Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks at my foot-fall; sometime am I
All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues,
Do hiss me into madness:-Lo! now! lo!
Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me,
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat;
Perchance, he will not mind me.

SATIRE ON ENGLISH CURIOSITY.

Were I in England now (as once I was), and had but 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.

CALIBAN'S PROMISES.

I'll show 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 wondrous man.

I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmozet; I'll bring thee
To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee
Young sea-mells* from the rock.

ACT III.

A GUILTY CONSCIENCE.

O, IT is monstrous! monstrous !

Methought, the billows spoke and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper.

* Sea-gulls.

There be some sports are painful; but their labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task would 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 composed of harshness. I must remove
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
Upon a sore injunction: My sweet mistress
Weeps when she sees me work; and says, such base-
Had ne'er like executor. I forget:
[ness
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours;
Most busy-less, when I do it.

Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance.

Mira. Alas, now! pray you,

Work not so hard: I would, the lightning had Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile! Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns, 'Twill weep for having wearied you: My father

Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;
He's safe for these three hours.

Fer.

The sun will set before I shall discharge

O most dear mistress,

If you'll sit down,

What I must strive to do.

Mira.
I'll bear your logs the while: Pray give me that;
I'll carry it to the pile.

Fer.

No, precious creature: I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit 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 against.

Pro.

Poor worm! thou art infected;

This visitation shows 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? Mira.

Miranda :—O my father,

I have broke your hest* to say so!

Admir'd Miranda

Fer. Indeed the top of admiration: worth What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues Have I lik'd several women; never any With so full soul, but some 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

† Own'd.

One of my sex; no woman's face remember,

* Command.

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 am skill-less 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,
Besides yourself, to like of: but I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
Therein forget.

Fer.

I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;

(I would, not so!) and would no more endure This wooden slavery, than I would suffer

The flesh-fly blow my mouth.-Hear my soul speak;
The very instant that I saw you, did

My heart fly to your service; there resides,
To make me slave to it; and, for your sake,
Am I this patient log-man.

Mira.

Do you love me?

Fer. O heaven, Q earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event,

If I speak true; if hollowly, invert
What best is boded me, to mischief! I,
Beyond all limit of what else* i' the world,
Do love, prize, honour you.

Mira.

To weep at what I am glad of.

I am a fool,

Fair encounter

Pro. Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between them!

Fer.

Wherefore weep you? Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take, What I shall die to want: But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself,

The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!

I am your wife, if you will marry me;

*Whatsoever.

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.

And I thus humble ever.

Mira.

My mistress, dearest,

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 farewell,

Till half an hour hence.

Fer.

A thousand! thousand!

ACT IV.

CONTINENCE BEFORE MARRIAGE.

IF thou dost break her virgin knot before
All sanctimonious ceremonies may
With full and holy rite be minister'd,
No sweet aspersion* shall the heavens let fall
To make this contract grow; but barren hate,
Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly,
That you shall hate it both.

A LOVER'S PROTESTATION.

As I hope

For quiet days, fair issue, and long life,

With such love as 'tis now; the murkiest den,

The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion,

Our worser genius can, shall never melt

Mine honour into lust; to take away

The edge of that day's celebration,

When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd, Or night kept chain'd below.

* Sprinkling.