Scene I

If I have too austerely punish’d you,Your compensation makes amends, for IHave given you here a third of mine own life,Or that for which I live; who once againI tender to thy hand: all thy vexationsWere but my trials of thy love, and thouHast strangely stood the test here, afore Heaven,I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,Do not smile at me that I boast her off,For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praiseAnd make it halt behind her.

I do believe itAgainst an oracle.

Then, as my gift and thine own acquisitionWorthily purchased take my daughter: butIf thou dost break her virgin-knot beforeAll sanctimonious ceremonies mayWith full and holy rite be minister’d,No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fallTo make this contract grow; but barren hate,Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrewThe union of your bed with weeds so loathlyThat you shall hate it both: therefore take heed,As Hymen’s lamps shall light you.

As I hopeFor quiet days, fair issue and long life,With such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den,The most opportune place, the strong’st suggestionOur worser genius can, shall never meltMine honour into lust, to take awayThe edge of that day’s celebrationWhen I shall think: or Phoebus’ steeds are founder’d,Or Night kept chain’d below.

Fairly spoke.Sit then and talk with her; she is thine own.What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!

Thou and thy meaner fellows your last serviceDid worthily perform; and I must use youIn such another trick. Go bring the rabble,O’er whom I give thee power, here to this place:Incite them to quick motion; for I mustBestow upon the eyes of this young coupleSome vanity of mine art: it is my promise,And they expect it from me.

Before you can say “come” and “go,”And breathe twice and cry “so, so,”Each one, tripping on his toe,Will be here with mop and mow.Do you love me, master? no?

Dearly my delicate Ariel. Do not approachTill thou dost hear me call.

Look thou be true; do not give dallianceToo much the rein: the strongest oaths are strawTo the fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious,Or else, good night your vow!

I warrant you sir;The white cold virgin snow upon my heartAbates the ardour of my liver.

Well.Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,Rather than want a spirit: appear and pertly!No tongue! all eyes! be silent. Soft music.

Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leasOf wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease;Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep;Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom-groves,Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,Where thou thyself dost air;—the queen o’ the sky,Whose watery arch and messenger am I,Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain:Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.

Hail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’erDost disobey the wife of Jupiter;Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowersDiffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers,And with each end of thy blue bow dost crownMy bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down,Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queenSummon’d me hither, to this short-grass’d green?

A contract of true love to celebrate;And some donation freely to estateOn the blest lovers.

Tell me, heavenly bow,If Venus or her son, as thou dost know,Do now attend the queen? Since they did plotThe means that dusky Dis my daughter got,Her and her blind boy’s scandal’d companyI have forsworn.

Of her societyBe not afraid: I met her deityCutting the clouds towards Paphos and her sonDove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have doneSome wanton charm upon this man and maid,Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paidTill Hymen’s torch be lighted: but vain;Mars’s hot minion is returned again;Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,Swears he will shoot no more but play with sparrowsAnd be a boy right out.

High’st queen of state,Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait.

How does my bounteous sister? Go with meTo bless this twain, that they may prosperous beAnd honour’d in their issue. They sing:

Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,Long continuance, and increasing,Hourly joys be still upon you!Juno sings her blessings on you.

Earth’s increase, foison plenty,Barns and garners never empty,Vines and clustering bunches growing,Plants with goodly burthen bowing;Spring come to you at the farthestIn the very end of harvest!Scarcity and want shall shun you;Ceres’ blessing so is on you.

This is a most majestic vision, andHarmoniously charmingly. May I be boldTo think these spirits?

Spirits, which by mine artI have from their confines call’d to enactMy present fancies.

Let me live here ever;So rare a wonder’d father and a wifeMakes this place Paradise. Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment.

Sweet, now, silence!Juno and Ceres whisper seriously;There’s something else to do: hush, and be mute,Or else our spell is marr’d.

You nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks,With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks,Leave your crisp channels and on this green landAnswer your summons; Juno does command:Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrateA contract of true love; be not too late.

Aside. I had forgot that foul conspiracyOf the beast Caliban and his confederatesAgainst my life: the minute of their plotIs almost come. To the Spirits. Well done! avoid; no more!

This is strange: your father’s in some passionThat works him strongly.

Never till this daySaw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.

You do look, my son, in a moved sort,As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir.Our revels now are ended. These our actors,As I foretold you, were all spirits andAre melted into air, into thin air:And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,The solemn temples, the great globe itself,Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolveAnd, like this insubstantial pageant faded,Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuffAs dreams are made on, and our little lifeIs rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d;Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled:Be not disturb’d with my infirmity:If you be pleased, retire into my cellAnd there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk,To still my beating mind.

Spirit,We must prepare to meet with Caliban.

Ay, my commander: when I presented Ceres,I thought to have told thee of it, but I fear’dLest I might anger thee.

I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;So fun of valour that they smote the airFor breathing in their faces; beat the groundFor kissing of their feet; yet always bendingTowards their project. Then I beat my tabor;At which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears,Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their nosesAs they smelt music: so I charm’d their earsThat calf-like they my lowing follow’d throughTooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns,Which entered their frail shins: at last I left themI’ the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lakeO’erstunk their feet.

This was well done, my bird.Thy shape invisible retain thou still:The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither,For stale to catch these thieves.

A devil, a born devil, on whose natureNurture can never stick; on whom my pains,Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;And as with age his body uglier grows,So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,Even to roaring.

Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may notHear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.

Good my lord, give me thy favour still.Be patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee toShall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly.All’s hush’d as midnight yet.

Prithee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here,This is the mouth o’ the cell: no noise, and enter.Do that good mischief which may make this islandThine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,For aye thy foot-licker.

The dropsy drown this fool! what do you meanTo dote thus on such luggage? Let’s aloneAnd do the murder first: if he awake,From toe to crown he’ll fill our skins with pinches,Make us strange stuff.

I will have none on’t: we shall lose our time,And all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apesWith foreheads villainous low.

Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark! hark! Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, are driven out.Go charge my goblins that they grind their jointsWith dry convulsions, shorten up their sinewsWith aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make themThan pard or cat o’ mountain.

Let them be hunted soundly. At this hourLie at my mercy all mine enemies:Shortly shall all my labours end, and thouShalt have the air at freedom: for a littleFollow, and do me service. Exeunt.