The Tempest | Page 8

The wild waves whist,-- Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark! [Burden: Bow, wow, dispersedly.] The watch dogs bark: [Burden: Bow, wow, dispersedly.] Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting Chanticleer [Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.]
FERDINAND. Where should this music be? i' th' air or th' earth? It sounds no more;--and sure it waits upon Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the king my father's wrack, This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion, With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,-- Or it hath drawn me rather,--but 'tis gone. No, it begins again.
[ARIEL sings] Full fathom five thy father lies: Of his bones are coral made: Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: [Burden: Ding-dong.] Hark! now I hear them--ding-dong, bell.
FERDINAND. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes:--I hear it now above me.
PROSPERO. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say what thou seest yond.
MIRANDA. What is't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form:--but 'tis a spirit.
PROSPERO. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses As we have, such; this gallant which thou see'st Was in the wrack; and but he's something stain'd With grief,--that beauty's canker,--thou mightst call him A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows And strays about to find 'em.
MIRANDA. I might call him A thing divine; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.
PROSPERO. [Aside] It goes on, I see, As my soul prompts it.--Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee Within two days for this.
FERDINAND. Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend!--Vouchsafe, my prayer May know if you remain upon this island; And that you will some good instruction give How I may bear me here: my prime request, Which I do last pronounce, is,--O you wonder!-- If you be maid or no?
MIRANDA. No wonder, sir; But certainly a maid.
FERDINAND. My language! Heavens!-- I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken.
PROSPERO. How! the best? What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?
FERDINAND. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me; And, that he does, I weep: myself am Naples, Who with mine eyes,--never since at ebb,--beheld The King, my father wrack'd.
MIRANDA. Alack, for mercy!
FERDINAND. Yes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan, And his brave son being twain.
PROSPERO. [Aside.] The Duke of Milan, And his more braver daughter could control thee, If now 'twere fit to do't.--At the first sight [Aside.] They have changed eyes;--delicate Ariel, I'll set thee free for this!--[To FERDINAND] A word, good sir: I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.
MIRANDA. [Aside.] Why speaks my father so ungently? This Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first That e'er I sigh'd for; pity move my father To be inclin'd my way!
FERDINAND. [Aside.] O! if a virgin, And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The Queen of Naples.
PROSPERO. Soft, sir; one word more-- [Aside] They are both in either's powers: but this swift business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning Make the prize light. [To FERDINAND] One word more: I charge thee That thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself Upon this island as a spy, to win it From me, the lord on't.
FERDINAND. No, as I am a man.
MIRANDA. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't.
PROSPERO. {To FERDINAND] Follow me.-- [To MIRANDA] Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.-- [To FERDINAND] Come; I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be The fresh-brook mussels, wither'd roots, and husks Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.
FERDINAND. No; I will resist such entertainment till Mine enemy has more power.
[He draws, and is charmed from moving.]
MIRANDA. O dear father! Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle, and not fearful.
PROSPERO. What! I say, My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor; Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy conscience Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward, For I can here disarm thee with this stick And make thy weapon drop.
MIRANDA. Beseech you, father!
PROSPERO. Hence! Hang not on my garments.
MIRANDA. Sir, have pity; I'll be his surety.
PROSPERO. Silence! One word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate