Journeys Through Bookland Volume Viii Part 43

_Cal._ Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.

_Steph._ Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better than play'd the Jack with us.[446-51]

_Trin._ Monster, I do smell all horse-stale; at which my nose is in great indignation.

_Steph._ So is mine.--Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure against you, look you,--

_Trin._ Thou wert but a lost monster.

_Cal._ Nay, good my lord, give me thy favour still.

Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to Shall hoodwink this mischance:[446-52] therefore speak softly; All's hush'd as midnight yet.

_Trin._ Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,--

_Steph._ There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an infinite loss.

_Trin._ That's more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy, monster.

_Steph._ I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears for my labour.

_Cal._ Pr'ythee, my King, be quiet. See'st thou here?

This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter.

Do that good mischief which may make this island Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, For aye thy foot-licker.

_Steph._ Give me thy hand. I do begin to have b.l.o.o.d.y thoughts.

_Trin._ O King Stephano! O peer![446-53] O worthy Stephano! look what a wardrobe here is for thee!

_Cal._ Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.

_Trin._ O, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery.[447-54]--O King Stephano!

_Steph._ Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I'll have that gown.

_Trin._ Thy Grace shall have it.

_Cal._ The dropsy drown this fool!--what do you mean, To dote thus on such luggage? Let's along, And do the murder first: if he awake, From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches; Make us strange stuff.

_Steph._ Be you quiet, monster.--Mistress line, is not this my jerkin?

Now is the jerkin under the line:[447-55] now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove a bald jerkin.

_Trin._ Do, do; we steal by line and level,[447-56] an't like your Grace.

_Steph._ I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment for't: wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of this country. _Steal by line and level_ is an excellent pa.s.s of pate;[448-57] there's another garment for't.

_Trin._ Monster, come, put some lime[448-58] upon your fingers, and away with the rest.

[Ill.u.s.tration: STEPHANO AND TRINCULO QUARREL]

_Cal._ I will have none on't: we shall lose our time, And all be turn'd to barnacles,[448-59] or to apes With foreheads villainous low.

_Steph._ Monster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you out of my kingdom: go to, carry this.

_Trin._ And this.

_Steph._ Ay, and this.

_A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers _Spirits_ in shape of hounds, and hunt them about; PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on._

_Pros._ Hey, Mountain, hey!

_Ari._ Silver! there it goes, Silver!

_Pros._ Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark! hark!-- [_CAL., STEPH. and TRIN. are driven out._ Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews With aged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make them Than pard or cat-o'-mountain.[449-60]

_Ari._ Hark, they roar!

_Pros._ Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies: Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little Follow, and do me service. [_Exeunt._

ACT V

SCENE I.--_Before the Cell of PROSPERO._

_Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes, and ARIEL. PROSPERO speaks:_

Now does my project gather to a head: My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and Time Goes upright with his carriage.[450-1] How's the day?

_Ari._ On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease.

_Pros._ I did say so, When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the King and's followers?

_Ari._ Confined together In the same fas.h.i.+on as you gave in charge: Just as you left them; all are prisoners, sir, In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;[450-2]

They cannot budge till your release.[450-3] The King, His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted; And the remainder mourning over them, Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly He that you term'd _The good old lord, Gonzalo_: His tears run down his beard, like winter-drops From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em, That, if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender.

_Pros._ Dost thou think so, spirit?

_Ari._ Mine would, sir, were I human.

_Pros._ And mine shall.

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply Pa.s.sion as they,[451-4] be kindlier moved than thou art?

Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick, Yet with my n.o.bler reason 'gainst my fury Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel: My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, And they shall be themselves.

_Ari._ I'll fetch them, sir. [_Exit._

_Pros._ Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune,[451-5] and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moons.h.i.+ne do the green-sour ringlets[451-6] make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms;[452-7] that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew;[452-8] by whose aid-- Weak masters[452-9] though ye be--I have be-dimm'd The noon-tide Sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And twixt the green sea and the azure vault Set roaring war: to the dread-rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's[452-10] stout oak With his own bolt: the strong-based promontory Have I made shake, and by the spurs[452-11] pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves at my command Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth By my so potent art. But this rough magic I here abjure; and, when I have required Some heavenly music,--which even now I do,-- To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book. [_Solemn music._