Wilt thou be pleased to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee? As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.
Black Library - Legacy of Caliban
Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou: I would my valiant master would destroy thee! I do not lie. I say, by sorcery he got this isle; From me he got it. How now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party? Yea, yea, my lord: I'll yield him thee asleep, Where thou mayst knock a nail into his bead. 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.
I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits and bearing too? A pox o' your bottle! A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers! Now, forward with your tale. Prithee, stand farther off. Beat him enough: after a little time I'll beat him too.
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.
Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant. And bring thee forth brave brood. Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. Within this half hour will he be asleep: Wilt thou destroy him then? 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. He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee.
Legacy of Caliban
Mercy upon us! 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.
This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; And as with age his body uglier grows, So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, Even to roaring. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. Good my lord, give me thy favour still.
Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly. All's hush'd as midnight yet. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears for my labour. Prithee, my king, be quiet.
Seest thou here, This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter. Do that good mischief which may make this island Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, For aye thy foot-licker. O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! The dropsy drown this fool I what do you mean To dote thus on such luggage? Let's alone And do the murder first: if he awake, From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches, Make us strange stuff. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest.
I will have none on't: we shall lose our time, And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes With foreheads villanous low.
If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed! How fine my master is! I am afraid He will chastise me. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave, His mother was a witch, and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, And deal in her command without her power.
These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil— For he's a bastard one—had plotted with them To take my life. Two of these fellows you Must know and own; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine. He is as disproportion'd in his manners As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; Take with you your companions; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god And worship this dull fool! Return to the "Tempest" menu.
All texts are public domain. Act, Scene, Line Click to see in context. Speech text. A noise of] thunder heard] Caliban. Do not torment me: Oh! The spirit torments me; Oh! Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven? I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy subject. A howling monster: a drunken monster! Lo, how he mocks me! Lo, lo, again! Thou liest. Mum, then, and no more. That's most certain.
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Thou shalt be lord of it and I'll serve thee. Thou liest; thou canst not. Ha, ha, ha! Stand farther.