ACT II. SCENE 1  Another part of the island  Enter 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 escape     Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe     Is common; every day, some sailor's wife,     The masters of some merchant, and the merchant,     Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,     I mean our preservation, few in millions     Can speak like us. Then wisely, good sir, weigh     Our sorrow with our comfort.   ALONSO. 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 th' entertainer-   SEBASTIAN. A dollar.   GONZALO. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken     truer than you purpos'd.   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 cock'rel.   SEBASTIAN. Done. The wager?   ANTONIO. A laughter.   SEBASTIAN. A match!   ADRIAN. Though this island seem to be desert-   ANTONIO. Ha, ha, ha!   SEBASTIAN. 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     deliver'd.   ADRIAN. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.   SEBASTIAN. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.   ANTONIO. Or, as 'twere perfum'd 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 vouch'd rarities are.   GONZALO. That our garments, being, as they were, drench'd     in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and     glosses, being rather new-dy'd, than stain'd 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 grac'd before with such a paragon     to their queen.   GONZALO. Not since widow Dido's time.   ANTONIO. Widow! a pox o' that! How came that 'widow'     in? Widow Dido!   SEBASTIAN. What if he had said 'widower Aeneas' 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.   ADRIAN. Carthage?   GONZALO. I assure you, Carthage.   ANTONIO. His word is more than the miraculous harp.   SEBASTIAN. He hath rais'd 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 fish'd for.   GONZALO. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?   ALONSO. You cram these words into mine ears against     The stomach of my sense. Would I had never     Married my daughter there; for, coming thence,     My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,     Who is so far from Italy removed     I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir     Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish     Hath made his meal on thee?   FRANCISCO. 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 breasted     The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head     'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared     Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke     To th' shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bowed,     As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt     He came alive to land.   ALONSO. 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. Prithee, peace.   SEBASTIAN. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise     By all of us; and the fair soul herself     Weigh'd between loathness and obedience at     Which end o' th' beam should bow. We have lost your son,     I fear, for ever. Milan and Naples have     Moe widows in them of this business' making,     Than we bring men to comfort them;     The fault's your own.   ALONSO. So is the dear'st o' th' loss.   GONZALO. My lord Sebastian,     The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,     And time to speak it in; you rub the sore,     When you should bring the plaster.   SEBASTIAN. Very well.   ANTONIO. And most chirurgeonly.   GONZALO. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,     When you are cloudy.   SEBASTIAN. Foul weather?   ANTONIO. Very foul.   GONZALO. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord-   ANTONIO. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed.   SEBASTIAN. 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' th' commonwealth I would by contraries     Execute all things; for no kind of traffic     Would 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. Yet he would be king on't.   ANTONIO. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the     beginning.   GONZALO. All things in common nature should produce     Without sweat or endeavour. Treason, felony,     Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,     Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,     Of it 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,     T' excel the golden age.   SEBASTIAN. Save his Majesty!   ANTONIO. Long live Gonzalo!   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 laugh'd 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 fall'n 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.   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 but ALONSO, SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO]   ALONSO. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes     Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts; I find     They are inclin'd to do so.   SEBASTIAN. Please you, sir,     Do not omit the heavy offer of it:     It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,     It is a comforter.   ANTONIO. We two, my lord,     Will guard your person while you take your rest,     And watch your safety.   ALONSO. Thank you-wondrous heavy!                                      [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL]   SEBASTIAN. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!   ANTONIO. It is the quality o' th' climate.   SEBASTIAN. Why     Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not     Myself dispos'd to sleep.   ANTONIO. 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 methinks I see it in thy face,     What thou shouldst be; th' occasion speaks thee; and     My strong imagination sees a crown     Dropping upon thy head.   SEBASTIAN. What, art thou waking?   ANTONIO. Do you not hear me speak?   SEBASTIAN. I do; and surely     It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st     Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?     This is a strange repose, to be asleep     With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,     And yet so fast asleep.   ANTONIO. Noble Sebastian,     Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st     Whiles thou art waking.   SEBASTIAN. Thou dost snore distinctly;     There's meaning in thy snores.   ANTONIO. I am more serious than my custom; you     Must be so too, if heed me; which to do     Trebles thee o'er.   SEBASTIAN. Well, I am standing water.   ANTONIO. I'll teach you how to flow.   SEBASTIAN. Do so: to ebb,     Hereditary sloth instructs me.   ANTONIO. O,     If you but knew how you the purpose cherish,     Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,     You more invest it! Ebbing men indeed,     Most often, do so near the bottom run     By their own fear or sloth.   SEBASTIAN. Prithee say on.     The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim     A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed,     Which throes thee much to yield.   ANTONIO. Thus, sir:     Although this lord of weak remembrance, this     Who shall be of as little memory     When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded-     For he's a spirit of persuasion, only     Professes to persuade-the King his son's alive,     'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd     As he that sleeps here swims.   SEBASTIAN. I have no hope     That he's undrown'd.   ANTONIO. O, out of that 'no hope'     What great hope have you! No hope that way is     Another way so high a hope, that even     Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,     But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me     That Ferdinand is drown'd?   