The Tempest (Rackham)/Act 2

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

Another part of the island.

Enter a Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and others.

Gonzalo.

Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,So have we all, of joy; for our escapeIs much beyond our loss. Our hint of woeIs common; every day some sailor's wife,The masters of some merchant and the merchantHave just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,I mean our preservation, few in millionsCan speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weighOur sorrow with our comfort.

Alonso.

Our sorrow with our comfort. ‍Prithee, peace.

Sebastian.

He receives comfort like cold porridge.

Antonio.

The visitor will not give him o’er so.

Sebastian.

Look, he ’s winding up the watch of his wit: by and by it will strike.

Gonzalo.

Sir,—

Sebastian.

One: tell.

Gonzalo.

When every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d,Comes to the entertainer—

Sebastian.

A dollar.

Gonzalo.

Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed.

Sebastian.

You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

Gonzalo.

Therefore, my lord,—

Antonio.

Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

Alonso.

I prithee, spare.

Gonzalo.

Well, I have done: but yet,—

Sebastian.

He will be talking.

Antonio.

Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow?

Sebastian.

The old cock.

Antonio.

The cockerel.

Sebastian.

Done. The wager?

Antonio.

A laughter.

Sebastian.

A match!

Adrian.

Though this island seem to be desert,—

Sebastian.

Ha, ha, ha! So, you ’re paid.

Adrian.

Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,—

Sebastian.

Yet,—

Adrian.

Yet,—

Antonio.

He could not miss ’t.

Adrian.

It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate temperance.

Antonio.

Temperance was a delicate wench.

Sebastian.

Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.

Adrian.

The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

Sebastian.

As if it had lungs and rotten ones.

Antonio.

Or as ’twere perfumed by a fen.

Gonzalo.

Here is everything advantageous to life.

Antonio.

True: save means to live.

Sebastian.

Of that there ’s none, or little.

Gonzalo.

How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!

Antonio.

The ground indeed is tawny.

Sebastian.

With an eye of green in ’t.

Antonio.

He misses not much.

Sebastian.

No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

Gonzalo.

But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit,—

Sebastian.

As many vouched rarities are.

Gonzalo.

That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water.

Antonio.

If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies?

Sebastian.

Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.

Gonzalo.

Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king’s fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.

Sebastian.

’Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

Adrian.

Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen.

Gonzalo.

Not since widow Dido’s time.

Sebastian.

What if he had said “widower Æneas” too? Good Lord, how you take it!

Adrian.

“Widow Dido” said you? you make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

Gonzalo.

This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

Antonio.

Widow! a pox o’ that! How came that widow in? widow Dido!

Adrian.

Carthage?

Gonzalo.

I assure you, Carthage.

8

For every trifle are they set upon me

II. ii. 8.

Sebastian.

His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath raised the wall and houses too.

Antonio.

What impossible matter will he make easy next?

Sebastian.

I think he will carry this island home in his pocket and give it his son for an apple.

Antonio.

And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.

Gonzalo.

Ay.

Antonio.

Why, in good time.

Gonzalo.

Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen.

Antonio.

And the rarest that e’er came there.

Sebastian.

Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

Antonio.

O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido.

Gonzalo.

Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.

Antonio.

That sort was well fished for.

Gonzalo.

When I wore it at your daughter’s marriage?

Alonso.

You cram these words into mine ears againstThe stomach of my sense. Would I had neverMarried my daughter there! for, coming thence,My son is lost and, in my rate, she too,Who is so far from Italy removedI ne’er again shall see her. O thou mine heirOf Naples and of Milan, what strange fishHath made his meal on thee?

Francisco.

Hath made his meal on thee? ‍Sir, he may live:I saw him beat the surges under him,And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,Whose enmity he flung aside, and breastedThe surge most swoln that met him: his bold head‘Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar’dHimself with his good arms in lusty strokeTo the shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bow’d,As stooping to relieve him: I not doubtHe came alive to land.

Alonso.

He came alive to land. ‍No, no, he’s gone.

Sebastian.

Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,But rather lose her to an African;Where she at least is banish’d from your eye,Who hath cause to wet the grief on ’t.

Alonso.

Who hath cause to wet the grief on ’t. ‍Prithee, peace.

Sebastian.

You were kneel’d to and importuned otherwiseBy all of us, and the fair sout herselfWeigh’d, between loathness and obedience, atWhich end 0’ the beam should bow. We have lost your son,I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples haveMore widows in them of this business’ makingThan we bring men to comfort them:The fault ’s your own.

Alonso.

The fault ’s your own. ‍So is the dear’st o’ the loss.

Gonzalo.

My lord Sebastian,The truth you speak doth lack some gentlenessAnd time to speak it in: you rub the sore,When you should bring the plaster.

