Iuno sings her blessings on you.
Earths increase, foyzon plentie,
Barnes, and Garners, neuer empty.
Vines, with clustring bunches growings
Plants, with goedly burthen bowing:
Spring come to you at the farthest,
In the very end of Haruest.
Scarcity and want shall shun you,
Ceres blessing so it on you.
This is a most maiesticke vision, and
Harmonious charmingly: may I be bold
To thinke these spirits?
Spirits, which by mine Art
I haue from their confines call'd to enact
My present fancies.
Let me liue here euer,
So rare a wondred Father, and a wife
Makes this place Paradise.
Sweet now, silence:
Iuno and Ceres whisper seriously,
There's something else to doe: hush, and be mute
Or else our spell is mar'd.
Iuno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment.
You Nimphs cald Nayades of ў windring brooks,
With your sedg'd crownes, and euer-harmelesse lookes,
Leaue your crispe channels, and on this greene-Land
Answere your summons, Iuno do's command.
Come temperate Nimphes, and helpe to celebrate
A Contract of true Loue: be not too late.
Enter Certaine Nimphes.
You Sun-burnd Sicklemen of August weary,
Come hether from the furrow, and be merry,
Make holly day: your Rye-straw hats put on,
And these fresh Nimphes encounter euery one
In Country footing.
Enter certaine Reapers (properly habited :) they ioyne with the Nimphes, in a gracefull dance, towards the end whereof Prospero starts sodainly and speakes, after which to a strange hollow and confused noyse, they heauily vanish.
Mir.We wish your peace.
I had forgot that foule conspiracy
Of the beast Calliban, and his confederates
Against my life: the minute of their plot
Is almost come: Well done, auoid: no more.
This is strange: your fathers in some passion
That workes him strongly.
Neuer till this day
Saw I him touch'd with anger, so distemper'd.
You doe looke (my son) in a mou'd sort,
As if you were dismaid: be cheerefull Sir,
Our Reuels now are ended: These our actors,
(As I foretold you) were all Spirits, and
Are melted into Ayre, into thin Ayre,
And like the baselesse fabricke of this vision
The Clowd-capt Towres, the gorgeous Pallaces,
The solemne Temples, the great Globe it selfe,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolue,
And like this insubstantiall Pageant faded
Leaue not a racke behinde: we are such stuffe
As dreames are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleepe: Sir, I am vext,
Beare with my weakenesse, my old braine is troubled:
Be not disturb'd with my infirmitie,
If you be pleas'd, retire into my Cell,
And there repose, a turne or two, Ile walke
To still my beating minde.
Come with a thought; I thank thee Ariell: come.
I go, I goe.
Thy thoughts I cleaue to, what's thy pleasure?
Spirit: We must prepare to meet with Caliban.
I my Commander, when I presented Ceres
I thought to haue told thee of it, but I fear'd
Least I might anger thee.
Say again, where didst thou leaue these varlots?
I told you Sir, they were red-hot with drinking,
So full of valour, that they smote the ayre
For breathing in their faces: beate the ground
For kissing of their feete; yet alwaies bending
Towards their proiect: then I beate my Tabor,
At which like vnback't colts they prickt their eares,
Aduanc'd their eye-lids, lifted vp their noses
As they smelt musicke, so I charm'd their eares
That Calfe-like, they my lowing follow'd, through
Tooth’d briars, sharpe furzes, pricking gosse, & thorns,
Which entred their fraile shins: at last I left them
I’th' filthy mantled poole beyond your Cell,
There dancing vp to th'chins, that the fowle Lake
Ore-stunck their feet.
This was well done (my bird)
Thy shape inuisible retaine thou still:
The trumpery in my house, goe bring it hither
For stale to catch these theeues.
A Deuill, a borne-Deuill, on whose nature
Nurture can neuer sticke: on whom my paines
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost,
And, as with age, his body ouglier growes,
So his minde cankers: I will plague them all ,
Euen to roaring: Come, hang on them this line.
Enter Ariell, loaden with glistering apparell, &c. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet.
Pray you tread softly, that the blinde Mole may not heare a foot fall: we now are neere his Cell.
Monster, your Fairy, ɯ̃ you say is a harmles Fairy,
Has done little better then plaid the lacke with vs.
Monster, I do smell all horse-pisse, at which
My nose is in great indignation.
So is mine. Do you heare Monster: If I should Take a displeasure against you: Looke you.
Thou wert but a lost Monster.
Good my Lord, giue me thy fauour stil,
Be patient, for the prize Ile bring thee too Shall hudwinke this mischance: therefore speake softly,
All's husht as midnight yet.
I, but to loose our bottles in the Poole.
There is not onely disgrace and dishonor in that Monster, but an infinite losse.
That's more to me then my wetting:
Yet this is your harmlesse Fairy, Monster.
I will fetch off my bottle,
Though I be o're cares for my labour.
Pre-thee (my King) be quiet. Seest thou heere
This is the mouth o'th Cell: no noise, and enter:
Do that good mifcheefe, which may make this Island
Thine owne for euer, and I thy Caliban
For aye thy foot-licker.
Giue me thy hand,
I do begin to haue bloody thoughts.
O King Stephano, O Peere: O worthy Stephano,
Looke what a wardrobe heere is for thee.
Let it alone thou foole, it is but trash.
Oh, ho, Monster: wee know what belongs to a frippery, O King Stephano.