Shakespeare's First Folio Part 10

How cam'st thou hither?

Sweare by this Bottle how thou cam'st hither: I escap'd vpon a But of Sacke, which the Saylors heaued o'reboord, by this Bottle which I made of the barke of a Tree, with mine owne hands, since I was cast a'sh.o.r.e

Cal. I'le sweare vpon that Bottle, to be thy true subiect, for the liquor is not earthly

St. Heere: sweare then how thou escap'dst

Tri. Swom ash.o.r.e (man) like a Ducke: I can swim like a Ducke i'le be sworne

Ste. Here, kisse the Booke.

Though thou canst swim like a Ducke, thou art made like a Goose

Tri. O Stephano, ha'st any more of this?

Ste. The whole But (man) my Cellar is in a rocke by th' sea-side, where my Wine is hid: How now Moone-Calfe, how do's thine Ague?

Cal. Ha'st thou not dropt from heauen?

Ste. Out o'th Moone I doe a.s.sure thee. I was the Man ith' Moone, when time was

Cal. I haue seene thee in her: and I doe adore thee: My Mistris shew'd me thee, and thy Dog, and thy Bush

Ste. Come, sweare to that: kisse the Booke: I will furnish it anon with new Contents: Sweare

Tri. By this good light, this is a very shallow Monster: I afeard of him? a very weake Monster: The Man ith' Moone?

A most poore creadulous Monster: Well drawne Monster, in good sooth

Cal. Ile shew thee euery fertill ynch o'th Island: and I will kisse thy foote: I prethee be my G.o.d

Tri. By this light, a most perfidious, and drunken Monster, when's G.o.d's a sleepe he'll rob his Bottle

Cal. Ile kisse thy foot, Ile sweare my selfe thy Subiect

Ste. Come on then: downe and sweare

Tri. I shall laugh my selfe to death at this puppi-headed Monster: a most scuruie Monster: I could finde in my heart to beate him

Ste. Come, kisse

Tri. But that the poore Monster's in drinke: An abhominable Monster

Cal. I'le shew thee the best Springs: I'le plucke thee Berries: I'le fish for thee; and get thee wood enough.

A plague vpon the Tyrant that I serue; I'le beare him no more Stickes, but follow thee, thou wondrous man

Tri. A most rediculous Monster, to make a wonder of a poore drunkard

Cal. I 'prethee let me bring thee where Crabs grow; and I with my long nayles will digge thee pig-nuts; show thee a Iayes nest, and instruct thee how to snare the nimble Marmazet: I'le bring thee to cl.u.s.tring Philbirts, and sometimes I'le get thee young Scamels from the Rocke: Wilt thou goe with me?

Ste. I pre'thee now lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the King, and all our company else being dround, wee will inherit here: Here; beare my Bottle: Fellow Trinculo; we'll fill him by and by againe.

Caliban Sings drunkenly.

Farewell Master; farewell, farewell

Tri. A howling Monster: a drunken Monster

Cal. No more dams I'le make for fish, Nor fetch in firing, at requiring, Nor sc.r.a.pe trenchering, nor wash dish, Ban' ban' Cacalyban Has a new Master, get a new Man.

Freedome, high-day, high-day freedome, freedome highday, freedome

Ste. O braue Monster; lead the way.

Exeunt.

Actus Tertius. Scoena Prima.

Enter Ferdinand (bearing a Log.)

Fer. There be some Sports are painfull; & their labor Delight in them set off: Some kindes of basenesse Are n.o.bly vndergon; and most poore matters Point to rich ends: this my meane Taske Would be as heauy to me, as odious, but The Mistris which I serue, quickens what's dead, And makes my labours, pleasures: O She is Ten times more gentle, then her Father's crabbed; And he's compos'd of harshnesse. I must remoue Some thousands of these Logs, and pile them vp, Vpon a sore iniunction; my sweet Mistris Weepes when she sees me worke, & saies, such basenes Had neuer like Executor: I forget: But these sweet thoughts, doe euen refresh my labours, Most busie lest, when I doe it.

Enter Miranda and Prospero.

Mir. Alas, now pray you Worke not so hard: I would the lightning had Burnt vp those Logs that you are enioynd to pile: Pray set it downe, and rest you: when this burnes 'Twill weepe for hauing wearied you: my Father Is hard at study; pray now rest your selfe, Hee's safe for these three houres

Fer. O most deere Mistris The Sun will set before I shall discharge What I must striue to do

Mir. If you'l sit downe Ile beare your Logges the while: pray giue me that, Ile carry it to the pile

Fer. No precious Creature, I had rather cracke my sinewes, breake my backe, Then you should such dishonor vndergoe, While I sit lazy by

Mir. It would become me As well as it do's you; and I should do it With much more ease: for my good will is to it, And yours it is against

Pro. Poore worme thou art infected, This visitation shewes it

Mir. You looke wearily

Fer. No, n.o.ble Mistris, 'tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night: I do beseech you Cheefely, that I might set it in my prayers, What is your name?

Mir. Miranda, O my Father, I haue broke your hest to say so

Fer. Admir'd Miranda, Indeede the top of Admiration, worth What's deerest to the world: full many a Lady I haue ey'd with best regard, and many a time Th' harmony of their tongues, hath into bondage Brought my too diligent eare: for seuerall vertues Haue I lik'd seuerall women, neuer any With so full soule, but some defect in her Did quarrell with the n.o.blest grace she ow'd, And put it to the foile. But you, O you, So perfect, and so peerlesse, are created Of euerie Creatures best

Mir. I do not know One of my s.e.xe; no womans face remember, Saue from my gla.s.se, mine owne: Nor haue I seene More that I may call men, then you good friend, And my deere Father: how features are abroad I am skillesse of; but by my modestie (The iewell in my dower) I would not wish Any Companion in the world but you: Nor can imagination forme a shape Besides your selfe, to like of: but I prattle Something too wildely, and my Fathers precepts I therein do forget

Fer. I am, in my condition A Prince (Miranda) I do thinke a King (I would not so) and would no more endure This wodden slauerie, then to suffer The flesh-flie blow my mouth: heare my soule speake.

The verie instant that I saw you, did My heart flie to your seruice, there resides To make me slaue to it, and for your sake Am I this patient Logge-man

Mir. Do you loue me?

Fer. O heauen; O earth, beare witnes to this sound, And crowne what I professe with kinde euent If I speake true: if hollowly, inuert What best is boaded me, to mischiefe: I, Beyond all limit of what else i'th world Do loue, prize, honor you