Sebastian.

When you should bring the plaster. ‍Very well.

Antonio.

And most chirurgeonly.

Gonzalo.

It is foul weather in us all, good sir,When you are cloudy.

Sebastian.

When you are cloudy. ‍Foul weather?

Antonio.

When you are cloudy. Foul weather? ‍Very foul.

Gonzalo.

Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,

Antonio.

He ’ld sow ’t with nettle-seed.

Sebastian.

He ’ld sow ’t with nettle-seed. ‍Or docks, or mallows.

Gonzalo.

And were the king on ’t, what would I do?

Sebastian.

’Scape being drunk for want of wine.

Gonzalo.

I’ the commonwealth I would by contrariesExecute all things; for no kind of trafficWould I admit: no name of magistrate;Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,And use of service, none; contract, succession,Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;

No occupation; all men idle, all;And women too, but innocent and pure;No sovereignty;—

Sebastian.

No sovereignty;— ‍Yet he would be king on ’t.

Antonio.

The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning.

Gonzalo.

All things in common nature should produceWithout sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,To feed my innocent people.

Sebastian.

No marrying ’mong his subjects?

Antonio.

None, man; all idle: whores and knaves.

Gonzalo.

I would with such perfection govern, sir,To excel the golden age.

Sebastian.

To excel the golden age ‍God save his majesty!

Antonio.

Long live Gonzalo!

Gonzalo.

Long live Gonzalo! ‍And,—do you mark me, sir?

Alonso.

Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

Gonzalo.

I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing.

Antonio.

’Twas you we laughed at.

Gonzalo.

Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you: so you may continue and laugh at nothing still.

Antonio.

What a blow was there given!

Sebastian.

An it had not fallen flat-long.

Gonzalo.

You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing.

Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music.

Sebastian.

We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.

9

I’ll kiss thy foot: I’ll swear myself thy subject

II. ii. 153.

Antonio.

Nay, good my lord, be not angry.

Gonzalo.

No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?

Antonio.

Go sleep, and hear us.

[All sleep except Alonso, Sebastian, and Antonio.

Alonso.

What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I findThey are inclined to do so.

Sebastian.

They are inclined to do so. ‍Please you, sir,Do not omit the heavy offer of it:It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,It is a comforter.

Antonio.

It is a comforter. ‍We two, my lord,Will guard your person while you take your rest,And watch your safety.

Alonso.

And watch your safety. ‍Thank you. Wondrous heavy.

[Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel.

Sebastian.

What a strange drowsiness possesses them!

Antonio.

It is the quality o’ the climate.

Sebastian.

It is the quality o’ the climate. ‍WhyDoth it not then our eyelids sink? I find notMyself disposed to sleep.

Antonio.

Myself disposed to sleep. ‍Nor I; my spirits are nimble.They fell together all, as by consent;They dropp’d, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,Worthy Sebastian? O, what might?—No more:—And yet me thinks I see it in thy face,What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee, andMy strong imagination sees a crownDropping upon thy head.

Sebastian.

Dropping upon thy head. ‍What, art thou waking?

Antonio.

Do you not hear me speak?

Sebastian.

Do you not hear me speak? ‍I do; and surelyIt is a sleepy language, and thou speak’stOut of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?This is a strange repose, to be asleepWith eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,And yet so fast asleep.

Antonio.

And yet so fast asleep. ‍Noble Sebastian,

Thou let’st thy fortune sleep—die, rather; wink’stWhiles thou art waking.

Sebastian.

Whiles thou art waking. ‍Thou dost snore distinctly;There ’s meaning in thy snores.

Antonio.

I am more serious than my custom: youMust be so too, if heed me; which to doTrebles thee o’er.

Sebastian.

Trebles thee o’er. ‍Well, I am standing water.

Antonio.

I ’ll teach you how to flow.

Sebastian.

I ’ll teach you how to flow. ‍Do so: to ebbHereditary sloth instructs me.

Antonio.

Hereditary sloth instructs me. ‍O,If you but knew how you the purpose cherishWhiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed,Most often do so near the bottom runBy their own fear or sloth.

Sebastian.

By their own fear or sloth. ‍Prithee, say on:The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaimA matter from thee, and a birth indeedWhich throes thee much to yield.

Antonio.

Which throes thee much to yield. ‍Thus, sir:Although this lord of weak remembrance, this,Who shall be of as little memoryWhen he is earth’d, hath here almost persuaded,—For he ’s a spirit of persuasion, onlyProfesses to persuade,—the king his son ’s alive,’Tis as impossible that he ’s undrown’dAs he that sleeps here swims.

Sebastian.

As he that sleeps here swims. ‍I have no hopeThat he ’s undrown’d.

