(Which to you shall seem probable) of every
These happen'd accidents: till when, be cheerful,
And think of each thing well.-Aside.]-Come
Set Caliban and his companions free:

hither, spirit:

Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my gracious sir? There are yet missing of your company

Some few odd lads, that you remember not.

Enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, in their stolen apparel.

Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself, for all is but fortune.-Coragio, bully-monster, coragio! Trin. If these be true spies that I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight.

Cal. O Setebos! these be brave spirits, indeed. How fine my master is! I am afraid

He will chastise me.

Seb.

Ha, ha!

What things are these, my lord Antonio?
Will money buy them?

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 'em?

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 o' the Isle, sirrah?

Ste. I should have been a sore one then.

Alon. [Pointing to Caliban.] This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on.

Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners

As in his shape. -Go, sirrah, to my cell;

Take with you your companions as you look

To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.

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!

Pro.

Go to; away!

Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. [Exeunt Cal., Ste., and Trin.

Seb. Or stole it, rather.

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,
I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,
Where I have hope to see the nuptial
Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd;
And thence retire me to my Milan, where
Every third thought shall be my grave.
Alon.
I long
To hear the story of your life, which must
Take the ear strangely.

Pro.

I'll deliver all;
And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch
Your royal fleet far off.

My Ariel-chick,
That is thy charge: then, to the elements;
Be free, and fare thou well?

Please you draw near.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY PROSPERO.

}

[Aside.

[Exeunt.

[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 faults.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.]

SCENE.-Sometimes in Verona; sometimes in Milan, and in

a Forest near it.

Act First.

SCENE I.-AN OPEN PLACE IN VERONA.

Enter Valentine and Proteus.

Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus;
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
Were't not, affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.

But since thou lov'dst, love still, and thrive therein,
Even as I would, when I to love begin.

Pro. Wilt thou begone? Sweet Valentine, adieu.
Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
Wish me partaker in thy happiness,

When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
(If ever danger do environ thee,)

Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy beads-man, Valentine.

Val. And on a love-book pray for my success?
Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee.
Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love,
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love;
For he was more than over shoes in love.

Val. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,

And yet you never swam the Hellespont.

Pro. Over the boots! nay, give me not the boots.
Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.

Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;
Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth,
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:

If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain :
If lost, why then a grievous labour won:
However, but a folly bought with wit,

Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

Pro. So, by your circumstance you call me fool.
Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove.
Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.
Val. Love is your master, for he masters you;
And he that is so yoked by a fool,

Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.
Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

Val. And writers say, as the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,

Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure even in the prime,
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
That art a votary to fond desire?

Once more, adieu. My father at the road

Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

Val. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters,

Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
And I likewise will visit thee with mine.

Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan.
Val. As much to you at home; and so, farewell.
Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love;
He leaves his friends to dignify them more;
I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.
Thou, Julia, thou has metamorphos'd me;
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
War with good council, set the world at naught,

Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.

Enter Speed.

Speed. Sir Proteus, 'save you! Saw you my master?
Pro. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.

[Exit.

Speed. Twenty to one, then, he is shipp'd already, and I have play'd the sheep in losing him.

Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray

An if the shepherd be awhile away.

Speed. You conclude, that my master is a shepherd, then, and I a sheep?

Pro. I do.

Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.

Speed. This proves me still a sheep.

Pro. True, and thy master a shepherd.

Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

Pro. It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another.

Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me; therefore, I am no sheep.

Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee; therefore, thou art a sheep. Speed. Such another proof will make me cry "baa."

Pro. But, dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter to Julia? Speed. Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her; and she gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour.

Pro. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best pound you. Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter.

Pro You mistake; I mean the pound, a pinfold.

Speed. From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over, "Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. Pro. But what said she?

Speed. [Nods.] Ay.

Pro. Nod, ay? why, that's noddy.

Speed. You mistook, sir: I say she did nod, and you ask me if she did nod; and I say ay.

Pro. And that set together, is-noddy.1

Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take

it for your pains.

Pro. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.

Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.
Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?

Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having nothing but the word noddy for my pains.

Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

Pro. Come, come; open the matter in brief: what said she? Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the matter, may be both at once delivered.

Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?
Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.

Pro. Why couldst thou perceive so much from her?

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your mind.

Pro. What! said she nothing?

Speed. No, not so much as-"Take this for thy pains." To

1 Fool.