I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, I flam'd amazement: Sometimes, I'd divide, And burn in many places; on the top-mast, Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune Seem'd to besiege, and to make his bold waves tremble, Yea, his dread trident shake. But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Some tricks of desperation: All, but mariners, PRO. But was not this nigh shore? ARI. Close by, my master. Why, that's my spirit! PRO. But are they, Ariel, safe? Not a hair perish'd ; On their sustaining garments not a blemish, In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle: PRO. The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, And all the rest o' the fleet? ARI. Of the king's ship, Safely in harbour Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once Who, with a charm joined to their suffer'd labour, I have left asleep and for the rest o' the fleet, Supposing that they saw the king's ship wrack'd, PRO. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work: What is the time o' the day? ARI. Past the mid season. PRO. At least two glasses: the time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously. ARI. Is there more toil? since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, Which is not yet perform'd me. I pray thee ARI. PRO. Thou dost; and think'st it much, to tread the ooze Of the salt deep: To run upon the sharp wind of the north; To do me business in the veins o' the earth, When it is bak'd with frost. PRO. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot The foul witch, Sycorax, who, with age and envy, PRO. Thou hast where was she born? speak; tell me. Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, Thou know'st, was banish'd; for one thing she did, They would not take her life: Is not this true? ARI. Ay, sir. PRO. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by the sailors: Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant : To act her earthly and abhorr'd commands, By help of her more potent ministers, Into a cloven pine; within which rift A dozen years; within which space she died, And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans, As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island, (Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with PRO. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not again undo; it was mine art, When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape ARI. I thank thee, master. PRO. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. |