ACT II

[Now, when the Italian Interlude is concluded, the light—passing to the middle stage—illumines at centre the lone figure of Caliban, where he squats above his cell. Gazing out over the ground-circle, he calls aloud his yearning thoughts:]

CALIBANO Sands—Yellow Sands! Falleth onyouhis rain,Shineth his sun! Yea, there his breeding dewsQuicken your blind rock-seeds, till wondrous live thingsBurst ’em with flame-bright petals; and where his light fallsYou blossom with stars and flowers: But me—me saith,Am mud! Callethmea bubble of black oozeCan breed but only mine own belly-kind—Bog-fish and moles.—Lieth![Rising with a great gesture.]He lieth! ’Tis lies!Sands!—You wild, yellow sands! I, too, I, too,Am born to dance by your eternal wavesAnd build brave temples there. I, too, shall bring youShoutings of life-song, like those Spirits.—Lo,I come to you—I come now![Running down the steps, he rushes out upon the ground-circle,where he stoops on bent knees and kisses the shining earth.Behind him, at the entrance of the cell, Death appears,holding a great gray cloak.He comes forward, speaking in a thin monotone.]DEATHCaliban!CALIBAN[Raising his head.]What calleth me there?DEATHDeath: priest of Setebos.CALIBANHis temple is fallen: will build no more like his.DEATHThou shalt restore his temple, Caliban.CALIBAN[Rising.]Nay,willnot!DEATHNone can say me Nay. I amThe will tonotbe which denies all wills.[Through the Cloudy Curtains—slowly—Prospero enters,in troubled meditation.]CALIBANAnd I am Caliban: [Pointing toward Prospero.]will be his servant.DEATHCaliban, thou shalt fail. Thyself art failure,Setebos’ son.CALIBANMyself am done with Setebos:Wear now Miranda’s cloth.DEATHThou shalt wear mine.Behold!CALIBAN[Looking at the gray cloak.]What’s that?DEATHMy cloak, where thou shalt hideTo snare Miranda unto bondage. Hark![Far, cold, and thin a dirgeful choir sounds from thecell behind the figure of Death.]THE DIRGEGray—gray—gray: Joy be unholy and hidden;Wan be the rainbow of wonder, frozen the tide!Blind—blind—blind: Passion be pale and forbidden;Dumb be the lips of the soul to Beauty denied!PROSPERO[Speaks to Ariel, who comes running from behind theCloudy Curtains.]Blithe bird of mine, my heart is boding ill.Hast thou heard?ARIELNay, Master, what?PROSPEROHis dirges.ARIELWhose?PROSPEROSetebos’. Ha, ’tis not his lust I dread,Nay, nor his tiger tooth, nor belly on fire:’Tis when his fever cools: when the gray ashCovers the life-flame, and the boiling sensesSkim with thin ice, and the rank bloom wears hoar-frost:Not savage souls, ’tis dead souls that defeat us.Not red, but gray—gray.[While Prospero and Ariel have spoken together above,Caliban, below, has been drawn half hypnotizedby Death toward the cell.]DEATH[To Caliban.]Follow me.CALIBANI follow!DEATH[At the cell’s mouth, lifts the gray cloak to put uponCaliban.]Wear now my color.CALIBAN[As Death touches him, springs back.]No, no; thy hand-touch freezeth.[Fearfully he leaps up the steps, crying aloud:]Prospero! I will serve thee.DEATH[Disappearing within the cell.]Thou shalt fail.CALIBAN[Bowing before Prospero.]Master, raise up thy servant.PROSPERORaise thyself.CALIBAN[Slowly rising.]So—while thou lookest on me, I can rise.PROSPERONay, look once more on what I now createFor thee to rise by. ’Tis mine art, not me,Reigns as thy master. Master it, and go free.[The Three move toward the throne, where they soongroup themselves on the steps.]CALIBANWhat wilt thou show me now?PROSPEROA mind distraught—Grasping at realms invisible—like thine,Poor groping dreamer. Ariel, from the scrollOf mine old Gothic meditations, bidThy spirits blazon now a glimpse of Hamlet.[He hands to Ariel his scroll.]ARIELYour will, great Master, we revere it.—Lo where, to meet his father’s spirit,Pale Hamlet watches now, beforeThe parapets of Elsinore![Ariel raises the scroll; then, unrolling it, bends his looksupon it, while the Cloudy Curtains part, revealing the

[Running down the steps, he rushes out upon the ground-circle,where he stoops on bent knees and kisses the shining earth.Behind him, at the entrance of the cell, Death appears,holding a great gray cloak.He comes forward, speaking in a thin monotone.]

