Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount 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, I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; ACT III. A GUILTY CONSCIENCE. O, IT is monstrous! monstrous ! Methought, the billows spoke and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper. * Sea-gulls. There be some sports are painful; but their labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be As heavy to me, as 'tis odious; but The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead, Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance. Mira. Alas, now! pray you, Work not so hard: I would, the lightning had Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile! Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns, 'Twill weep for having wearied you: My father Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself; Fer. The sun will set before I shall discharge O most dear mistress, If you'll sit down, What I must strive to do. Mira. Fer. No, precious creature: I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by. Mira. It would become me Pro. Poor worm! thou art infected; This visitation shows it. Mira. You look wearily. 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 my prayers,) What is your name? Mira. Miranda :—O my father, I have broke your hest* to say so! Admir'd Miranda Fer. Indeed the top of admiration: worth What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues Have I lik'd several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd †, 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 † Own'd. One of my sex; no woman's face remember, * Command. Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen 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; My heart fly to your service; there resides, Mira. Do you love me? Fer. O heaven, Q earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true; if hollowly, invert Mira. To weep at what I am glad of. I am a fool, Fair encounter Pro. Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between them! Fer. 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; *Whatsoever. If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow Fer. And I thus humble ever. Mira. My mistress, dearest, My husband, then? Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand. Mira. And mine, with my heart in't: And now farewell, Till half an hour hence. Fer. A thousand! thousand! ACT IV. CONTINENCE BEFORE MARRIAGE. IF thou dost break her virgin knot before A LOVER'S PROTESTATION. As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as 'tis now; the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion, Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust; to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd, Or night kept chain'd below. * Sprinkling. |