Antonio.

That he ’s undrown’d. ‍O, out of that “no hope”What great hope have you! no hope that way isAnother way so high a hope that evenAmbition cannot pierce a wink beyond,But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with meThat Ferdinand is drown’d?

Sebastian.

That Ferdinand is drown’d? ‍He ’s gone.

Antonio.

That Ferdinand is drown’d? }He ’s gone. ‍Then, tell me,Who’s the next heir of Naples.

Sebastian.

Who’s the next heir of Naples. ‍Claribel.

Antonio.

She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells

Ten leagues beyond man’s life; she that from NaplesCan have no note, unless the sun were post—The man i’ the moon’s too slow—till new-born chinsBe rough and razorable; she that—from whom?We all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again,And by that destiny to perform an actWhereof what ’s past is prologue, what to comeIn yours and my discharge.

Sebastian.

In yours and my discharge. ‍What stuff is this! how say you?’Tis true, my brother’s daughter ’s queen of Tunis;So is she heir of Naples; ’twixt which regionsThere is some space.

Antonio.

There is some space. ‍A space whose every cubitSeems to cry out, “How shall that ClaribelMeasure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,And let Sebastian wake.” Say, this were deathThat now hath seized them; why, they were no worseThan now they are. There be that can rule NaplesAs well as he that sleeps; lords that can prateAs amply and unnecessarilyAs this Gonzalo; I myself could makeA chough of as deep chat. O, that you boreThe mind that I do! what a sleep were thisFor your advancement! Do you understand me?

Sebastian.

Methinks I do.

Antonio.

Methinks I do. ‍And how does your contentTender your own good fortune?

Sebastian.

Tender your own good fortune? ‍I rememberYou did supplant your brother Prospero.

Antonio.

You did supplant your brother Prospero. ‍True;And look how well my garments sit upon me;Much feater than before: my brother’s servantsWere then my fellows; now they are my men.

Sebastian.

But, for your conscience?

Antonio.

Ay, sir: where lies that? if ’twere a kibe,’Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel notThis deity in my bosom: twenty consciences,That stand ’twixt me and Milan, candied be theyAnd melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother,No better than the earth he lies upon,If he were that which now he ’s like, that ’s dead;Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,To the perpetual wink for aye might putThis ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, whoShould not upbraid our course. For all the rest,They ’ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;They ’ll tell the clock to any business thatWe say befits the hour.

Sebastian.

We say befits the hour. ‍Thy case, dear friend,Shall be my precedent; as thou got’st Milan,

10

Alas, now, pray you,
Work not so hard

III. i. 15.

I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one strokeShall free thee from the tribute which thou payest ;And I the king shall love thee.

Antonio.

And I the king shall love thee. ‍Draw together;And when I rear my hand, do you the like.To fall it on Gonzalo.

Sebastian.

To fall it on Gonzalo. ‍O, but one word.[They talk apart.

Re-enter Ariel, invisible.

Ariel.

My master through his art foresees the dangerThat you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth—For else his project dies—to keep them living.

[Sings in Gonzalo’s ear.

While you here do snoring lie,Open-eyed conspiracy His time doth take.If of life you keep a care,Shake off slumber, and beware: Awake, awake!

Antonio.

Then let us both be sudden.

Gonzalo.

Then let us both be sudden. ‍Now, good angels

Preserve the king.[They wake.

Alonso.

Why, how now? ho, awake! Why are you drawn?Wherefore this ghastly looking?

Gonzalo.

Wherefore this ghastly looking? ‍What ’s the matter?

Sebastian.

Whiles we stood here securing your repose,Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowingLike bulls, or rather lions: did ’t not wake you?It struck mine ear most terribly.

Alonso.

It struck mine ear most terribly. ‍I heard nothing.

Antonio.

O, ’twas a din to fright a monster’s ear,To make an earthquake! sure, it was the roarOf a whole herd of lions.

Alonso.

Of a whole herd of lions. ‍Heard you this, Gonzalo?

Gonzalo.

Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,And that a strange one too, which did awake me:I shaked you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes open’d,I saw their weapons drawn: there was a noise,That ’s verily, ’Tis best we stand upon our guard,Or that we quit this place: let ’s draw our weapons.

Alonso.

Lead off this ground; and let ’s make further searchFor my poor son.

Gonzalo.

For my poor son. ‍Heavens keep him from these beasts!For he is, sure, i’ the island.

Alonso.

For he is, sure, i’ the island. ‍Lead away.

Ariel.

Prospero my lord shall know what I have done:So, king, go safely on to seek thy son.[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Another part of the island.
Enter Caliban with a burden of wood.
A noise of thunder heard.

Caliban.

