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The Tempest: Act II


SCENE I. _Another part of the island._

and others._

_Gon._ Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,
So have we all, of joy; for our escape
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
Is common; every day, some sailor’s wife,
The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, 5
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions
Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.

_Alon._ Prithee, peace.

_Seb._ He receives comfort like cold porridge. 10

_Ant._ The visitor will not give him o’er so.

_Seb._ Look, he’s winding up the watch of his wit; by
and by it will strike.

_Gon._ Sir,–

_Seb._ One: tell. 15

_Gon._ When every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d,
Comes to the entertainer–

_Seb._ A dollar.

_Gon._ Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken
truer than you purposed. 20

_Seb._ You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

_Gon._ Therefore, my lord,–

_Ant._ Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

_Alon._ I prithee, spare.

_Gon._ Well, I have done: but yet,– 25

_Seb._ He will be talking.

_Ant._ Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first
begins to crow?

_Seb._ The old cock.

_Ant._ The cockerel. 30

_Seb._ Done. The wager?

_Ant._ A laughter.

_Seb._ A match!

_Adr._ Though this island seem to be desert,–

_Seb._ Ha, ha, ha!–So, you’re paid. 35

_Adr._ Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,–

_Seb._ Yet,–

_Adr._ Yet,–

_Ant._ He could not miss’t.

_Adr._ It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate 40

_Ant._ Temperance was a delicate wench.

_Seb._ Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.

_Adr._ The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

_Seb._ As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. 45

_Ant._ Or as ’twere perfumed by a fen.

_Gon._ Here is every thing advantageous to life.

_Ant._ True; save means to live.

_Seb._ Of that there’s none, or little.

_Gon._ How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! 50

_Ant._ The ground, indeed, is tawny.

_Seb._ With an eye of green in’t.

_Ant._ He misses not much.

_Seb._ No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

_Gon._ But the rarity of it is,–which is indeed almost 55
beyond credit,–

_Seb._ As many vouched rarities are.

_Gon._ That our garments, being, as they were, drenched
in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and glosses,
being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water. 60

_Ant._ If but one of his pockets could speak, would it
not say he lies?

_Seb._ Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.

_Gon._ Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when
we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king’s 65
fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.

_Seb._ ’Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in
our return.

_Adr._ Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon
to their queen. 70

_Gon._ Not since widow Dido’s time.

_Ant._ Widow! a pox o’ that! How came that widow
in? widow Dido!

_Seb._ What if he had said ‘widower Æneas’ too? Good
Lord, how you take it! 75

_Adr._ ‘Widow Dido’ said you? you make me study of
that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

_Gon._ This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

_Adr._ Carthage?

_Gon._ I assure you, Carthage. 80

_Seb._ His word is more than the miraculous harp; he
hath raised the wall, and houses too.

_Ant._ What impossible matter will he make easy next?

_Seb._ I think he will carry this island home in his
pocket, and give it his son for an apple. 85

_Ant._ And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring
forth more islands.

_Gon._ Ay.

_Ant._ Why, in good time.

_Gon._ Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now 90
as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your
daughter, who is now queen.

_Ant._ And the rarest that e’er came there.

_Seb._ Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

_Ant._ O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido. 95

_Gon._ Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I
wore it? I mean, in a sort.

_Ant._ That sort was well fished for.

_Gon._ When I wore it at your daughter’s marriage?

_Alon._ You cram these words into mine ears against 100
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,
My son is lost, and, in my rate, she too.
Who is so far from Italy removed
I ne’er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 105
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee?

_Fran._ Sir, he may live:
I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water.
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 110
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 115
He came alive to land.

_Alon._ No, no, he’s gone.

_Seb._ Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,
That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,
But rather lose her to an African;
Where she, at least, is banish’d from your eye, 120
Who hath cause to wet the grief on’t.

_Alon._ Prithee, peace.

_Seb._ You were kneel’d to, and importuned otherwise,
By all of us; and the fair soul herself
Weigh’d between loathness and obedience, at
Which end o’ the beam should bow. We have lost your son, 125
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
More widows in them of this business’ making
Than we bring men to comfort them:
The fault’s your own.

_Alon._ So is the dear’st o’ the loss.

_Gon._ My lord Sebastian, 130
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
When you should bring the plaster.

_Seb._ Very well.

_Ant._ And most chirurgeonly.

_Gon._ It is foul weather in us all, good sir, 135
When you are cloudy.

_Seb._ Foul weather?

_Ant._ Very foul.

_Gon._ Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,–

_Ant._ He’ld sow’t with nettle-seed.

_Seb._ Or docks, or mallows.

