Original Text
*Before Prospero's cell. Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda.* PROSPERO. If I have too austerely punish'd you, Your compensation makes amends; for I Have given you here a third of mine own life, Or that for which I live; who once again I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, Do not smile at me that I boast her off, For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her.
Original Text
PROSPERO. 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-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant 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 vex'd; Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled: Be not disturb'd with my infirmity: If you be pleased, retire into my cell, And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk, To still my beating mind. FERDINAND and MIRANDA. We wish your peace.
Original Text
PROSPERO. 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.
Original Text
CALIBAN. Prithee, my king, be quiet. See'st 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. STEPHANO. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts. TRINCULO. O King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! look what a wardrobe here is for thee! CALIBAN. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.
Original Text
CALIBAN. The dropsy drown this fool! 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.