DEATHCaliban!

CALIBAN[Raising his head.]What calleth me there?

DEATHDeath: priest of Setebos.

CALIBANHis temple is fallen: will build no more like his.

DEATHThou shalt restore his temple, Caliban.

CALIBAN[Rising.]Nay,willnot!

DEATHNone can say me Nay. I amThe will tonotbe which denies all wills.

[Through the Cloudy Curtains—slowly—Prospero enters,in troubled meditation.]

CALIBANAnd I am Caliban: [Pointing toward Prospero.]will be his servant.

DEATHCaliban, thou shalt fail. Thyself art failure,Setebos’ son.

CALIBANMyself am done with Setebos:Wear now Miranda’s cloth.

DEATHThou shalt wear mine.Behold!

CALIBAN[Looking at the gray cloak.]What’s that?

DEATHMy cloak, where thou shalt hideTo snare Miranda unto bondage. Hark!

[Far, cold, and thin a dirgeful choir sounds from thecell behind the figure of Death.]

THE DIRGEGray—gray—gray: Joy be unholy and hidden;Wan be the rainbow of wonder, frozen the tide!Blind—blind—blind: Passion be pale and forbidden;Dumb be the lips of the soul to Beauty denied!

PROSPERO[Speaks to Ariel, who comes running from behind theCloudy Curtains.]Blithe bird of mine, my heart is boding ill.Hast thou heard?

ARIELNay, Master, what?

PROSPEROHis dirges.

ARIELWhose?

PROSPEROSetebos’. Ha, ’tis not his lust I dread,Nay, nor his tiger tooth, nor belly on fire:’Tis when his fever cools: when the gray ashCovers the life-flame, and the boiling sensesSkim with thin ice, and the rank bloom wears hoar-frost:Not savage souls, ’tis dead souls that defeat us.Not red, but gray—gray.

[While Prospero and Ariel have spoken together above,Caliban, below, has been drawn half hypnotizedby Death toward the cell.]

DEATH[To Caliban.]Follow me.

CALIBANI follow!

DEATH[At the cell’s mouth, lifts the gray cloak to put uponCaliban.]Wear now my color.

CALIBAN[As Death touches him, springs back.]No, no; thy hand-touch freezeth.[Fearfully he leaps up the steps, crying aloud:]Prospero! I will serve thee.

DEATH[Disappearing within the cell.]Thou shalt fail.

CALIBAN[Bowing before Prospero.]Master, raise up thy servant.

PROSPERORaise thyself.

CALIBAN[Slowly rising.]So—while thou lookest on me, I can rise.

PROSPERONay, look once more on what I now createFor thee to rise by. ’Tis mine art, not me,Reigns as thy master. Master it, and go free.

[The Three move toward the throne, where they soongroup themselves on the steps.]

CALIBANWhat wilt thou show me now?

PROSPEROA mind distraught—Grasping at realms invisible—like thine,Poor groping dreamer. Ariel, from the scrollOf mine old Gothic meditations, bidThy spirits blazon now a glimpse of Hamlet.

[He hands to Ariel his scroll.]

ARIELYour will, great Master, we revere it.—Lo where, to meet his father’s spirit,Pale Hamlet watches now, beforeThe parapets of Elsinore!

[Ariel raises the scroll; then, unrolling it, bends his looksupon it, while the Cloudy Curtains part, revealing the

On a platform at Elsinore, by blazing starlight, three Figures are seen pacing the cold.

