« PreviousContinue »
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
ACT V. THE WIFE'S DUTY TO HER HUSBAND. Fie, fie! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor; It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads; Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds, And in no sense is meet, or amiable. A woman moved, is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, berest of beauty; And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance: commits his body To painful labour, both by sea and land; To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe, And craves no other tribute at thy hands, But love, fair looks, and true obedience;Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such, a woman oweth to her husband: And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she, but a foul contending rebel, And graceless traitor to her loving lord?I am asham'd, that women are so simple To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world;
But that our soft conditions* and our hearts,
ACT I. AN USURPING SUBSTITUTE COMPARED TO JOY. THAT now he was The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't. ARIEL'S DESCRIPTION OF MANAGING THE STORM.
I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flam'd amazement: Sometimes, I'd divide, And burn in many places; on the top-mast, The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet, and join: Jove's lightnings, the precurO'the dreadful thunder claps, more momentary And sight-out-running were not: The fire, and cracks of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, Yea, his dread trident shake.
-Not a soul,
PROSPERO REPROVING ARIEL.
* Gentle tempers.
CALIBAN'S CURSES. Cal As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye, And blister you all o'er! Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have
cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd As thick as honeycombs, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made them.
Cal. I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, Which thou taks't from me. When thou cam'st first, Thou strok’dst me, and mad'st much of me; would'st
give me Water with berries in't; and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee, And show'd'thee all the qualities of the isle, The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and
fertile; Cursed be I that did so!-All the charms Or Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! For I am all the subjects that you have, Which first wa, mine own king; and here you sty me In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest of the island. CALIBAN'S EXULTATION AFTER PROSPERO TELLS
HIM HE SOUGHT TO VIOLATE THE HONOUR OF
O ho, O ho!'would it had been done! Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else This isle with Calibans.
Where should this music be? i'the air, or the earth, It sounds no more:-and sure, it waits upon
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank,
of his bones are coral made;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
A LOVER'S SPEECH.
ACT II. DESCRIPTION OF FERDINAND'S SWIMMING ASHORA
I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, Whose enmity he ilung aside, and breasted 'The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oard Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt He came alive to land.
Do not omit the heavy offer of it;
A FINE APOSTOPESIS.
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
* Make mouths.