_Gon._ And were the king on’t, what would I do?

_Seb._ ’Scape being drunk for want of wine. 140

_Gon._ I’ the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession, 145
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation; all men idle, all;
And women too, but innocent and pure;
No sovereignty;– 150

_Seb._ Yet he would be king on’t.

_Ant._ The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the

_Gon._ All things in common nature should produce
Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 155
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.

_Seb._ No marrying ’mong his subjects?

_Ant._ None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. 160

_Gon._ I would with such perfection govern, sir,
To excel the golden age.

_Seb._ ’Save his majesty!

_Ant._ Long live Gonzalo!

_Gon._ And,–do you mark me, sir?

_Alon._ Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

_Gon._ I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister 165
occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible
and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing.

_Ant._ ’Twas you we laughed at.

_Gon._ Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to
you: so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still. 170

_Ant._ What a blow was there given!

_Seb._ An it had not fallen flat-long.

_Gon._ You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would
lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it
five weeks without changing. 175

_Enter ARIEL (invisible) playing solemn music._

_Seb._ We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.

_Ant._ Nay, good my lord, be not angry.

_Gon._ No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion
so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very
heavy? 180

_Ant._ Go sleep, and hear us.
[_All sleep except Alon., Seb., and Ant._

_Alon._ What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find
They are inclined to do so.

_Seb._ Please you, sir,
Do not omit the heavy offer of it: 185
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
It is a comforter.

_Ant._ We two, my lord,
Will guard your person while you take your rest,
And watch your safety.

_Alon._ Thank you.–Wondrous heavy.
[_Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel._

_Seb._ What a strange drowsiness possesses them! 190

_Ant._ It is the quality o’ the climate.

_Seb._ Why
Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
Myself disposed to sleep.

_Ant._ Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
They fell together all, as by consent;
They dropp’d, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, 195
Worthy Sebastian?–O, what might?–No more:–
And yet methinks I see it in thy face,
What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee; and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.

_Seb._ What, art thou waking? 200

_Ant._ Do you not hear me speak?

_Seb._ I do; and surely
It is a sleepy language, and thou speak’st
Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, 205
And yet so fast asleep.

_Ant._ Noble Sebastian,
Thou let’st thy fortune sleep–die, rather; wink’st
Whiles thou art waking.

_Seb._ Thou dost snore distinctly;
There’s meaning in thy snores.

_Ant._ I am more serious than my custom: you 210
Must be so too, if heed me; which to do
Trebles thee o’er.

_Seb._ Well, I am standing water.

_Ant._ I’ll teach you how to flow.

_Seb._ Do so: to ebb
Hereditary sloth instructs me.

_Ant._ O,
If you but knew how you the purpose cherish 215
Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,
You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed,
Most often do so near the bottom run
By their own fear or sloth.

_Seb._ Prithee, say on:
The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim 220
A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed,
Which throes thee much to yield.

_Ant._ Thus, sir:
Although this lord of weak remembrance, this,
Who shall be of as little memory
When he is earth’d, hath here almost persuaded,– 225
For he’s a spirit of persuasion, only
Professes to persuade,–the king his son’s alive,
’Tis as impossible that he’s undrown’d
As he that sleeps here swims.

_Seb._ I have no hope
That he’s undrown’d.

_Ant._ O, out of that ‘no hope’ 230
What great hope have you! no hope that way is
Another way so high a hope that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me
That Ferdinand is drown’d?

_Seb._ He’s gone.

_Ant._ Then, tell me, 235
Who’s the next heir of Naples?

_Seb._ Claribel.

_Ant._ She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells
Ten leagues beyond man’s life; she that from Naples
Can have no note, unless the sun were post,–
The man i’ the moon’s too slow,–till new-born chins 240
Be rough and razorable; she that from whom
We all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again,
And by that destiny, to perform an act
Whereof what’s past is prologue; what to come,
In yours and my discharge.

_Seb._ What stuff is this! How say you? 245
’Tis true, my brother’s daughter’s queen of Tunis;
So is she heir of Naples; ’twixt which regions
There is some space.

_Ant._ A space whose every cubit
Seems to cry out, “How shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, 250
And let Sebastian wake.” Say, this were death
That now hath seized them; why, they were no worse
Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples
As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate
As amply and unnecessarily 255
As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
The mind that I do! what a sleep were this
For your advancement! Do you understand me?

_Seb._ Methinks I do.

_Ant._ And how does your content 260
Tender your own good fortune?

_Seb._ I remember
You did supplant your brother Prospero.

