LITMIR.BIZ

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“Was it well done?”

      “Bravely, good spirit,” said Prospero. “Thou shalt soon be free.”

      Then he commanded him to go and take off the spell from Caliban and his companions, and after a few minutes’ absence Ariel returned driving in the three men, clad in their stolen apparel.

      “Mark these men, my lords,” said Prospero. “These three have robbed me, and this witch’s son had plotted with the others to take my life. Two of these fellows you must know and own; this thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.”

      “Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?” said the King of Naples.

      “Why, how now, Stephano?” said Sebastian mockingly.

      “You would be King of the isle, sirrah?” demanded Prospero.

      “I should have been a sore one, then,” groaned Stephano, for he and his worthless friends were still aching all over from the punishment inflicted on them.

      “That is as strange a thing as ever I looked on,” said Alonso, pointing to Caliban.

      “His manners are as ugly as his appearance,” answered Prospero. “Go, sirrah, to my cell. Take your companions with you, and if you hope to have my pardon, behave properly.”

      “Ay, that I will,” said Caliban; “and I will be wise hereafter, and try to be better. What a thrice-double ass I was to take that drunkard for my master!”

      And he departed with his companions, glad to have escaped so lightly.

      Then Prospero invited the King and his other guests into his cell, where they were to rest for one night. The next morning they were all to set sail for Naples, where the marriage between Prince Ferdinand and Miranda was to take place, after which Prospero would retire to his own dukedom of Milan. Finally he gave his last charge to Ariel, and bade him see that the King’s ship should have calm seas and fair winds to waft it quickly on its way.

      “My Ariel, chick, that is thy charge,” said Prospero. “Then be free as the elements, and fare thee well!”

      Two Gentlemen of Verona

      “Now let us take our Leave”

      There lived once in Verona two friends who loved each other dearly; their names were Valentine and Proteus. They were both young and gallant gentlemen, but they were very different in character, as you will presently see. Valentine was simple and honest, a loyal and devoted friend, and too candid and sincere himself to think of treachery in others. Proteus had warm affections, but he was fickle and changeable, carried away by impulse, and always so desperately eager for what he happened to want at the moment that he stopped at no means to gain his ends.

      Valentine and Proteus were very happy together as companions, but at last the time came when they were to part. Valentine was not content to settle down at Verona; he wanted to see something of the world and its wider life.

      “Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits,” he said to Proteus, who was trying to persuade him to stay. “If it were not that you were chained here by your affections I would rather beg your company to see the wonders of the world abroad. But since you are in love, love still, and thrive in it, even as I would when I once begin to love.”

      This he said because Proteus was deeply in love at that moment with a fair lady of Verona called Julia. And then Valentine went on to tease Proteus, pretending that all love was folly, and that only foolish people let themselves be deluded into it. He little knew how soon he was himself to be caught in the same folly, and how basely and treacherously his friend was going to act towards him.

      However, at that moment Proteus had no thought for anyone but Julia, and would not have left Verona on any account. The two friends took an affectionate farewell of each other, and Valentine went his way, to travel to the Court of Milan.

      “He hunts after honour, I after love,” thought Proteus, when his friend had left him. “He leaves his friends to bring more credit to them by improving himself. I leave myself, my friends, and all, for love. Thou, Julia, hast changed me, made me neglect my studies, lose my time, fight against good counsel, set the world at naught, weaken my brains with dreaming, and make my heart sick with thought!”

      While Proteus was indulging in this rhapsody, Speed, the clownish servant of Valentine, came hurrying up.

      “Sir Proteus, save you!” he cried, in the greeting of those days. “Saw you my master?”

      “He has just this minute gone to embark for Milan,” replied Proteus. “Did you give my letter to the Lady Julia?”

      “Ay, sir, and she gave me nothing for my labour,” said Speed, who was out of temper at not having received the handsome fee he was hoping for.

      “But what did she say?” asked Proteus eagerly.

      “Oh – she nodded!”

      “Come, come, what did she say?”

      “If you will open your purse, sir…”

      “Well, there is something for your trouble. Now, what did she say?”

      “Truly, sir, I think you will hardly win her,” said Speed with a sly look, pocketing the piece of money Proteus threw to him.

      “Why? Could you perceive so much from her manner?”

      “Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her – no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter. And as she was so hard to me who was your messenger, I fear she will prove equally hard to you. Give her no present but a stone, for she is as hard as steel.”

      “What did she say? Nothing?” repeated poor Proteus.

      “No, not so much as ‘Take that for your pains,’” said Speed, still harping on his own grievance. “I thank you for your bounty, sir. Henceforth carry your letters yourself. And so I will go seek my master.”

      “Go, go, to save your ship from wreck!” cried Proteus, incensed at the fellow’s impertinence. “It cannot perish when you are aboard, for you are certainly destined for a drier death on shore! – I must find some better messenger to send,” he added to himself, when the saucy serving-man had taken himself off. “I am afraid my Julia would not deign to accept my lines, receiving them from such a worthless envoy.”

      But, as it happened, the letter had so far not reached the hands of the lady for whom it was intended, for it was only her waiting-maid Lucetta whom Speed had seen, and to whom he had given the letter in mistake for Julia.

      Lucetta went in search of her mistress, and found her in the garden, musing over many things, for by this time Julia really loved Proteus, although she would not acknowledge it even to herself. When Lucetta handed her the letter, saying she thought it had been sent by Proteus, Julia pretended to be angry, and scolded her maid for daring to receive it.

      “There, take the paper again,” she said, “and see that it is returned, or never again come into my presence.”

      “To plead for love deserves a better reward than to be scolded,” muttered Lucetta.

      From being so much with her young mistress, the maid was treated more as a companion than as a servant, and was accustomed to speak out her mind frankly on every occasion.

      “Go!” said Julia severely; but no sooner had Lucetta disappeared than she was seized with remorse.

      “How churlishly I sent her away, when all the time I wanted her here!” she thought. “How angrily I tried to frown, when really my heart was smiling with secret joy! To punish myself I must call Lucetta back, and ask her pardon for my folly… What ho, Lucetta!”

      “What does you ladyship want?” asked Lucetta, reappearing.

      But at the sight of her maid Julia suddenly became shy again.

      “Is it near dinner-time?” she asked, with an air of pretended indifference.

      “I would it were, madam, so that you might spend your anger on your meat, and not on your maid,” replied Lucetta rather flippantly; and at that moment

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