SEBASTIAN. He's gone.   ANTONIO. Then tell me,     Who's the next heir of Naples?   SEBASTIAN. Claribel.   ANTONIO. She that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells     Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples     Can have no note, unless the sun were post,     The Man i' th' Moon's too slow, till newborn chins     Be rough and razorable; she that from whom     We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again,     And by that destiny, to perform an act     Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come     In yours and my discharge.   SEBASTIAN. 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 regions     There is some space.   ANTONIO. A space whose ev'ry cubit     Seems to cry out 'How shall that Claribel     Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,     And let Sebastian wake.' Say this were death     That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse     Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples     As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate     As amply and unnecessarily     As this Gonzalo; I myself could make     A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore     The mind that I do! What a sleep were this     For your advancement! Do you understand me?   SEBASTIAN. Methinks I do.   ANTONIO. And how does your content     Tender your own good fortune?   SEBASTIAN. I remember     You did supplant your brother Prospero.   ANTONIO. True.     And look how well my garments sit upon me,     Much feater than before. My brother's servants     Were 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 not     This deity in my bosom; twenty consciences     That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they     And 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 put     This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who     Should 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 that     We say befits the hour.   SEBASTIAN. Thy case, dear friend,     Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan,     I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword. One stroke     Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest;     And I the King shall love thee.   ANTONIO. Draw together;     And when I rear my hand, do you the like,     To fall it on Gonzalo.   SEBASTIAN. O, but one word.                  [They talk apart]            Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, with music and song    ARIEL. My master through his art foresees the danger     That 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-ey'd 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. Now, good angels     Preserve the King!                               [They wake]   ALONSO. Why, how now?-Ho, awake!-Why are you drawn?     Wherefore this ghastly looking?   GONZALO. What's the matter?   SEBASTIAN. Whiles we stood here securing your repose,     Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing     Like bulls, or rather lions; did't not wake you?     It struck mine ear most terribly.   ALONSO. I heard nothing.   ANTONIO. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear,     To make an earthquake! Sure it was the roar     Of a whole herd of lions.   ALONSO. Heard you this, Gonzalo?   GONZALO. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,     And that a strange one too, which did awake me;     I shak'd 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     search     For my poor son.   GONZALO. Heavens keep him from these beasts!     For he is, sure, i' th' island.   ALONSO. Lead away.   ARIEL. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done;     So, King, go safely on to seek thy son.               Exeunt     SCENE 2  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 up     From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him     By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,     And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch,     Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' th' mire,     Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark     Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but     For every trifle are they set upon me;     Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me,     And after bite me; then like hedgehogs which     Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount     Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I     All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues     Do hiss me into madness.                           Enter TRINCULO      Lo, now, lo!     Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me     For 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' th' 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; 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. Legg'd 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     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]      The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,     The gunner, and his mate,     Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,     But none of us car'd for Kate;     For she had a tongue with a tang,     Would cry to a sailor 'Go hang!'     She lov'd 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. O!   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 scap'd 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     nostrils.   CALIBAN. The spirit torments me. O!   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     I 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     drown'd; 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.   STEPHANO. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth; I'll pull     the by the lesser legs; if any be Trinculo's legs, these     are they. Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How cam'st thou     to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent     Trinculos?   TRINCULO. I took him to be kill'd with a thunderstroke.     But art thou not drown'd, Stephano? I hope now thou are     not drown'd. 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     scap'd!   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 cam'st thou hither?     Swear by this bottle how thou cam'st hither-I escap'd     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'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true     subject, for the liquor is not earthly.   STEPHANO. Here; swear then how thou escap'dst.   TRINCULO. Swum ashore, man, like a duck; I can swim like     a duck, I'll be sworn.   STEPHANO.  [Passing the bottle]  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     th' 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' th' moon, I do assure thee; I was the Man     i' th' 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.                                                 [CALIBAN drinks]   TRINCULO. By this good light, this is a very shallow     monster!     I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The Man i' th'     Moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well drawn,     monster, in good sooth!   CALIBAN. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island;     and 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 thee     To clust'ring filberts, and sometimes I'll get thee     Young 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 drown'd, 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 trenchering, nor wash dish.     'Ban 'Ban, Ca-Caliban,     Has a new master-Get a new man.     Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom, high-     day, freedom!   STEPHANO. O brave monster! Lead the way.                Exeunt