Kitabı oku: «The Tempest», sayfa 2

 
    Heaviness in me.
  PROSPERO. Shake it off. Come on,
    We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never
    Yields us kind answer.
  MIRANDA. 'Tis a villain, sir,
    I do not love to look on.
  PROSPERO. But as 'tis,
    We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
    Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices
    That profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban!
    Thou earth, thou! Speak.
  CALIBAN. [ Within] There's wood enough within.
  PROSPERO. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee.
    Come, thou tortoise! when?
 

Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph

 
    Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
    Hark in thine ear.
  ARIEL. My lord, it shall be done. Exit
  PROSPERO. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
    Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!
 

Enter CALIBAN

 
  CALIBAN. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
    With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
    Drop on you both! A south-west blow on ye
    And blister you all o'er!
  PROSPERO. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
    Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins
    Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
    All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd
    As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
    Than bees that made 'em.
  CALIBAN. I must eat my dinner.
    This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
    Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st first,
    Thou strok'st me and made much of me, wouldst give me
    Water with berries in't, and teach me how
    To name the bigger light, and how the less,
    That burn by day and night; and then I lov'd thee,
    And show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle,
    The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile.
    Curs'd be I that did so! All the charms
    Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
    For I am all the subjects that you have,
    Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me
    In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
    The rest o' th' island.
  PROSPERO. Thou most lying slave,
    Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us'd thee,
    Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodg'd thee
    In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
    The honour of my child.
  CALIBAN. O ho, O ho! Would't had been done.
    Thou didst prevent me; I had peopl'd else
    This isle with Calibans.
  MIRANDA. Abhorred slave,
    Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
    Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
    Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
    One thing or other. When thou didst not, savage,
    Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
    A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
    With words that made them known. But thy vile race,
    Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures
    Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
    Deservedly confin'd into this rock, who hadst
    Deserv'd more than a prison.
  CALIBAN. You taught me language, and my profit on't
    Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you
    For learning me your language!
  PROSPERO. Hag-seed, hence!
    Fetch us in fuel. And be quick, thou 'rt best,
    To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice?
    If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly
    What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
    Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,
    That beasts shall tremble at thy din.
  CALIBAN. No, pray thee.
    [Aside] I must obey. His art is of such pow'r,
    It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
    And make a vassal of him.
  PROSPERO. So, slave; hence! Exit CALIBAN
 

Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing ad singing; FERDINAND following

ARIEL'S SONG

 
            Come unto these yellow sands,
              And then take hands;
            Curtsied when you have and kiss'd,
              The wild waves whist,
            Foot it featly here and there,
            And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
              Hark, hark!
            [Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.]
              The watch dogs bark.
            [Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.]
              Hark, hark! I hear
            The strain of strutting chanticleer
              Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.
  FERDINAND. Where should this music be? I' th' air or th'
    earth?
    It sounds no more; and sure it waits upon
    Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank,
    Weeping again the King my father's wreck,
    This music crept by me upon the waters,
    Allaying both their fury and my passion
    With its sweet air; thence I have follow'd it,
    Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone.
    No, it begins again.
 

ARIEL'S SONG

 
         Full fathom five thy father lies;
           Of his bones are coral made;
         Those are pearls that were his eyes;
           Nothing of him that doth fade
         But doth suffer a sea-change
         Into something rich and strange.
         Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
           [Burden: Ding-dong.]
         Hark! now I hear them-Ding-dong bell.
 