All the infections that the sun sucks upFrom bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make himBy inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear meAnd yet I needs must curse. But they ’ll nor pinch,Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ the mire,Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the darkOut of my way, unless he bid ’em; butFor every trifle are they set upon me;Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at meAnd after bite me, then like hedgehogs whichLie tumbling in my barefoot way and mountTheir pricks at my footfall; sometime am IAll wound with adders who with cloven tonguesDo hiss me into madness.

Enter Trinculo.

Do hiss me into madness. ‍Lo, now, lo!Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment meFor bringing wood in slowly. I ’ll fall flat;Perchance he will not mind me.

Trinculo.

Here ’s neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i’ the wind: yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of not of the newest Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legged like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm o’ my troth! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thunder] Alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.

Enter Stephano, singing: a bottle in his hand.

Stephano.

I shall no more to sea, to sea,Here shall I die ashore

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral: well, here ’s my comfort. [Drinks.

[Sings.]

The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I, The gunner and his mateLoved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery, But none of us cared for Kate;

For she had a tongue with a tang,Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch,Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch:Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

This is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort. [Drinks

Caliban.

Do not torment me: Oh!

Stephano.

What ’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon ’s with savages and men of Ind, ha? I have not ’scaped drowning to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so again while Stephano breathes at ’s nostrils.

Caliban.

The spirit torments me; Oh!

Stephano.

This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him and keep him tame and get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat’s-leather.

Caliban.

Do not torment me, prithee; I ’ll bring my wood home faster.

Stephano.

He ’s in his fit now and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go

near to remove his fit. If 1 can recover him and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly.

Caliban.

Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.

Stephano.

Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that which will give language to you, cat: open your mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly: you cannot tell who’s your friend: open your chaps again.

Trinculo.

I should know that voice: it should be—but he is drowned; and these are devils: O defend me!

Stephano.

Four legs and two voices: a most delicate monster! His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. Come, Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth,

Trinculo.

Stephano!

Stephano.

Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon.

Trinculo.

Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me and speak to me; for I am Trinculo—be not afeard—thy good friend Trinculo.

11

The isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not

III. ii. 144.

Stephano.

If thou beest Trinculo, come forth: I'll pull thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo’s legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How camest thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? can he vent Trinculos?

Trinculo.

I took him to be killed with a thunderstroke. But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine for fear of the storm, And art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans ’scaped!

Stephano.

Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant.

Caliban.

[Aside.] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.‘That ’s a brave god and bears celestial liquor.I will kneel to him.

Stephano.

How didst thou ’scape? How camest thou hither? swear by this bottle how thou camest hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack which the sailors heaved o’erboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree with mine own hands since I was cast ashore.

Caliban.

I’! swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject; for the liquor is not earthly.

Stephano.

Here; swear then how thou escapedst.

Trinculo.

Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, Ill be sworn.

Stephano.

Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose.

Trinculo.

O Stephano, hast any more of this?

Stephano.

The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by the seaside where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! how does thine ague?

Caliban.

Hast thou not dropp’d from heaven?

Stephano.

Out o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man i’ the moon when time was.

Caliban.

I have seen thee in her and I do adore thee: My mistress show’d me thee and thy dog and thy bush.

Stephano.

Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furnish it anon with new contents: swear.

Trinculo.

By this good light, this is a very shallow monster! I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The man i’ the moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well drawn, monster, in good sooth!

Caliban.

I ’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ th? island; And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god.

Trinculo.

By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster! when’s god ’s asleep, he ’ll rob his bottle.

Caliban.

I'll kiss thy foot; I ’ll swear myself thy subject.

Stephano.

Come on then; down, and swear.

Trinculo.

I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,—

Stephano.

Come, kiss.

Trinculo.

But that the poor monster ’s in drink: an abominable monster!

Caliban.

I ’ll show thee the best springs; I ’ll pluck thee berries;I ’ll fish for thee and get thee wood enough.A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!I ’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,Thou wondrous man.

Trinculo.

A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!

Caliban.

I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; Show thee a jay’s nest and instruct thee how To snare the nimble marmoset; I ’ll bring theeTo clustering filberts and sometimes I ’ll get theeYoung scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?

Stephano.

I prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the king and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here: here, bear my bottle: fellow Trinculo, we ’ll fill him by and by again.

Caliban.

[Sings drunkenly.]

Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!

Trinculo.

A howling monster; a drunken monster!

Caliban.

No more dams I ’ll make for fish; Nor fetch in firing At requiring;Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish: ’Ban, ’Ban, Cacaliban Has a new master; get a new man.

Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey-day, freedom!

Stephano.

O brave monster! Lead the way. [Exeunt.

12

Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears

III. ii. 146.