The Tempest | Page 7

PROSPERO. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot The foul
witch Sycorax, who with age and envy Was grown into a hoop? Hast
thou forgot her?
ARIEL. No, sir.
PROSPERO. Thou hast. Where was she born? Speak; tell me.
ARIEL. Sir, in Argier.
PROSPERO. O! was she so? I must Once in a month recount what thou
hast been, Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax, For
mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing,
from Argier, Thou know'st,was banish'd: for one thing she did They
would not take her life. Is not this true?
ARIEL. Ay, sir.
PROSPERO. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child, And
here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself,
wast then her servant: And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her
earthy and abhorr'd commands, Refusing her grand hests, she did

confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers, And in her most
unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine; within which rift Imprison'd, thou
didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which space she died,
And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans As fast as
mill-wheels strike. Then was this island-- Save for the son that she did
litter here, A freckl'd whelp, hag-born--not honour'd with A human
shape.
ARIEL. Yes; Caliban her son.
PROSPERO. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, Whom now I keep
in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in; thy
groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Of ever-angry
bears: it was a torment To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could
not again undo; it was mine art, When I arriv'd and heard thee, that
made gape The pine, and let thee out.
ARIEL. I thank thee, master.
PROSPERO. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak And peg thee
in his knotty entrails till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.
ARIEL. Pardon, master: I will be correspondent to command, And do
my spriting gently.
PROSPERO. Do so; and after two days I will discharge thee.
ARIEL. That's my noble master! What shall I do? Say what? What
shall I do?
PROSPERO. Go make thyself like a nymph o' th' sea: be subject To no
sight but thine and mine; invisible To every eyeball else. Go, take this
shape, And hither come in 't: go, hence with diligence!
[Exit ARIEL]
Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake!
MIRANDA. [Waking] The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in
me.
PROSPERO. Shake it off. Come on; We'll visit Caliban my slave, who
never Yields us kind answer.
MIRANDA. 'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on.
PROSPERO. But as 'tis, We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices That profit us.--What ho! slave!
Caliban! Thou earth, thou! Speak.
CALIBAN. [Within] There's wood enough within.
PROSPERO. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee: Come,

thou tortoise! when?
[Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph.]
Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear.
ARIEL. My lord, it shall be done.
[Exit]
PROSPERO. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy
wicked dam, come forth!
[Enter CALIBAN]
CALIBAN. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's
feather from unwholesome fen Drop on you both! A south-west blow
on ye, And blister you all o'er!
PROSPERO. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins Shall forth at vast of
night that they may work All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd As
thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made
them.
CALIBAN. I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax my
mother, Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st first, Thou
strok'st me and made much of me; wouldst give me Water with berries
in't; and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That
burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee, And show'd thee all the
qualities o' th' isle, The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and
fertile. Curs'd be I that did so! All the charms Of Sycorax, toads,
beetles, bats, light on you! For I am all the subjects that you have,
Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me In this hard rock,
whiles you do keep from me The rest o' th' island.
PROSPERO. Thou most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not
kindness! I have us'd thee, Filth as thou art, with human care, and
lodg'd thee In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour
of my child.
CALIBAN. Oh ho! Oh ho! Would it had been done! Thou