THE TEMPEST. Уильям Шекспир

PROSPERO.

       Of the King’s ship

       The mariners, say how thou hast dispos’d,

       And all the rest o’ th’ fleet?

       ARIEL.

       Safely in harbour

       Is the King’s ship; in the deep nook, where once

       Thou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew

       From the still-vex’d Bermoothes; there she’s hid:

       The mariners all under hatches stowed;

       Who, with a charm join’d to their suff’red labour,

       I have left asleep: and for the rest o’ th’ fleet

       Which I dispers’d, they all have met again,

       And are upon the Mediterranean flote

       Bound sadly home for Naples,

       Supposing that they saw the king’s ship wrack’d,

       And his great person perish.

       PROSPERO.

       Ariel, thy charge

       Exactly is perform’d; but there’s more work:

       What is the time o’ th’ day?

       ARIEL.

       Past the mid season.

       PROSPERO.

       At least two glasses. The time ‘twixt six and now

       Must by us both be spent most preciously.

       ARIEL.

       Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,

       Let me remember thee what thou hast promis’d,

       Which is not yet perform’d me.

       PROSPERO.

       How now! moody?

       What is’t thou canst demand?

       ARIEL.

       My liberty.

       PROSPERO.

       Before the time be out! No more!

       ARIEL.

       I prithee,

       Remember I have done thee worthy service;

       Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv’d

       Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise

       To bate me a full year.

       PROSPERO.

       Dost thou forget

       From what a torment I did free thee?

       ARIEL.

       No.

       PROSPERO.

       Thou dost; and think’st it much to tread the ooze

       Of the salt deep,

       To run upon the sharp wind of the north,

       To do me business in the veins o’ th’ earth

       When it is bak’d with frost.

       ARIEL.

       I do not, sir.

       PROSPERO.

       Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot

       The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy

       Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?

       ARIEL.

       No, sir.

       PROSPERO.

       Thou hast. Where was she born?

       Speak; tell me.

       ARIEL.

       Sir, in Argier.

       PROSPERO.

       O! was she so? I must

       Once in a month recount what thou hast been,

       Which thou forget’st. This damn’d witch Sycorax,

       For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible

       To enter human hearing, from Argier,

       Thou know’st,was banish’d: for one thing she did

       They would not take her life. Is not this true?

       ARIEL.

       Ay, sir.

       PROSPERO.

       This blue-ey’d hag was hither brought with child,

       And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,

       As thou report’st thyself, wast then her servant:

       And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate

       To act her earthy and abhorr’d commands,

       Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,

       By help of her more potent ministers,

       And in her most unmitigable rage,

       Into a cloven pine; within which rift

       Imprison’d, thou didst painfully remain

       A dozen years; within which space she died,

       And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans

       As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island—

       Save for the son that she did litter here,

       A freckl’d whelp, hag-born—not honour’d with

       A human shape.

       ARIEL.

       Yes; Caliban her son.

       PROSPERO.

       Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban,

       Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st

       What torment I did find thee in; thy groans

       Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts

       Of ever-angry bears: it was a torment

       To lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax

       Could not again undo; it was mine art,

       When I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gape

       The pine, and let thee out.

       ARIEL.

       I thank thee, master.

       PROSPERO.

       If thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak

       And peg thee in his knotty entrails till

       Thou hast howl’d away twelve winters.

       ARIEL.

       Pardon, master:

       I will be correspondent to command,

       And do my spriting gently.

       PROSPERO.

       Do so; and after two days

       I will discharge thee.

       ARIEL.

       That’s my noble master!

       What shall I do? Say what? What shall I do?

       PROSPERO.

       Go make thyself like a nymph o’ th’ sea: be subject

       To no sight but thine and mine; invisible

       To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape,

       And hither come in ‘t: go, hence with diligence!

       [Exit ARIEL]

       Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;

       Awake!

       MIRANDA.

       [Waking] The strangeness of your story put

       Heaviness in me.

       PROSPERO.

       Shake it off. Come on;