 
  FERDINAND. The ditty does remember my drown'd father.
    This is no mortal business, nor no sound
    That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.
  PROSPERO. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,
    And say what thou seest yond.
  MIRANDA. What is't? a spirit?
    Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
    It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.
  PROSPERO. No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses
    As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest
    Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd
    With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him
    A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows,
    And strays about to find 'em.
  MIRANDA. I might call him
    A thing divine; for nothing natural
    I ever saw so noble.
  PROSPERO. [Aside] It goes on, I see,
    As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee
    Within two days for this.
  FERDINAND. Most sure, the goddess
    On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my pray'r
    May know if you remain upon this island;
    And that you will some good instruction give
    How I may bear me here. My prime request,
    Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
    If you be maid or no?
  MIRANDA. No wonder, sir;
    But certainly a maid.
  FERDINAND. My language? Heavens!
    I am the best of them that speak this speech,
    Were I but where 'tis spoken.
  PROSPERO. How? the best?
    What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?
  FERDINAND. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
    To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;
    And that he does I weep. Myself am Naples,
    Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld
    The King my father wreck'd.
  MIRANDA. Alack, for mercy!
  FERDINAND. Yes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan
    And his brave son being twain.
  PROSPERO. [Aside] The Duke of Milan
    And his more braver daughter could control thee,
    If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight
    They have chang'd eyes. Delicate Ariel,
    I'll set thee free for this. [To FERDINAND] A word, good
    sir;
    I fear you have done yourself some wrong; a word.
  MIRANDA. Why speaks my father so ungently? This
    Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first
    That e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father
    To be inclin'd my way!
  FERDINAND. O, if a virgin,
    And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
    The Queen of Naples.
  PROSPERO. Soft, Sir! one word more.
    [Aside] They are both in either's pow'rs; but this swift
    busines
    I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
    Make the prize light. [To FERDINAND] One word more; I
    charge thee
    That thou attend me; thou dost here usurp
    The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself
    Upon this island as a spy, to win it
    From me, the lord on't.
  FERDINAND. No, as I am a man.
  MIRANDA. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple.
    If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
    Good things will strive to dwell with't.
  PROSPERO. Follow me.
    Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come;
    I'll manacle thy neck and feet together.
    Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
    The fresh-brook mussels, wither'd roots, and husks
    Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.
  FERDINAND. No;
    I will resist such entertainment till
    Mine enemy has more power.
                          [He draws, and is charmed from moving]
  MIRANDA. O dear father,
    Make not too rash a trial of him, for
    He's gentle, and not fearful.
  PROSPERO. What, I say,
    My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
    Who mak'st a show but dar'st not strike, thy conscience
    Is so possess'd with guilt. Come from thy ward;
    For I can here disarm thee with this stick
    And make thy weapon drop.
  MIRANDA. Beseech you, father!
  PROSPERO. Hence! Hang not on my garments.
  MIRANDA. Sir, have pity;
    I'll be his surety.
  PROSPERO. Silence! One word more
    Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!
    An advocate for an impostor! hush!
    Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he,
    Having seen but him and Caliban. Foolish wench!
    To th' most of men this is a Caliban,
    And they to him are angels.
  MIRANDA. My affections
    Are then most humble; I have no ambition
    To see a goodlier man.
  PROSPERO. Come on; obey.
    Thy nerves are in their infancy again,
    And have no vigour in them.
  FERDINAND. So they are;
    My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
    My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
    The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats
    To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to me,
    Might I but through my prison once a day
    Behold this maid. All corners else o' th' earth
    Let liberty make use of; space enough
    Have I in such a prison.
  PROSPERO. [Aside] It works. [To FERDINAND] Come on. -
    Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To FERDINAND] Follow
    me.
    [To ARIEL] Hark what thou else shalt do me.
  MIRANDA. Be of comfort;
    My father's of a better nature, sir,
    Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted
    Which now came from him.
  PROSPERO. [To ARIEL] Thou shalt be as free
    As mountain winds; but then exactly do
    All points of my command.
  ARIEL. To th' syllable.
  PROSPERO. [To FERDINAND] Come, follow. [To MIRANDA]
    Speak not for him. Exeunt
 