HAMLETThe air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.HORATIOIt is a nipping and an eager air.HAMLETWhat hour now?HORATIOI think it lacks of twelve.MARCELLUSNo, it is struck.HORATIOIndeed?I heard it not: then it draws near the seasonWherein the spirit held its wont to walk.[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within.]What does this mean, my lord?HAMLETThe King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-start reels;And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray outThe triumph of his pledge....HORATIO[Pointing.]My lord, it comes![Enter Ghost.]HAMLETAngels and ministers of grace defend us!—Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d,Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,Thou comest in such a questionable shapeThat I will speak to thee: I’ll call thee Hamlet,King, father, royal Dane: O answer me!...What may this mean,That thou, dead corse, again in complete steelRevisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon,Making night hideous, and we fools of natureSo horridly to shake our dispositionWith thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?[The Ghost beckons Hamlet.]HORATIOIt beckons you to go away with it,As if it some impartment did desireTo you alone.MARCELLUSLook with what courteous actionIt waves you to a more removed ground:But do not go with it.HORATIONo; by no means.HAMLETIt will not speak; then I will follow it.HORATIODo not, my lord.HAMLETWhy, what should be the fear?I do not set my life at a pin’s fee;And for my soul, what can it do to that,Being a thing immortal as itself?—It waves me forth again: I’ll follow it.MARCELLUSYou shall not go, my lord.HAMLETHold off your hands.HORATIOBe ruled; you shall not go.HAMLETMy fate cries out,And makes each petty artery in this bodyAs hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve.Still am I call’d. Unhand me, gentlemen.By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me!I say, away!—Go on; I’ll follow thee![As Hamlet, impetuous, makes after the departing ghost,THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

HAMLETThe air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

HORATIOIt is a nipping and an eager air.

HAMLETWhat hour now?

HORATIOI think it lacks of twelve.

MARCELLUSNo, it is struck.

HORATIOIndeed?I heard it not: then it draws near the seasonWherein the spirit held its wont to walk.

[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within.]

What does this mean, my lord?

HAMLETThe King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-start reels;And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray outThe triumph of his pledge....

HORATIO[Pointing.]My lord, it comes!

[Enter Ghost.]

HAMLETAngels and ministers of grace defend us!—Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d,Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,Thou comest in such a questionable shapeThat I will speak to thee: I’ll call thee Hamlet,King, father, royal Dane: O answer me!...What may this mean,That thou, dead corse, again in complete steelRevisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon,Making night hideous, and we fools of natureSo horridly to shake our dispositionWith thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?

[The Ghost beckons Hamlet.]

HORATIOIt beckons you to go away with it,As if it some impartment did desireTo you alone.

MARCELLUSLook with what courteous actionIt waves you to a more removed ground:But do not go with it.

HORATIONo; by no means.

HAMLETIt will not speak; then I will follow it.

HORATIODo not, my lord.

HAMLETWhy, what should be the fear?I do not set my life at a pin’s fee;And for my soul, what can it do to that,Being a thing immortal as itself?—It waves me forth again: I’ll follow it.

MARCELLUSYou shall not go, my lord.

HAMLETHold off your hands.

HORATIOBe ruled; you shall not go.

HAMLETMy fate cries out,And makes each petty artery in this bodyAs hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve.Still am I call’d. Unhand me, gentlemen.By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me!I say, away!—Go on; I’ll follow thee!

