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’ the 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.

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.

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; 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. 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.

_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.

_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.

Do not torment me: O!

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.

The spirit torments me: O!

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.

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

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.

Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon,

I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.

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. [_gives Caliban a drink_] You cannot

tell who’s your friend: open your chaps again.

I should know that voice: it should be—but he is drowned; and these are

devils. O, defend me!

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.

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.

Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am

Trinculo—be not afeared—thy good friend Trinculo.

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 cam’st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent

Trinculos?

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!

Prithee, do not turn me about. My stomach is not constant.

[_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.

How didst thou scape? How cam’st thou hither? Swear by this bottle how

thou cam’st 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.

I’ll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject, for the liquor is

not earthly.

Here. Swear then how thou escapedst.

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

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

like a goose.

O Stephano, hast any more of this?

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?

Hast thou not dropped from heaven?

Out o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the Man in the Moon, when time

was.

I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress showed me

thee, and thy dog, and thy bush.

Come, swear to that. Kiss the book. I will furnish it anon with new

contents. Swear.

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!

I’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ the island; and I will kiss thy

foot. I prithee, be my god.

By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster. When ’s god’s

asleep, he’ll rob his bottle.

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

Come on, then; down, and swear.

I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most

scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,—

Come, kiss.

But that the poor monster’s in drink. An abominable monster!

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.

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

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 clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee

Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?

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.

[_Sings drunkenly._] _Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!_

A howling monster, a drunken monster.

_No more dams I’ll make for fish;

Nor fetch in firing

At requiring,

Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish;

’Ban ’Ban, Cacaliban,

Has a new master—Get a new man._

Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom,

high-day, freedom!

O brave monster! lead the way.