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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
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 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.

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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.

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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
Point to rich ends. This my mean task wou'd be
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious: but
The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead,
And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is
Ten times more gentle, than her father's crabbed;
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must move
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
Upon a fore injunction. My sweet mistress
Weeps, when the fees me work, and says, such baseness

Had ne'er like executer, I forget;

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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.
Mira. Alas, now pray you,

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

Fer. O most dear mistress,
The fun will fet, before I shall discharge
What I must strive 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 such dishonour undergo,
While I fit lazy by.

Mira. It would become me,
As well as it does you; and I should do it
With much more ease; for my good will is to it,
And yours it is against.

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,
I've broke your hest to say so.
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 best regard, and many a time
Th' harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues
Have I lik'd sev'ral women, never any
With so full foul, but fome defect in her
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd,
And put it to the foil. But you, O you,
So perfect, and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best.

Mira. I do not know

One of my sex; no woman's face remember,
Save from my glass mine own; nor have I seen
More that I may call men, than you, good friend,
And my dear father; how features are abroad,
I'm skilless of; but, by my modesty,
(The jewel in my dower) I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you;
Nor can imagination form a shape,
Befides your self, to like of. But I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
I therein do forget.

Fer. I am, in my condition,

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 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
What best is boaded me, to mischief! 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 most 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 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.
Mira. And mine, with my heart in't; and now fare-

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

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