[As Hamlet, impetuous, makes after the departing ghost,

THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

CALIBAN[Springing up.]No, no! Follow not! Let him not follow! ’TisA spirit lureth to Setebos and Death.He knoweth him not, what ’tis;—but, master,Iknow.Me, me too hath he beckoned with blind eyesAnd offered his gray cloth.PROSPEROThee? Death hath beckonedAnd yet thou didst not follow?CALIBANHither I fledTo serve thee, but he said that I should fail;Yet—yet, and thou wilt help, Iwillnot fail!PROSPEROAnd what wouldst have of me?CALIBAN[Pointing to Ariel.]Thy wonder scroll:Nay, not thy staff again! Will never moreBotch with thy lightnings. Nay, but this littlerthingLend me, and let me bear it against DeathTo freemyfather’s spirit from his gray pall.Lettest Ariel: let now thy CalibanConspire to serve thee.[He reaches for the scroll.]PROSPEROWhy, thou wheedlest well,And I must hope in thy self-weening. YetBeware lest thou thyself shalt wear the drabThou takest from him: Gray hath arsenicMore keen than scarlet or the corroding bloodThat sered the flesh of Hercules.CALIBAN[Eagerly.]Wilt lend meThe scroll?PROSPERO[With a gesture to Ariel.]Here![Ariel hands the scroll, which Prospero then givesto Caliban.]Use this token of mine artLess blindfold than the last.[Caliban bounds away with the scroll.]ARIEL[Half protesting.]Will trust him, Master?PROSPEROYea, though he fail me yet again, for onlyTrust can create its object.CALIBAN[Joyfully kissing the scroll and raising it.]Now, now, Setebos,Thy son shall wean thy Powers from Death, thy priest![Descending the steps, Caliban hastens to the mouth ofthe cell, where—as he is about to enter—Death reappearsand hails him.]DEATHWelcome, Caliban![Death beckons within. Pausing momentarily, Calibanseems about to draw back, but recovering his purposecries out hoarsely:]CALIBANGo on; I’ll follow thee.[He follows within and disappears. Caliban and Death havehardly vanished, when Miranda comes from her shrine,followed by the Muses, who are accompanied by a troopof Fauns. The classic hides of these are partly concealedby gay mediæval garments [Florentine and French], andsome bear in their hands great vellum books andparchments, which they stack in a pile near the shrine.]MIRANDA[Calling joyously.]Muses, sweet friends to mirth! Come forth againAnd fetch your little Fauns, that drowsed so longIn mildew’d vaults of antique vellum, through allThe winters of dark ages. Come, sad Clio,Unpucker your frown! You, pale Melpomene,Blush to a lovelier time. Yond yellow sands,That ran blood-red with orgies of old Rome,Shine golden now with young renascence. The agesRenew their summer. Joy hath its June once more,For once more Prosper reigns.PROSPERO[As Miranda comes to him.]’Tis thy returningRestores my summer time. I see thou hastBeen rummaging old lockers.MIRANDAAye, sir, and foundThese sharp-eared Fauns, hiding like wintered field-miceIn attic parchments. So I set ’em freeTo play, while Care the Cat’s away.—Come, now,Sicilian boys, caper your shag-hair shins,And thou, Terpsychore, lead on their danceTo please my father.[At her command, Terpsychore and the Fauns—to instrumentsplayed by the Muses—perform a joyous dance beforeProspero. As they conclude, he greets them with a smile.]PROSPEROThanks, you hearts upleaping!After long ominous hours, thanks for your festa!And you, dear child incorrigible for joy,Come now, I will requite you—not in gold,But golden fantasy, wrought all one glowOf shadowless shining.MIRANDAAh, another vision?PROSPEROAye, ’tis a vision, that myself beheldShine on the soil of France. I’ll show youPeace:The kings of earth at peace, after red battle;Two kings of men, each clasping brother’s handWarm with the golden passion of strong peace.MIRANDAWhat kings were they, and where?PROSPEROEngland and France:’They met in the vale of Andren, ’twixt Guynes and Arde;I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clungIn their embracement, as they grew together.’—[17]But tell us, Ariel, what I told thee remember,How Peace was crowned on the Field of the Cloth of Gold.MIRANDAHow brave a name! Would I had been there!ARIEL[Bowing, as Prologue.]’You lostThe view of earthly glory: men might sayTill this time pomp was single, but now marriedTo one above itself. Each following dayBecame the next day’s master, till the lastMade former wonders its. To-day, the French,All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,Shone down the English; and to-morrow, theyMade Britain India: every man that stoodShow’d like a mine. Their dwarfish pages wereAs cherubins, all gilt: the madams too,Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bearThe pride upon them, that their very laborWas to them as a painting: now this masqueWas cried incomparable, and the ensuing nightMade it a fool and beggar. The two Kings,Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,As presence did present them.’[18]—Lo, now, seeHow first they met, and clasped their hands in peace![Lifting Prospero’s staff, Ariel makes a gesture towardthe Cloudy Curtains, which part, discovering the

PROSPEROThee? Death hath beckonedAnd yet thou didst not follow?

CALIBANHither I fledTo serve thee, but he said that I should fail;Yet—yet, and thou wilt help, Iwillnot fail!

PROSPEROAnd what wouldst have of me?

CALIBAN[Pointing to Ariel.]Thy wonder scroll:Nay, not thy staff again! Will never moreBotch with thy lightnings. Nay, but this littlerthingLend me, and let me bear it against DeathTo freemyfather’s spirit from his gray pall.Lettest Ariel: let now thy CalibanConspire to serve thee.

[He reaches for the scroll.]

PROSPEROWhy, thou wheedlest well,And I must hope in thy self-weening. YetBeware lest thou thyself shalt wear the drabThou takest from him: Gray hath arsenicMore keen than scarlet or the corroding bloodThat sered the flesh of Hercules.

CALIBAN[Eagerly.]Wilt lend meThe scroll?

PROSPERO[With a gesture to Ariel.]Here!

[Ariel hands the scroll, which Prospero then givesto Caliban.]

Use this token of mine artLess blindfold than the last.

[Caliban bounds away with the scroll.]

ARIEL[Half protesting.]Will trust him, Master?

