His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
From eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly works them, 17
That if you now beheld them, your affections
Would become tender.
Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit?
Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human.
Pro. And mine shall.20
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,
Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art? 24
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick,
Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury
Do I take part: the rarer action is
In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, 28
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.
Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves; 33
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
When he comes back; you demi-puppets, that 36
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms; that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,— 40
Weak masters though ye be—I have bedimm'd
17 eaves of reeds: a thatched roof
23 all: quite
24 Passion: suffer
27 rarer: nobler
37 ringlets: circles of grass
39, 40 rejoice . . . curfew; cf. n.
