Free Brick Shakespeare: The Comedies—A Midsummer Night's Dream, The Tempest, Much Ado About Nothing, and The Taming of the Shrew by John McCann, Monica Sweeney, Becky Thomas

lions.

    ALONSO
    Heard you this, Gonzalo?
    GONZALO
    Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,
    And that a strange one too, which did awake me:
    I shaked you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes open’d,
    I saw their weapons drawn: there was a noise,
    That’s verily. ’Tis best we stand upon our guard,
    Or that we quit this place; let’s draw our weapons.

    ALONSO
    Lead off this ground; and let’s make further search
    For my poor son.
    GONZALO
    Heavens keep him from these beasts!
    For he is, sure, i’ the island.
    ALONSO
    Lead away.

    ARIEL
    Prospero my lord shall know what I have done:
    So, king, go safely on to seek thy son.

ACT II. Scene II (1–180).

    C aliban has been sent to collect firewood for Prospero. He meets some interesting new friends.

CALIBAN
    All the infections that the sun sucks up
    From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him
    By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me
    And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,
    Fright me with urchin—shows, pitch me i’ the mire,
    Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
    Out of my way, unless he bid ’em; but
    For every trifle are they set upon me;
    Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me
    And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which
    Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount
    Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I
    All wound with adders who with cloven tongues
    Do hiss me into madness.

    CALIBAN (cont.)
    Lo, now, lo!
    Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
    For bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat;
    Perchance he will not mind me.

    TRINCULO
    Here’s neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing;
    I hear it sing i’ the wind: yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and 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 but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lazy out ten to see a dead Indian. Legged like a man and his fins like arms!

    TRINCULO (cont.)
    Warm o’ my troth! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt.
    Alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabouts: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.

    STEPHANO
    I shall no more to sea, to sea,
    Here shall I die ashore—

    STEPHANO (cont.)
    This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral: well, here’s my comfort.

    STEPHANO (cont.)
    The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,
    The gunner and his mate
    Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery,
    But none of us cared for Kate;
    For she had a tongue with a tang,
    Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
    She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
    Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch:
    Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

    STEPHANO (cont.)
    This is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort.

    CALIBAN
    Do not torment me: Oh!

    STEPHANO
    What’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon’s with savages and men of Ind, ha? I have not scaped drowning to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so again while Stephano breathes at’s nostrils.

    CALIBAN
    The spirit torments me; Oh!

    STEPHANO
    This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language?