PROSPEROYea, though he fail me yet again, for onlyTrust can create its object.

CALIBAN[Joyfully kissing the scroll and raising it.]Now, now, Setebos,Thy son shall wean thy Powers from Death, thy priest!

[Descending the steps, Caliban hastens to the mouth ofthe cell, where—as he is about to enter—Death reappearsand hails him.]

DEATHWelcome, Caliban!

[Death beckons within. Pausing momentarily, Calibanseems about to draw back, but recovering his purposecries out hoarsely:]

CALIBANGo on; I’ll follow thee.

[He follows within and disappears. Caliban and Death havehardly vanished, when Miranda comes from her shrine,followed by the Muses, who are accompanied by a troopof Fauns. The classic hides of these are partly concealedby gay mediæval garments [Florentine and French], andsome bear in their hands great vellum books andparchments, which they stack in a pile near the shrine.]

MIRANDA[Calling joyously.]Muses, sweet friends to mirth! Come forth againAnd fetch your little Fauns, that drowsed so longIn mildew’d vaults of antique vellum, through allThe winters of dark ages. Come, sad Clio,Unpucker your frown! You, pale Melpomene,Blush to a lovelier time. Yond yellow sands,That ran blood-red with orgies of old Rome,Shine golden now with young renascence. The agesRenew their summer. Joy hath its June once more,For once more Prosper reigns.

PROSPERO[As Miranda comes to him.]’Tis thy returningRestores my summer time. I see thou hastBeen rummaging old lockers.

MIRANDAAye, sir, and foundThese sharp-eared Fauns, hiding like wintered field-miceIn attic parchments. So I set ’em freeTo play, while Care the Cat’s away.—Come, now,Sicilian boys, caper your shag-hair shins,And thou, Terpsychore, lead on their danceTo please my father.

[At her command, Terpsychore and the Fauns—to instrumentsplayed by the Muses—perform a joyous dance beforeProspero. As they conclude, he greets them with a smile.]

PROSPEROThanks, you hearts upleaping!After long ominous hours, thanks for your festa!And you, dear child incorrigible for joy,Come now, I will requite you—not in gold,But golden fantasy, wrought all one glowOf shadowless shining.

MIRANDAAh, another vision?

PROSPEROAye, ’tis a vision, that myself beheldShine on the soil of France. I’ll show youPeace:The kings of earth at peace, after red battle;Two kings of men, each clasping brother’s handWarm with the golden passion of strong peace.

MIRANDAWhat kings were they, and where?

PROSPEROEngland and France:’They met in the vale of Andren, ’twixt Guynes and Arde;I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clungIn their embracement, as they grew together.’—[17]But tell us, Ariel, what I told thee remember,How Peace was crowned on the Field of the Cloth of Gold.

MIRANDAHow brave a name! Would I had been there!

ARIEL[Bowing, as Prologue.]’You lostThe view of earthly glory: men might sayTill this time pomp was single, but now marriedTo one above itself. Each following dayBecame the next day’s master, till the lastMade former wonders its. To-day, the French,All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,Shone down the English; and to-morrow, theyMade Britain India: every man that stoodShow’d like a mine. Their dwarfish pages wereAs cherubins, all gilt: the madams too,Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bearThe pride upon them, that their very laborWas to them as a painting: now this masqueWas cried incomparable, and the ensuing nightMade it a fool and beggar. The two Kings,Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,As presence did present them.’[18]—Lo, now, seeHow first they met, and clasped their hands in peace!

[Lifting Prospero’s staff, Ariel makes a gesture towardthe Cloudy Curtains, which part, discovering the

Here, to an opening fanfare of golden trumpets, takes place a PANTOMIME, all of gold, depicting to the eye, as in a glowing fantasy, the meeting of the Kings and their Retinues: the alighting of the Kings from horseback, their embracement and their clasping of hands.During this enactment of the pantomime, the choirs of Ariel’s Spirits sing, unseen:]

During this enactment of the pantomime, the choirs of Ariel’s Spirits sing, unseen:]

SPIRITS OF ARIELGlory and serenity,Splendor of desire,Blend where golden lilies bloomMid St. George’s fire:Lilies of France!—beholdHow they glow on the Field of the Cloth of Gold,And the battle-captains curb their bandsWhere the kings of earth clasp hands.Power and principalityRaise to Peace their choirWhere Lord Christ his lilies clingRound the Dragon’s ire:Lilies of Christ!—beholdHow they flame from the Field of the Cloth of Gold,Where the captains bow to their Lord’s commandsAnd the kings of men clasp hands.[At the climax of the meeting of the Kings,THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

Power and principalityRaise to Peace their choirWhere Lord Christ his lilies clingRound the Dragon’s ire:Lilies of Christ!—beholdHow they flame from the Field of the Cloth of Gold,Where the captains bow to their Lord’s commandsAnd the kings of men clasp hands.

