The Tempest · William Shakespeare
ARIEL’S SONG.
_Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Curtsied when you have, and kiss’d The wild waves whist. Foot it featly here and there, And sweet sprites bear The burden. Hark, hark!_ Burden dispersedly. _Bow-wow. The watch dogs bark._ [Burden dispersedly.] _Bow-wow. 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 seest Was in the wrack; 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. [_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 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. 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. 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 thee. What! An advocate for an impostor? hush! Thou think’st there is no more such shapes as he, Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench! To th’ most of men this is a Caliban, And they to him are angels. MIRANDA. My affections Are then most humble; I have no ambition To see a goodlier man. PROSPERO. [_To Ferdinand._] Come on; obey: Thy nerves are in their infancy again, And have no vigour in them.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.