_Ant._ True:
And look how well my garments sit upon me;
Much feater than before: my brother’s servants
Were then my fellows; now they are my men. 265

_Seb._ But for your conscience.

_Ant._ Ay, sir; where lies that? if ’twere a kibe,
’Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not
This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences,
That stand ’twixt me and Milan, candied be they, 270
And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother,
No better than the earth he lies upon,
If he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead;
Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,
Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus, 275
To the perpetual wink for aye might put
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,
They’ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;
They’ll tell the clock to any business that 280
We say befits the hour.

_Seb._ Thy case, dear friend,
Shall be my precedent; as thou got’st Milan,
I’ll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest;
And I the king shall love thee.

_Ant._ Draw together; 285
And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
To fall it on Gonzalo.

_Seb._ O, but one word. [_They talk apart._

_Re-enter ARIEL invisible._

_Ari._ My master through his art foresees the danger
That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth,–
For else his project dies,–to keep them living. 290
[_Sings in Gonzalo’s ear._

While you here do snoring lie,
Open-eyed conspiracy
His time doth take.
If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber, and beware: 295
Awake, awake!

_Ant._ Then let us both be sudden.

_Gon._ Now, good angels
Preserve the king! [_They wake._

_Alon._ Why, how now? ho, awake!–Why are you drawn?
Wherefore this ghastly looking?

_Gon._ What’s the matter? 300

_Seb._ Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
Like bulls, or rather lions: did’t not wake you?
It struck mine ear most terribly.

_Alon._ I heard nothing.

_Ant._ O, ’twas a din to fright a monster’s ear, 305
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 humming,
And that a strange one too, which did awake me:
I shaked you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes open’d, 310
I saw their weapons drawn:–there was a noise,
That’s verily. ’Tis best we stand upon our guard,
Or that we quit this place: let’s draw our weapons.

_Alon._ Lead off this ground; and let’s make further search
For my poor son.

_Gon._ Heavens keep him from these beasts! 315
For he is, sure, i’ th’ island.

_Alon._ Lead away.

_Ari._ Prospero my lord shall know what I have done:
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [_Exeunt._

Notes: II, 1.

