Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare
SCENE, The Sea, with a Ship: afterwards an uninhabited Island.
SCENE I.— Another part of the Island.
Music. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible.
Ari. My master through his art foresees the
That these his friends, are in; and sends me
For else his project dies,—to keep the living.
[Sings in GONZALO’s ear.
While you here do snoring lie,
His time doth take:
If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber, and beware:
Ant. Then let us both be sudden.
Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king!
Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are
Wherefore this ghastly looking?
Gon. What’s the matter?
Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
Like bulls or rather lions; did it not wake you?
It struck mine ear most terribly.
Alon. I heard nothing.
Ant. O, ’twas a din to fright a monster’s ear;
To make an earthquake! sure it was the roar
Of a whole herd of lions.
Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo?
Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a hum-
And that a strange one too, which did awak
I shaked you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open’d,
I saw their weapons drawn:—there was a noise,
Thats verity: Best stand upon our guard:
Or that we quit this place: let’s draw our
weapons. [further search
Alon. Lead off this ground; and let’s make
For my poor son.
Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts!
For he is, sure, i’ the island.
Alon. Lead away.
Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Another part of the Island.
Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood.
A noise of thunder heard.
Co.. All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,
And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor
Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ the
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid them; but
For every trifle they are set upon me:
Sometime 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; sometimes am I
All wound with adders, who, with cloven
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.
Trin. Here’s neither bush nor shrub, to bear
off any weather at all, and another storm brew-
ing; I hear it sing i’ the wind; yond same black
cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bumbard
that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder,
as it did before, I know not where to hid my
head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall
by pailfuls.—What have we here? a man or a
fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish:
a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of,
not of the newest, Poor-John. A strange fish!
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. Legg’d like
a man I and his fins like arms! Warm, o’ my
troth! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it
no longer; this is no fish, but an islander, that
hath lately suffered by a thunder-bolt. [Thun-
der] Alas! the storm is come again: my best
way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no
other shelter hereabout: Misery acquaints a
man with strange bedfellows. I will here
shroud. till the dregs of the storm be past.
Enter STEPHANO singing, a bottle in his hand.
Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die ashore;—
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s
funeral: Well, here’s my comfort. [Drinks.
The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,
Lov’d Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us car’d for Kate:
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang;
She lov’d not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch:
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang.
(On 7/31/14 – We will continue with “The Tempest“)