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For learning me your language! |
PROSPERO: |
Hag-seed, hence! |
Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, |
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? |
If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly |
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, |
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar |
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. |
CALIBAN: |
No, pray thee. |
I must obey: his art is of such power, |
It would control my dam's god, Setebos, |
and make a vassal of him. |
PROSPERO: |
So, slave; hence! |
Come unto these yellow sands, |
And then take hands: |
Courtsied when you have and kiss'd |
The wild waves whist, |
Foot it featly here and there; |
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. |
Hark, hark! |
FERDINAND: |
Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth? |
It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon |
Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank, |
Weeping again the king my father's wreck, |
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. |
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 |
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 seest |
Was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd |
With grief that's 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: |
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; |
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