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man i' th' moon?a moft poor credulous monfter: well drawn, monfter, in good footh.

Cal. I'll fhew thee every fertile inch o' th' Ifle, and I will kifs thy foot: I pr'ythee, be my god.

Trin. By this light, a moft perfidious and drunken monster; when his god's afleep, he'll rob his bottle. Cal. I'll kifs thy foot. I'll fwear my felf thy fubject. Ste. Come on then; down, and fwear.

Trin. I fhall laugh my felf to death at this puppyheaded monster: a moft fcurvy monfter! I could find in my heart to beat him

Ste. Come, kifs.

Trin. But that the poor monfter's in drink an abominable monfter!

Cal. I'll fhew thee the beft fprings; I'll pluck thee berries,

I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.

A plague upon the tyrant that I ferve!

I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
Thou wond'rous man.

Trin. A moft ridiculous monfter, 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 neft, and inftruct thee how To fnare the nimble marmazet; I'll bring thee To cluft'ring filberds, and fometimes I'll get thee (19) Young Shamois from the rock. Wilt thou go 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 fuch a Word as Scamel, which has poffefs'd all the Editions. Shakespeare muft 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 impoffible, 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 neyyeis amongst the Greeks;) of the Hawk Species. It is no Matter which of the three Readings we embrace, fe we take a Word fignifying the Name of fomething in Nature.

D 4


talking. Trinculo, the King and all our company elfe 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, mafter farewel, farewel

Trin. A howling monfter; a drunken monfter.
Cal. No more dams I'll make for fish,


Nor fetch in firing at requiring,

Nar Scrape trencher, nor wash dish,
Ban Ban', Cacalyban

Has a new mafter, get a new man.

Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey

day, freedom

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Ste. O brave monfter, lead the way.



SCENE, before Profpero's Cell,

Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log,


HERE be fome sports are painful, but their



Delight in them fets off: fome kinds of baseness
Are nobly undergone, and moft poor matters
Point to rich ends. This my mean task wou'd be
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious: but

The miftrefs, which I ferve, quickens what's dead,
And makes my labours pleafures: O, fhe is
Ten times more gentle, than her father's crabbed;
And he's compos'd of harfhnefs. I must move
Some thousands of thefe logs, and pile them up,
Upon a fore injunction. My fweet mistress

Weeps, when the fees me work, and fays, fuch bafenefs
Had ne'er like executer, I forget;


But these sweet thoughts do ev'n refresh my labour, Moft bufie-lefs, when I do it. (20)

Enter Miranda; and Profpero, at a distance unfeen.
Mira. Alas, now pray you,

Work not fo hard; I would the lightning had.
Burn't up thofe logs, that thou'rt enjoin'd to pile;
Pray, fet it down and reft you; when this burns,
"Twill weep for having wearied you: my father
Is hard at study; pray now, reft your self;
He's fafe for thefe three hours.

Fer. O moft dear mistress,

The fun will fet, before I fhall difcharge
What I muft ftrive to do.

Mira. If you'll fit down,

I'll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that,
I'll carry't to the pile.

Fer. No, precious creature,

I'ad rather crack my finews, break my back,
Than you should fuch difhonour undergo,
While I fit lazy by.

Mira. It would become me,

As well as it does you; and I fhould do it
With much more eafe; for my good will is to it,

And yours it is against.

Pro. Poor worm! thou art infected;

This vifitation fhews it.

Mira. You look wearily.

Fer. No, noble miftrefs; 'tis fresh morning with me, When you are by at night. I do befeech you, (Chiefly that I might fet it in my prayers)

What is your name?

(20) Leaft bufe when I do it.] This Reading, I prefume, to be Mr. Pope's; for I do not find it authoriz'd by the Copies: The two firft Folio's read;

Moft bufy leaft, when I do it.

'Tis true, this Reading is corrupt; but the Corruption is fo very little re mov'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,

I've broke your heft to fay fo.

Fer. Admir'd Miranda!

Indeed, the top of admiration; worth
What's dearest to the world! full many a lady
I've ey'd with beft regard, and many a time
Th' harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear; for feveral virtues
Have I lik'd fev'ral women, never anyo
With fo full foul, but fome defect in her
Did quarrel with the nobleft grace the ow'd,
And put it to the foil. But you, O you,
So perfect, and fo peerlefs, are created
Of every creature's beft.

Mira. I do not know


One of my fex; no woman's face remember,
Save from my glafs mine own; nor have I feen
More that I may call men, than you, good friend,
And my dear father; how features are abroad,
I'm skillefs of; but, by my modefty,

(The jewel in my dower) I would not wish
Any companion in the world but

Nor can imagination form a fhape,


Befides your felf, to like of. But I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts.
I therein do forget.

Fer. I am, in my condition,

foul speak;

A Prince, Miranda; I do think, a King;
(I would, not fo!) and would no more endure
This wooden flavery, than I would fuffer
The flesh-flie blow my mouth, Hear my
The very inftant that I faw you, did
My heart fly to your fervice, 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 witnefs to this found, And crown what I profefs with kind event,

If I fpeak true; if hollowly, invert
What beft is boaded me, to mifchief! I,
Beyond all limit of what else i' th' world,
Do love, prize, honour you.

Mira. I am a fool,

To weep at what I'm glad of.

Pro. Fair encounter

Of two moft rare affections! heav'ns rain grace,
On that which breeds between 'em!


Fer. Wherefore weep you?

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer,
What I defire to give and much less take,
What I fhall die to want: but this is trifling;
And all the more it feeks to hide it felf,

The bigger bulk it fhews. Hence, bafhful 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 fervant,
Whether you will or no.

Fer. My miftrefs, deareft,
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.

Mira. And mine, with my heart in't; and now farewel,

Till half an hour hence.

Fer. A thoufand, 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 fupper-time muft I perform Much bufinefs appertaining.




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