And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks at my foot-fall; 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,
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat:
Perchance, he will not mind me.

SATIRE ON ENGLISH CURIOSITY.

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.

CALIBAN'S PROMISES.

I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries;
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.

I pr'ythee, 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 marmozet; I'll bring thee
To clustering filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee
Young sea-mells* from the rock.

TEARS.

His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
From eaves of reeds.

* Sea-gulls.

Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me, When you are by at night. I do beseech you

(Chiefly that I might set it in your prayers),

Indeed the top of admiration; worth

What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady

* Command.

I have eyed with best regard; and many a time
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues
never any

Have I liked several women;

With so full soul, but some defect in her
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed,*
And put it to the foil: But you, O you,
So perfect and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best.

Mira.

I do not know

One of my sex: no woman's face remember,
Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
More that I may call men, than you, good friend,
And my dear father: how features are abroad,

I am skill-less of: but, by my modesty

(The jewel in my dower), I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you;
Nor can imagination form a shape,

Besides yourself, to like of: but I prattle

Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
Therein forget.

Fer.

I am, in my condition,

A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;

(I would, not so!) and would no more endure

This wooden slavery, than I would suffer

The flesh-fly blow my mouth.-Hear my soul speak ;

The very instant that I saw you, did

My heart fly to your service; there resides,
To make me slave to it; and, for your sake,
Am I this patient log-man.

Mira.

Do you love me?

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound,

And crown what I profess with kind event,

If I speak true; if hollowly, invert

* Owned,

What best is boded me, to mischief! I,
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world,

Do love, prize, honour you.

Mira.

To weep at what I am glad of.

Fer.

I am a fool,

Wherefore weep you?

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer
What I desire to give; and much less take,

What I shall die to want. But this is trifling;
And all the more it seeks to hide itself,

The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning,
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!

I am your wife, if you will marry me!

If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow
You may deny me; but I'll be your servant,
Whether you will or no.

Fer.

My mistress, dearest,

And I thus humble ever.

Mira.

My husband, then?

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing

As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand.

[well!

Mira. And mine, with my heart in't and now fare

ARIEL'S SONG.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I;

In a cowslip's bell I lie:

There I couch when owls do cry.

On the bat's back I do fly,

After summer, merrily:

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

LIGHTNESS OF FOOT.

Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not
Hear a foot fall.

DRUNKARDS ENCHANTED BY ARIEL.

I told you, sir, that they were red-hot with drinking;
So full of valour, that they smote the air

For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
For kissing of their feet: yet always bending
Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor,
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears
Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses,
As they smelt music; so I charm'd their ears,
That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd through
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns,
Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them
I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,
There dancing up to the chins.