ACT II. SCENE 1

Another part of the island

Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and OTHERS

 
  GONZALO. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,
    So have we all, of joy; for our escape
    Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
    Is common; every day, some sailor's wife,
    The masters of some merchant, and the merchant,
    Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
    I mean our preservation, few in millions
    Can speak like us. Then wisely, good sir, weigh
    Our sorrow with our comfort.
  ALONSO. Prithee, peace.
  SEBASTIAN. He receives comfort like cold porridge.
  ANTONIO. The visitor will not give him o'er so.
  SEBASTIAN. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; by
    and by it will strike.
  GONZALO. Sir-
  SEBASTIAN. One-Tell.
  GONZALO. When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd,
    Comes to th' entertainer-
  SEBASTIAN. A dollar.
  GONZALO. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken
    truer than you purpos'd.
  SEBASTIAN. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you
    should.
  GONZALO. Therefore, my lord-
  ANTONIO. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!
  ALONSO. I prithee, spare.
  GONZALO. Well, I have done; but yet-
  SEBASTIAN. He will be talking.
  ANTONIO. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first
    begins to crow?
  SEBASTIAN. The old cock.
  ANTONIO. The cock'rel.
  SEBASTIAN. Done. The wager?
  ANTONIO. A laughter.
  SEBASTIAN. A match!
  ADRIAN. Though this island seem to be desert-
  ANTONIO. Ha, ha, ha!
  SEBASTIAN. So, you're paid.
  ADRIAN. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible-
  SEBASTIAN. Yet-
  ADRIAN. Yet-
  ANTONIO. He could not miss't.
  ADRIAN. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate
    temperance.
  ANTONIO. Temperance was a delicate wench.
  SEBASTIAN. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly
    deliver'd.
  ADRIAN. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
  SEBASTIAN. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
  ANTONIO. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a fen.
  GONZALO. Here is everything advantageous to life.
  ANTONIO. True; save means to live.
  SEBASTIAN. Of that there's none, or little.
  GONZALO. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!
  ANTONIO. The ground indeed is tawny.
  SEBASTIAN. With an eye of green in't.
  ANTONIO. He misses not much.
  SEBASTIAN. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.
  GONZALO. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost
    beyond credit-
  SEBASTIAN. As many vouch'd rarities are.
  GONZALO. That our garments, being, as they were, drench'd
    in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and
    glosses, being rather new-dy'd, than stain'd with salt
    water.
  ANTONIO. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it
    not say he lies?
  SEBASTIAN. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.
  GONZALO. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when
    we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the
    King's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.
  SEBASTIAN. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in
    our return.
  ADRIAN. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon
    to their queen.
  GONZALO. Not since widow Dido's time.
  ANTONIO. Widow! a pox o' that! How came that 'widow'
    in? Widow Dido!
  SEBASTIAN. What if he had said 'widower Aeneas' too?
    Good Lord, how you take it!
  ADRIAN. 'Widow Dido' said you? You make me study of
    that. She was of Carthage, not of Tunis.
  GONZALO. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.
  ADRIAN. Carthage?
  GONZALO. I assure you, Carthage.
  ANTONIO. His word is more than the miraculous harp.
  SEBASTIAN. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.
  ANTONIO. What impossible matter will he make easy next?
  SEBASTIAN. I think he will carry this island home in his
    pocket, and give it his son for an apple.
  ANTONIO. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring
    forth more islands.
  GONZALO. Ay.
  ANTONIO. Why, in good time.
  GONZALO. Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now
    as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of
    your daughter, who is now Queen.
  ANTONIO. And the rarest that e'er came there.
  SEBASTIAN. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.
  ANTONIO. O, widow Dido! Ay, widow Dido.
  GONZALO. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I
    wore it? I mean, in a sort.
  ANTONIO. That 'sort' was well fish'd for.
  GONZALO. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?
  ALONSO. You cram these words into mine ears against
    The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
    Married my daughter there; for, coming thence,
    My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,
    Who is so far from Italy removed
    I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
    Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
    Hath made his meal on thee?
  FRANCISCO. Sir, he may live;
    I saw him beat the surges under him,
    And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
    Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
    The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head
    'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared
    Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
    To th' shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bowed,
    As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt
    He came alive to land.
  ALONSO. No, no, he's gone.
  SEBASTIAN. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,
    That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,
    But rather lose her to an African;
    Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye,
    Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.
  ALONSO. Prithee, peace.
  SEBASTIAN. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise
    By all of us; and the fair soul herself
    Weigh'd between loathness and obedience at
    Which end o' th' beam should bow. We have lost your son,
    I fear, for ever. Milan and Naples have
    Moe widows in them of this business' making,
    Than we bring men to comfort them;
    The fault's your own.
  ALONSO. So is the dear'st o' th' loss.
  GONZALO. My lord Sebastian,
    The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,
    And time to speak it in; you rub the sore,
    When you should bring the plaster.
  SEBASTIAN. Very well.
  ANTONIO. And most chirurgeonly.
  GONZALO. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
    When you are cloudy.
  SEBASTIAN. Foul weather?
  ANTONIO. Very foul.
  GONZALO. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord-
  ANTONIO. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed.
  SEBASTIAN. Or docks, or mallows.
  GONZALO. And were the king on't, what would I do?
  SEBASTIAN. Scape being drunk for want of wine.
  GONZALO. I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries
    Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
    Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
    Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
    And use of service, none; contract, succession,
    Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
    No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
    No occupation; all men idle, all;
    And women too, but innocent and pure;
    No sovereignty-
  SEBASTIAN. Yet he would be king on't.
  ANTONIO. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
    beginning.
  GONZALO. All things in common nature should produce
    Without sweat or endeavour. Treason, felony,
    Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
    Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
    Of it own kind, all foison, all abundance,
    To feed my innocent people.
  SEBASTIAN. No marrying 'mong his subjects?
  ANTONIO. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves.
  GONZALO. I would with such perfection govern, sir,
    T' excel the golden age.
  SEBASTIAN. Save his Majesty!
  ANTONIO. Long live Gonzalo!
  GONZALO. And-do you mark me, sir?
  ALONSO. Prithee, no more; thou dost talk nothing to me.
  GONZALO. I do well believe your Highness; and did it to
    minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such
    sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh
    at nothing.
  ANTONIO. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.
  GONZALO. Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to
    you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still.
  ANTONIO. What a blow was there given!
  SEBASTIAN. An it had not fall'n flat-long.
  GONZALO. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would
    lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue
    in it five weeks without changing.
 

Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music

 
  SEBASTIAN. We would so, and then go a-bat-fowling.
  ANTONIO. Nay, good my lord, be not angry.
  GONZALO. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my
    discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am
    very heavy?
  ANTONIO. Go sleep, and hear us.
                   [All sleep but ALONSO, SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO]
  ALONSO. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes
    Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts; I find
    They are inclin'd to do so.
  SEBASTIAN. Please you, sir,
    Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
    It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
    It is a comforter.
  ANTONIO. We two, my lord,
    Will guard your person while you take your rest,
    And watch your safety.
  ALONSO. Thank you-wondrous heavy!
                                     [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL]
  SEBASTIAN. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
  ANTONIO. It is the quality o' th' climate.
  SEBASTIAN. Why
    Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
    Myself dispos'd to sleep.
  ANTONIO. Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
    They fell together all, as by consent;
    They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
    Worthy Sebastian? O, what might! No more!
    And yet methinks I see it in thy face,
    What thou shouldst be; th' occasion speaks thee; and
    My strong imagination sees a crown
    Dropping upon thy head.