What things are these, my lord Antonio! Ant. Very like; one of them Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Then say, if they be true :-This mis-shapen knave,His mother was a witch; and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, And deal in her command, without her power: These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil (For he's a bastard one,) had plotted with them To take my life: two of these fellows you Must know, and own; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine. Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? Seb. He is drunk now where had he wine? Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: Where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them?-----How cam'st thou in this pickle ? Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing. Seb. Why, how now, Stephano? Ste. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp. Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah? Ste. I should have been a sore one then. Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on. [Pointing to CALIBAN Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, As in his shape:-Go, sirrah, to my cell; Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter, And seek for grace: What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool? Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. Seb. Or stole it, rather. [Exeunt CAL. STE. and TRIN. Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, To my poor cell where you shall take your rest For this one night; which (part of it,) I'll waste With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away: the story of my life, And the particular accidents, gone by, Since I came to this isle: And in the morn, Alon. I long Pro. معيد Be free, and fare thou well!—[aside.] Please you draw near. [Exeun EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY PROSPERO. NOW my charms are all o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own ; Which is most faint: now, 'tis true, I must be here confin'd by you, Or sent to Naples: Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island, by your spell; But release me from my bands, With the help of your good hands. Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please: Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; And my ending is despair, Unless I be reliev'd by prayer ; Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all fauits. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free. |