Cal. You taught me Language, and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse: the red-plague rid you For learning me your language
Pros. Hag-seed, hence: Fetch vs in Fewell, and be quicke thou'rt best To answer other businesse: shrug'st thou (Malice) If thou neglectst, or dost vnwillingly What I command, Ile racke thee with old Crampes, Fill all thy bones with Aches, make thee rore, That beasts shall tremble at thy dyn
Cal. No, 'pray thee. I must obey, his Art is of such pow'r, It would controll my Dams god Setebos, And make a vassaile of him
Pro. So slaue, hence.
Enter Ferdinand & Ariel, inuisible playing & singing.
Ariel Song. Come vnto these yellow sands, and then take hands: Curtsied when you haue, and kist the wilde waues whist: Foote it featly heere, and there, and sweete Sprights beare the burthen.
Harke, harke, bowgh wawgh: the watch-Dogges barke, bowgh-wawgh
Ar. Hark, hark, I heare, the straine of strutting Chanticlere cry cockadidle-dowe
Fer. Where shold this Musick be? I'th aire, or th' earth? It sounds no more: and sure it waytes vpon Some God o'th' Iland, sitting on a banke, Weeping againe the King my Fathers wracke. This Musicke crept by me vpon the waters, Allaying both their fury, and my passion With it's sweet ayre: thence I haue follow'd it (Or it hath drawne me rather) but 'tis gone. No, it begins againe
Ariell Song. Full fadom fiue thy Father lies, Of his bones are Corrall made: Those are pearles that were his eies, Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a Sea-change Into something rich, & strange: Sea-Nimphs hourly ring his knell.
Burthen: ding dong. Harke now I heare them, ding-dong bell
Fer. The Ditty do's remember my drown'd father, This is no mortall busines, nor no sound That the earth owes: I heare it now aboue me
Pro. The fringed Curtaines of thine eye aduance, And say what thou see'st yond
Mira. What is't a Spirit? Lord, how it lookes about: Beleeue me sir, It carries a braue forme. But 'tis a spirit
Pro. No wench, it eats, and sleeps, & hath such senses As we haue: such. This Gallant which thou seest Was in the wracke: and but hee's something stain'd With greefe (that's beauties canker) y might'st call him A goodly person: he hath lost his fellowes, And strayes about to finde 'em