Trinculo meets Caliban 2:2 p.81
we here? A man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish:
he smells like a fish. A very ancient 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 would give a piece of silver. There
would make this monster a man. Any strange beast
there makes a man.
Be not afeard 3:2 p. 115
Be not afeard, the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurtnot.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That if I had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
You are three men of sin 3:3 p. 121
You are three men of sin, whom Destiny,
That hath to instrument this lower world
And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea
Has caused to belch up you, and on this island
Where man doth not inhabit, you 'mongst men
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;
And even with such-like valour men hang, and drown
Their proper selves.
Our revels now are ended 4:1 p.143
- You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
- Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
- As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
- Are melted into air, into thin air;
- And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
- The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
- The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
- Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
- And like this insubstantial pagent faded,
- Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
- As dreams are made on, and our little life
- Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vexed;
- Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled.
- Be not disturbed by my infirmity.
- If you be pleased, retire to my cell,
- And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk
- To still my beating mind.
- Now my charms are o-erthrown,
- And what strength I have's mine own,
- Which is most faint. Now, 'tis true
- I must be here confined by you,
- Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
- Since I have my dukedom got,
- And pardoned the deceiver, dwell
- In this bare island by your spell;
- But release me from my bonds
- 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 relieved by prayer,
- Which pierces so, that it assults
- Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
- As you from crimes would pardoned be,
- Let your indulgence set me free.