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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [1191]

By Root 21930 0

SCENE 2

Another part of the island

Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard

CALIBAN.

All the infections that the sun sucks up

From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him

By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,

And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch,

Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' th' mire,

Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark

Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but

For every trifle are they set upon me;

Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me,

And after bite me; then like hedgehogs which

Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount

Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I

All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues

Do hiss me into madness.

Enter TRINCULO

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.

TRINCULO.

Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any

weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it

sing i' th' wind. Yond same black cloud, yond huge one,

looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If

it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to

hide my head. Yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by

pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or

alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and

fish-like smell; kind of not-of-the-newest Poor-John. A

strange fish! 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. Legg'd like a

man, and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now

let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no

fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by

thunderbolt. [Thunder] Alas, the storm is come again! My

best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no

other shelter hereabout. Misery acquaints a man with

strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs

of the storm be past.

Enter STEPHANO singing; a bottle in his hand

STEPHANO.

I shall no more to sea, to sea,

Here shall I die ashore-

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral;

well, here's my comfort. [Drinks]

The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,

The gunner, and his mate,

Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,

But none of us car'd for Kate;

For she had a tongue with a tang,

Would cry to a sailor 'Go hang!'

She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch,

Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch.

Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort.

[Drinks]

CALIBAN.

Do not torment me. O!

STEPHANO.

What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you

put tricks upon 's with savages and men of Ind? Ha! I

have not scap'd drowning to be afeard now of your four

legs; for it hath been said: As proper a man as ever

went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it

shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils.

CALIBAN.

The spirit torments me. O!

STEPHANO.

This is some monster of the isle with four legs,

who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil

should he learn our language? I will give him some

relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him, and

keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a

present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's leather.

CALIBAN.

Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my wood home faster.

STEPHANO.

He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the

wisest. He shall taste of my bottle; if he have never

drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If

I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take

too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him,

and that soundly.

CALIBAN.

Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon,

I know it by thy trembling; now Prosper works upon thee.

STEPHANO.

Come on your ways; open your

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