[At the climax of the meeting of the Kings,

THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

PROSPERO[Smiling, to Miranda.]This glowing taketh thee.MIRANDAO, my good father!Methinks my soul is a flake o’ the sun, for whereThings golden shine, I spangle, too; yea, burnTo be Aurora, and trail cloth of goldAround the world.PROSPEROUnless my will miscarry,Thou shalt be such a morning messengerAnd wake the world with beauty. Now my plansWait on a vast result, for CalibanHimself hath gone to deal with SetebosHis gray priest, Death.MIRANDAWhat, Caliban! O gladHope for us all! Your art begins to triumph,And Ariel’s Spirits to conquer.PROSPEROThat still waits:Meanwhile mine art drinks from this renaissanceDeep draughts against a dark to-morrow.—Hither,You Fauns! Come, bear my gold-emblazoned scrollsAnd silver-claspèd books before me![Lifting the scrolls and volumes from their pile by theshrine, the Fauns come forward with them to Prospero,who turns affectionately to Miranda.]IWill leave you now, and pore awhile on theseFor further conjurings.MIRANDA[Detaining him.]Yet conjure onceAgain before you go!PROSPEROWhat wouldst thou, dear?MIRANDAHardly I know: but something high, serene,And passionately fair: some vision’d glimpseOf fadeless youth, and lovers rich through love.PROSPEROWhy, Ariel hath his orders still.—[To Ariel.] List, pupil:To glad thy mistress’ heart, when I am gone,Pour the warm moon-wine of Italian nightInto a dream-cup, where entrancèd loversSeal with charm’d lips their vows. Therein dissolveWhat visions rise, till they shall melt in oneGloaming of love and music.—So, Miranda,Rich dreams! Faun-boys, bear on my books before me![Accompanied by the bright-clothed Fauns, bearing thegreat books and scrolls in quaint procession, Prosperodeparts through the throne-entrance.Meantime, the Muses and Miranda gather at theshrine, where Ariel approaches Miranda.]ARIELMistress—MIRANDAHark, Muses! Ariel, speak on!ARIELEar and eye, now, list and lo:Mirth of mad Mercutio,Juliet’s sigh for Romeo;Dim Lorenzo’s murmur’d “Ah!”For moon-dreaming Jessica;Dance of flower-soul’d PerditaWafted to her FlorizelLike a wave o’ the sea: List well;Lo, their night renews its spell![At Ariel’s last word and gesture, the Cloudy Curtainspart, disclosing the

PROSPERO[Smiling, to Miranda.]This glowing taketh thee.

MIRANDAO, my good father!Methinks my soul is a flake o’ the sun, for whereThings golden shine, I spangle, too; yea, burnTo be Aurora, and trail cloth of goldAround the world.

PROSPEROUnless my will miscarry,Thou shalt be such a morning messengerAnd wake the world with beauty. Now my plansWait on a vast result, for CalibanHimself hath gone to deal with SetebosHis gray priest, Death.

MIRANDAWhat, Caliban! O gladHope for us all! Your art begins to triumph,And Ariel’s Spirits to conquer.

PROSPEROThat still waits:Meanwhile mine art drinks from this renaissanceDeep draughts against a dark to-morrow.—Hither,You Fauns! Come, bear my gold-emblazoned scrollsAnd silver-claspèd books before me!

[Lifting the scrolls and volumes from their pile by theshrine, the Fauns come forward with them to Prospero,who turns affectionately to Miranda.]

IWill leave you now, and pore awhile on theseFor further conjurings.

MIRANDA[Detaining him.]Yet conjure onceAgain before you go!

PROSPEROWhat wouldst thou, dear?

MIRANDAHardly I know: but something high, serene,And passionately fair: some vision’d glimpseOf fadeless youth, and lovers rich through love.

