Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel,

Because his painted skin contents the eye?
O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
For this poor furniture and mean array.

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, bereft 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,
Should well agree with our external parts?

TEMPEST.

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 precur

sors

O' 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,

But felt a fever of the mad, and play 'd

Some tricks of desperation: All, but mariners, Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Then all a-fire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-starting (then like reeds, not hair,) Was the first man that leap'd; cried, Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.

PROSPERO REPROVING ARIEL.

Thou dost; and think'st

It much, to tread the ooze of the salt deep;
To run upon the sharp wind of the north;
To do me business in the veins o' the earth,
When it is bak'd with frost.

* 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

Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
For I am all the subjects that you have,

Which first was 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
HIS CHILD.

O ho, O ho!-'would it had been done!
Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else
This isle with Calibans.

MUSIC.

Where should this music be? i'the air, or the earth,

It sounds no more:-and sure, it waits upon

*Faries.

.

Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck.
This music crept by me upon the waters;
Allaying both their fury, and my passion,
With its sweet air.

ARIEL'S SONG.

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls, that were his eyes:

Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

Hark! now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell.

A LOVER'S SPEECH.

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats, To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison.

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 flung aside, and breasted

The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 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.

SLEEP.

Do not omit the heavy offer of it;
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.

A FINE APOSIOPESIS.

They fell together all, as by consent;

They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian?-O, what might?-No more:And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,

What thou should'st be: the occasion speaks thee: and

My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.

CALIBAN'S CURSES.

All the infections that the sun sucks up

From bogs, fens, flats, on Prospero fall, and make him
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch,
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire,
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid them; but
For every trifle are they set upon me:
Sometimes like apes, that moe* and chatter at me,
And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
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 ber ries;

I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!

* Make mouths.