3: _hint_] _stint_ Warburton.
5: _masters_] _master_ Johnson. _mistress_ Steevens conj.
_master’s_ Edd. conj.
6: _of woe_] om. Steevens conj.
11-99: Marked as interpolated by Pope.
11: _visitor_] _’viser_ Warburton.
_him_] om. Rowe.
15: _one_] F1. _on_ F2 F3 F4.
16: _entertain’d … Comes_] Capell. _entertain’d, That’s offer’d
comes_] Ff. Printed as prose by Pope.
27: _of he_] Ff. _of them, he_ Pope. _or he_ Collier MS.
See note (VII).
35: Seb. _Ha, ha, ha!–So you’re paid_] Theobald. Seb. _Ha, ha, ha!_
Ant. _So you’r paid_ Ff. Ant. _So you’ve paid_ Capell.
81, 82: Seb. _His … too_] Edd. Ant. _His … harp._
Seb. _He … too_ Ff.
88: _Ay._] I. Ff. _Ay?_ Pope.
96: _sir, my doublet_] F1. _my doublet, sir_ F2 F3 F4.
113: _stroke_] F1 F2 F3. _strokes_ F4.
124: _Weigh’d_] _Sway’d_ S. Verges conj.
_at_] _as_ Collier MS.]
125: _o’ the_] _the_ Pope.
_should_] _she’d_ Malone.
129: _The fault’s your own_] _the fault’s your own_ (at the end
of 128) Capell. _the fault’s Your own_ Malone.
137: _plantation_] _the plantation_ Rowe. _the planting_ Hanmer.
139: _on’t_] _of it_ Hanmer.
144: _riches, poverty_] _wealth, poverty_ Pope. _poverty, riches_
145: _contract, succession_] _succession, Contract_ Malone conj.
_succession, None_ id. conj.
146: _none_] _olives, none_ Hanmer.
157: _its_] F3 F4. _it_ F1 F2. See note (VIII).
162: _’Save_] F1 F2 F3. _Save_ F4. _God save_ Edd. conj.
175: Enter … invisible … music.] Malone. Enter Ariel, playing
solemn music. Ff. om. Pope. [Solemn music. Capell.
181: [All sleep … Ant.] Stage direction to the same effect,
first inserted by Capell.
182-189: Text as in Pope. In Ff. the lines begin _Would … I find
… Do not … It seldom … We two … While … Thank._
189: [Exit Ariel] Malone.
192: _find not_ Pope. _find Not_ Ff.
211: _so too, if heed_] _so too, if you heed_ Rowe.
_so, if you heed_ Pope.
212: _Trebles thee o’er_] _Troubles thee o’er_ Pope.
_Troubles thee not_ Hanmer.
222: _throes_] Pope. _throwes_ F1 F2 F3. _throws_ F4.
_Thus, sir_] _Why then thus Sir_ Hanmer.
226: _he’s_] _he’as_ Hanmer. _he_ Johnson conj.
227: _Professes to persuade_] om. Steevens.
234: _doubt_] _drops_ Hanmer. _doubts_ Capell.
241: _she that from whom_] Ff. _she from whom_ Rowe.
_she for whom_ Pope. _she from whom coming_ Singer.
_she that–from whom?_ Spedding conj. See note (IX).
242: _all_] om. Pope.
243: _And … to perform_] _May … perform_ Pope. _And by that
destin’d to perform_ Musgrave conj. _(And that by destiny)
to perform_ Staunton conj.
244: _is_] F1. _in_ F2 F3 F4.
245: _In_] _Is_ Pope.
250: _to_] F1. _by_ F2 F3 F4.
_Keep_] _Sleep_ Johnson conj.
251: See note (X).
267: _’twere_] _it were_ Singer.
267-271: Pope ends the lines with _that? … slipper … bosom …
Milan … molest … brother._
267: See note (XI).
269: _twenty_] _Ten_ Pope.
270: _stand_] _stood_ Hanmer.
_candied_] _Discandy’d_ Upton conj.
271: _And melt_] _Would melt_ Johnson conj. _Or melt_ id. conj.
273, 274: _like, that’s dead; Whom I, with_] _like, whom I With_
Steevens (Farmer conj.).
275: _whiles_] om. Pope.
277: _morsel_] _Moral_ Warburton.
280, 281: _business … hour._] _hour … business._ Farmer conj.
282: _precedent_] Pope. _president_ Ff.
_O_] om. Pope.
[They talk apart] Capell.
Re-enter Ariel invisible.] Capell. Enter Ariel with music and
song. Ff.
289: _you, his friend,_] _these, his friends_ Steevens
(Johnson conj.).
289, 290: _friend … project dies … them_] _friend … projects
dies … you_ Hanmer. _friend … projects die … them_
Malone conj. _friend … project dies … thee_ Dyce.
298: [They wake.] Rowe.
300: _this_] _thus_ Collier MS.
307: _Gonzalo_] om. Pope.
312: _verily_] _verity_ Pope.
_upon our guard_] _on guard_ Pope.

SCENE II. _Another part of the island._

_Enter CALIBAN with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard._

_Cal._ All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper 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, 5
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid ’em: but
For every trifle are they set upon me;
Sometime like apes, that mow and chatter at me,
And after bite me; then like hedgehogs, which 10
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount
Their pricks at my footfall; 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 15
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 brewing; I hear it sing i’
the wind: yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks 20
like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If it should
thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide 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 25
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 30
relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead
Indian. Legged like a man! 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 thunderbolt. [_Thunder._] Alas, the storm is come 35
again! my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there
is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with
strange bed-fellows. 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, 40
Here shall I die a-shore,–

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral: well,
here’s my comfort. [_Drinks._

[_Sings._ The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate, 45
Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us cared for Kate;
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch; 50
Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch.
Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

This is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort. [_Drinks._

_Cal._ Do not torment me:–O!

_Ste._ What’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do 55
you put tricks upon ’s with savages and men of Ind, ha? I
have not scaped drowning, to be afeard now of your four
legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went
on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be
said so again, while Stephano breathes at’s nostrils. 60

_Cal._ The spirit torments me:–O!

_Ste._ This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who
hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he
learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be
but for that. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, and 65
get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any emperor that
ever trod on neat’s-leather.

_Cal._ Do not torment me, prithee; I’ll bring my wood
home faster.

_Ste._ He’s in his fit now, and does not talk after the 70
wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never drunk
wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If I can recover
him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for
him; he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly.

_Cal._ Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I 75
know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.

_Ste._ Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that
which will give language to you, cat: open your mouth; this
will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly:
you cannot tell who’s your friend: open your chaps again. 80

_Trin._ I should know that voice: it should be–but he
is drowned; and these are devils:–O defend me!

_Ste._ Four legs and two voices,–a most delicate monster!
His forward voice, now, is to speak well of his friend;
his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. 85
If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help
his ague. Come:–Amen! I will pour some in thy other

_Trin._ Stephano!