PROSPEROWhy, Ariel hath his orders still.—[To Ariel.] List, pupil:To glad thy mistress’ heart, when I am gone,Pour the warm moon-wine of Italian nightInto a dream-cup, where entrancèd loversSeal with charm’d lips their vows. Therein dissolveWhat visions rise, till they shall melt in oneGloaming of love and music.—So, Miranda,Rich dreams! Faun-boys, bear on my books before me!

[Accompanied by the bright-clothed Fauns, bearing thegreat books and scrolls in quaint procession, Prosperodeparts through the throne-entrance.Meantime, the Muses and Miranda gather at theshrine, where Ariel approaches Miranda.]

ARIELMistress—

MIRANDAHark, Muses! Ariel, speak on!

ARIELEar and eye, now, list and lo:Mirth of mad Mercutio,Juliet’s sigh for Romeo;Dim Lorenzo’s murmur’d “Ah!”For moon-dreaming Jessica;Dance of flower-soul’d PerditaWafted to her FlorizelLike a wave o’ the sea: List well;Lo, their night renews its spell!

[At Ariel’s last word and gesture, the Cloudy Curtainspart, disclosing the

In the glow and gloom of Italian night, as high clouds intermittently obscure the moon, a palace garden lies in deep shadow. Emerging only partly into view, where soft light-floodings fall on moss-stained statue, marble bench, and balcony, there is revealed at first [on the left] nothing but a glimpse of garden wall, before which flash in the dimness two pied figures [Benvolio and Mercutio]. Calling shrilly, their young voices rain showers of fluting laughter.

PRELIMINARY SKETCH FOR SEVENTH INNER SCENE: JONES

BENVOLIORomeo! My cousin Romeo!...He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall:Call, good Mercutio.MERCUTIONay, I’ll conjure, too:Romeo! humors! madman! passion! lover!—I conjure thee by thy true love’s bright eyes,By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thighAnd the demesnes that there adjacent lie,That in thy likeness thou appear to us!—He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not.BENVOLIOCome, he hath hid himself among these trees,To be consorted with the humorous night:Blind is his love and best befits the dark.MERCUTIOIf love be blind, love cannot hit the mark ...Romeo, good-night: I’ll to my truckle-bed;This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:Come, shall we go?[They disappear, swallowed up in black shadow. And nowthe shadow, shifting, leaves bare in mellowmoonshine a glimpse of the garden and the balcony,where Juliet, bending forward, calls mysteriouslyinto the dark below:]JULIETHist! Romeo! hist! O for a falconer’s voice,To lure this tassel-gentle back again!Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mineWith repetition of my Romeo’s name.ROMEO[Emerging, below, from the shadow.]It is my soul that calls upon my name:How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,Like softest music to attending ears!JULIETRomeo!ROMEOMy dear?JULIETAt what o’clock to-morrowShall I send to thee?ROMEOAt the hour of nine.JULIETI will not fail: ’tis twenty years till then.I have forgot why I did call thee back.ROMEOLet me stand here till thou remember it.JULIETI shall forget, to have thee still stand there,Remembering how I love thy company.ROMEOAnd I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,Forgetting any other home but this.JULIET’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:And yet no further than a wanton’s bird,Who lets it hop a little from her hand....Good-night, good-night! Parting is such sweet sorrowThat I shall say good-night till it be morrow![Once more deep shadow engulfs the scene; and now,out of the dark, harmonious music sounds instrains of passionate wistfulness. So, as themusic sounds, on the right, beams of the moonreveal a flowery bank, whereby Lorenzo and Jessicaare discovered.]LORENZOHow sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!Here will we sit and let the sounds of musicCreep in our ears: Soft stillness and the nightBecome the touches of sweet harmony.Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins,Such harmony is in immortal souls;But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.[Swift shadow sweeps over them in darkness. Waning fromits visionary theme to a hint of the “muddy vestureof decay,” the music flows onward then into a dancemelody; moonlight touches the garden again [on the left]with its liquid glow, wherein—whirled into light from agroup of shadowy dancers outside—Florizel and Perditaare disclosed.]FLORIZEL[As Perdita withdraws shyly her hand from his,speaks to her ardently.]What you doStill betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,I’d have you do it ever ... When you do dance, I wish youA wave o’ the sea, that you might ever doNothing but that; move still, still so,And own no other function: each your doingSo singular in each particular,Crowns what you are doing in the present deed,That all your acts are queens....PERDITAO Doricles,Your praises are too large: but that your youth,And the true blood which peepeth fairly through ’t,Do plainly give you an unstained shepherd,With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,You woo’d me the false way.FLORIZELI think you haveAs little skill to fear as I have purposeTo put you to ’t. But come; our dance, I pray:Your hand, my Perdita!PERDITA[Giving her hand confidingly.]My Florizel![Together they dance away into the dark and the luringmusic, asTHE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

BENVOLIORomeo! My cousin Romeo!...He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall:Call, good Mercutio.

