LITMIR.BIZ

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       By help of her more potent ministers,

       And in her most unmitigable rage,

       Into a cloven pine; within which rift

       Imprison’d, thou didst painfully remain

       A dozen years; within which space she died,

       And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans

       As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island—

       Save for the son that she did litter here,

       A freckl’d whelp, hag-born—not honour’d with

       A human shape.

       ARIEL.

       Yes; Caliban her son.

       PROSPERO.

       Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban,

       Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st

       What torment I did find thee in; thy groans

       Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts

       Of ever-angry bears: it was a torment

       To lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax

       Could not again undo; it was mine art,

       When I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gape

       The pine, and let thee out.

       ARIEL.

       I thank thee, master.

       PROSPERO.

       If thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak

       And peg thee in his knotty entrails till

       Thou hast howl’d away twelve winters.

       ARIEL.

       Pardon, master:

       I will be correspondent to command,

       And do my spriting gently.

       PROSPERO.

       Do so; and after two days

       I will discharge thee.

       ARIEL.

       That’s my noble master!

       What shall I do? Say what? What shall I do?

       PROSPERO.

       Go make thyself like a nymph o’ th’ sea: be subject

       To no sight but thine and mine; invisible

       To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape,

       And hither come in ‘t: go, hence with diligence!

       [Exit ARIEL]

       Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;

       Awake!

       MIRANDA.

       [Waking] The strangeness of your story put

       Heaviness in me.

       PROSPERO.

       Shake it off. Come on;

       We’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never

       Yields us kind answer.

       MIRANDA.

       ‘Tis a villain, sir,

       I do not love to look on.

       PROSPERO.

       But as ‘tis,

       We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,

       Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices

       That profit us.—What ho! slave! Caliban!

       Thou earth, thou! Speak.

       CALIBAN.

       [Within] There’s wood enough within.

       PROSPERO.

       Come forth, I say; there’s other business for thee:

       Come, thou tortoise! when?

       [Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph.]

       Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,

       Hark in thine ear.

       ARIEL.

       My lord, it shall be done.

       [Exit]

       PROSPERO.

       Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself

       Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

       [Enter CALIBAN]

       CALIBAN.

       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!

       PROSPERO.

       For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps,

       Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins

       Shall forth at vast of night that they may work

       All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch’d

       As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging

       Than bees that made them.

       CALIBAN.

       I must eat my dinner.

       This island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother,

       Which thou tak’st from me. When thou cam’st first,

       Thou strok’st me and made much of me; wouldst 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 o’ th’ isle,

       The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and fertile.

       Curs’d 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 o’ th’ island.

       PROSPERO.

       Thou most lying slave,

       Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us’d thee,

       Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodg’d thee

       In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate

       The honour of my child.

       CALIBAN.

       Oh ho! Oh ho! Would it had been done!

       Thou didst prevent me; I had peopl’d else

       This isle with Calibans.

       PROSPERO.

       Abhorred slave,

       Which any print of goodness wilt not take,

       Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,

       Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour

       One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,

       Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like

       A thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes

       With words that made them known: but thy vile race,

       Though thou didst learn, had that in’t which good natures

       Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou

       Deservedly confin’d into this rock, who hadst

       Deserv’d more than a prison.

       CALIBAN.

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