And I will kiss thy foot. I prithee, be my god.
TRINCULO. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster: when his god’s asleep, he’ll rob his bottle.
CALIBAN.
I’ll kiss thy foot: I’ll swear myself thy subject.
STEPHANO.
Come on, then; down, and swear.
TRINCULO. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,—
STEPHANO.
Come, kiss.
TRINCULO. But that the poor monster’s in drink: an abominable monster!
CALIBAN.
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,
Thou wondrous man.
TRINCULO. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!
CALIBAN.
I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
Show thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmozet; I’ll bring thee
To clust’ring filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee
Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?
STEPHANO. I prithee now, lead the way without any more talking—Trinculo, the king and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here.—Here, bear my bottle.—Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again.
CALIBAN.
Farewell, master; farewell, farewell! [Sings drunkenly]
TRINCULO.
A howling monster, a drunken monster.
CALIBAN.
No more dams I’ll make for fish;
Nor fetch in firing
At requiring,
Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish;
‘Ban ‘Ban, Ca—Caliban,
Has a new master—Get a new man.
Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom,
high-day, freedom!
STEPHANO.
O brave monster! lead the way.
[Exeunt]
ACT 3
SCENE I. Before PROSPERO’S cell
[Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log.]
FERDINAND.
There be some sports are painful, and 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 odious; but
The mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead,
And makes my labours pleasures: O! she is
Ten times more gentle than her father’s crabbed,
And he’s compos’d of harshness. I must remove
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress
Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness
Had never like executor. I forget:
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,
Most busy, least when I do it.
[Enter MIRANDA: and PROSPERO behind.]
MIRANDA.
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:
He’s safe for these three hours.
FERDINAND.
O most dear mistress,
The sun will set, before I shall discharge
What I must strive to do.
MIRANDA.
If you’ll sit down,
I’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that;
I’ll carry it to the pile.
FERDINAND.
No, precious creature:
I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
Than you should such dishonour undergo,
While I sit lazy by.
MIRANDA.
It would become me
As well as it does you: and I should do it
With much more ease; for my good will is to it,
And yours it is against.
PROSPERO.
[Aside] Poor worm! thou art infected:
This visitation shows it.
MIRANDA.
You look wearily.
FERDINAND.
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?
MIRANDA.
Miranda—O my father!
I have broke your hest to say so.
FERDINAND.
Admir’d Miranda!
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.
MIRANDA.
I do not know
One of my sex; no woman’s face remember,
Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
More that I may call men than you, good friend,
And my dear father: how features are abroad,