_Ste._ Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy! 90
This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have
no long spoon.

_Trin._ Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me,
and speak to me; for I am Trinculo,–be not afeard,–thy
good friend Trinculo. 95

_Ste._ If thou beest Trinculo, come forth: I’ll pull thee
by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo’s legs, these are they.
Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How earnest thou to be
the siege of this moon-calf? can he vent Trinculos?

_Trin._ I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. 100
But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope, now, thou
art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I hid me
under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine for fear of the storm.
And art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans
scaped! 105

_Ste._ Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not

_Cal._ [_aside_] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.
That’s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor:
I will kneel to him. 110

_Ste._ How didst thou ’scape? How camest thou hither?
swear, by this bottle, how thou camest hither. I escaped
upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved o’erboard, by
this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree with mine
own hands, since I was cast ashore. 115

_Cal._ I’ll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true subject;
for the liquor is not earthly.

_Ste._ Here; swear, then, how thou escapedst.

_Trin._ Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim
like a duck, I’ll be sworn. 120

_Ste._ Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim
like a duck, thou art made like a goose.

_Trin._ O Stephano, hast any more of this?

_Ste._ The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by
the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! 125
how does thine ague?

_Cal._ Hast thou not dropp’d from heaven?

_Ste._ Out o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man
i’ the moon when time was.

_Cal._ I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee: 130
My mistress show’d me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush.

_Ste._ Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furnish
it anon with new contents: swear.

_Trin._ By this good light, this is a very shallow monster!
I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The 135
man i’ the moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well
drawn, monster, in good sooth!

_Cal._ I’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ th’ island;
And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god.

_Trin._ By this light, a most perfidious and drunken 140
monster! when’s god’s asleep, he’ll rob his bottle.

_Cal._ I’ll kiss thy foot; I’ll swear myself thy subject.

_Ste._ Come on, then; down, and swear.

_Trin._ I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed
monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in 145
my heart to beat him,–

_Ste._ Come, kiss.

_Trin._ But that the poor monster’s in drink: an abominable

_Cal._ I’ll show thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries; 150
I’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!
I’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
Thou wondrous man.

_Trin._ A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder 155
of a poor drunkard!

_Cal._ I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
Show thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee 160
To clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee
Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?

_Ste._ I prithee now, lead the way, without any more
talking. Trinculo, the king and all our company else being
drowned, we will inherit here: here; bear my bottle: fellow 165
Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again.

_Cal. sings drunkenly._] Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!

_Trin._ A howling monster; a drunken monster!

_Cal._ No more dams I’ll make for fish;
Nor fetch in firing 170
At requiring;
Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish:
’Ban, ’Ban, Cacaliban
Has a new master:–get a new man.

Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey-day, 175

_Ste._ O brave monster! Lead the way. [_Exeunt._

Notes: II, 2.

4: _nor_] F1 F2. _not_ F3 F4.
15: _and_] _now_ Pope. _sent_ Edd. conj. (so Dryden).
21: _foul_] _full_ Upton conj.
35: [Thunder] Capell.
38: _dregs_] _drench_ Collier MS.
40: SCENE III. Pope.
[a bottle in his hand] Capell.]
46: _and Marian_] _Mirian_ Pope.
56: _savages_] _salvages_ Ff.
60: _at’s nostrils_] Edd. _at ’nostrils_ F1. _at nostrils_ F2 F3 F4.
_at his nostrils_ Pope.
78: _you, cat_] _you Cat_ Ff. _a cat_ Hanmer. _your cat_ Edd. conj.
84: _well_] F1 om. F2 F3 F4.
115, 116: Steevens prints as verse, _I’ll … thy True … earthly._
118: _swear, then, how thou escapedst_] _swear then: how escapedst
thou?_ Pope.
119: _Swum_] _Swom_ Ff.
131: _and thy dog, and thy bush_] _thy dog and bush_ Steevens.
133: _new_] F1. _the new_ F2 F3 F4.
135: _weak_] F1. _shallow_ F2 F3 F4.
138: _island_] F1. _isle_ F2 F3 F4.
150-154, 157-162, printed as verse by Pope (after Dryden).
162: _scamels_] _shamois_ Theobald. _seamalls, stannels_ id. conj.
163: Ste.] F1. Cal. F2 F3 F4.
165: Before _here; bear my bottle_ Capell inserts [To Cal.].
See note (XII).
172: _trencher_] Pope (after Dryden). _trenchering_ Ff.
175: _hey-day_] Rowe. _high-day_ Ff.

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