SCENE II. Another part of the island.
Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO
Tell not me; when the butt is out, we will drink
water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and
board ’em. Servant-monster, drink to me.
Servant-monster! the folly of this island! They
say there’s but five upon this isle: we are three
of them; if th’ other two be brained like us, the
My man-monster hath drown’d his tongue in sack:
for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I
could recover the shore, five and thirty leagues off
and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant,
monster, or my standard.
Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to
justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed fish thou,
was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much
sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie,
being but half a fish and half a monster?
Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you
prove a mutineer,–the next tree! The poor monster’s
my subject and he shall not suffer indignity.
As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a
sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.
I say, by sorcery he got this isle;
From me he got it. if thy greatness will
Revenge it on him,–for I know thou darest,
But this thing dare not,–
What a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch!
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows
And take his bottle from him: when that’s gone
He shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him
Where the quick freshes are.
Trinculo, run into no further danger:
interrupt the monster one word further, and,
by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors
and make a stock-fish of thee.
I did not give the lie. Out o’ your
wits and bearing too? A pox o’ your bottle!
this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on
your monster, and the devil take your fingers!
Why, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him,
I’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,
Having first seized his books, or with a log
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
First to possess his books; for without them
He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
One spirit to command: they all do hate him
As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.
He has brave utensils,–for so he calls them–
Which when he has a house, he’ll deck withal
And that most deeply to consider is
The beauty of his daughter; he himself
Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman,
But only Sycorax my dam and she;
But she as far surpasseth Sycorax
As great’st does least.
Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and I
will be king and queen–save our graces!–and
Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou
like the plot, Trinculo?
Thou makest me merry; I am full of pleasure:
Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch
You taught me but while-ere?
At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any
reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing.
SingsFlout ’em and scout ’em
And scout ’em and flout ’em
Thought is free.
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then 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.