fit down, I'll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that, Fer. No, precious creature, Mira. It would become me, Pro. Poor worm! thou art infected; This vifitation shews it. Mira. You look wearily. Fer. No, noble mistress'; 'tis fresh morning with me, When you are by at night. I do beseech you, (Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers) What is your name? (20) Leaft bufie when I do it.] This Reading, I presfume, to be Mr. Pope's; for I do not find it authoriz'd by the Copies: The two first Folio's read; Most busy least, when I do it. 'Tis true, this Reading is corrupt; but the Corruption is so very little remov'd from the Truth of the Text, that I can't afford to think well of my own Sagacity for having discover'd it. Mira. Miranda. O my father, Mira. I do not know One of my sex; no woman's face remember, Fer. I am, in my condition, A Prince, Miranda; I do think, a King; The flesh-flie blow my mouth. Hear my foul speak; The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service, there refides To make me flave to it, and for your fake Am I this patient log-man. Mira. Do you love me? Fer. O heav'n, O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true; if hollowly, invert Mira. I am a fool, To weep at what I'm glad of. Pro. Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! heav'ns rain grace, Fer. Wherefore weep you? Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer, What I defire to give; and much less take, What I shall die to want: but this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide it self, The bigger bulk it shews. Hence, bashful cunning, And prompt me plain and holy innocence. I am your wife, if you will marry me; If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no. Fer. My mistress, dearest, And I thus humble ever. Mira. My husband then? Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom; here's my hand. wel, Till half an hour hence. Fer. A thousand, thousand. Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are furpriz'd withal; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; For yet, ere supper-time must I perform Much business appertaining. [Excunt. [Exit. SCENE |