MERCUTIONay, I’ll conjure, too:Romeo! humors! madman! passion! lover!—I conjure thee by thy true love’s bright eyes,By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thighAnd the demesnes that there adjacent lie,That in thy likeness thou appear to us!—He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not.

BENVOLIOCome, he hath hid himself among these trees,To be consorted with the humorous night:Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

MERCUTIOIf love be blind, love cannot hit the mark ...Romeo, good-night: I’ll to my truckle-bed;This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:Come, shall we go?

[They disappear, swallowed up in black shadow. And nowthe shadow, shifting, leaves bare in mellowmoonshine a glimpse of the garden and the balcony,where Juliet, bending forward, calls mysteriouslyinto the dark below:]

JULIETHist! Romeo! hist! O for a falconer’s voice,To lure this tassel-gentle back again!Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mineWith repetition of my Romeo’s name.

ROMEO[Emerging, below, from the shadow.]It is my soul that calls upon my name:How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,Like softest music to attending ears!

JULIETRomeo!

ROMEOMy dear?

JULIETAt what o’clock to-morrowShall I send to thee?

ROMEOAt the hour of nine.

JULIETI will not fail: ’tis twenty years till then.I have forgot why I did call thee back.

ROMEOLet me stand here till thou remember it.

JULIETI shall forget, to have thee still stand there,Remembering how I love thy company.

ROMEOAnd I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,Forgetting any other home but this.

JULIET’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:And yet no further than a wanton’s bird,Who lets it hop a little from her hand....Good-night, good-night! Parting is such sweet sorrowThat I shall say good-night till it be morrow!

[Once more deep shadow engulfs the scene; and now,out of the dark, harmonious music sounds instrains of passionate wistfulness. So, as themusic sounds, on the right, beams of the moonreveal a flowery bank, whereby Lorenzo and Jessicaare discovered.]

LORENZOHow sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!Here will we sit and let the sounds of musicCreep in our ears: Soft stillness and the nightBecome the touches of sweet harmony.Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins,Such harmony is in immortal souls;But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

[Swift shadow sweeps over them in darkness. Waning fromits visionary theme to a hint of the “muddy vestureof decay,” the music flows onward then into a dancemelody; moonlight touches the garden again [on the left]with its liquid glow, wherein—whirled into light from agroup of shadowy dancers outside—Florizel and Perditaare disclosed.]

FLORIZEL[As Perdita withdraws shyly her hand from his,speaks to her ardently.]What you doStill betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,I’d have you do it ever ... When you do dance, I wish youA wave o’ the sea, that you might ever doNothing but that; move still, still so,And own no other function: each your doingSo singular in each particular,Crowns what you are doing in the present deed,That all your acts are queens....

PERDITAO Doricles,Your praises are too large: but that your youth,And the true blood which peepeth fairly through ’t,Do plainly give you an unstained shepherd,With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,You woo’d me the false way.

FLORIZELI think you haveAs little skill to fear as I have purposeTo put you to ’t. But come; our dance, I pray:Your hand, my Perdita!

PERDITA[Giving her hand confidingly.]My Florizel!

[Together they dance away into the dark and the luringmusic, as

THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

[Still, after the curtains’ closing, the music continues, but now more faint, changing the idyllic strains of the dance rhythm to a minor sadness, which gradually takes form as a drear, monotonous processional. Through the faint music, Miranda speaks to Ariel.]

MIRANDAToo brief! too brief, sweet bird! O Ariel, beTime’s nightingale, and charm these lovers backTo yearn immortal youth. Methinks alreadyTheir absence leaves us age’d: Dost thou not feelA waning of high powers? Doth not a pallorCreep on the glowing world?ARIELYea, so I have feltAfter the equinox—November coming on.MIRANDA[Starting, as she gazes at one of the Muses.]Euterpe dear! What lock of gray is thisIn thy bright hair?—Quick, Ariel: fetch my father,For sudden my heart aches, and I wish him near.ARIELStraight I will bring him, and my Spirits, too.Be merry, mistress: they shall soon restore us.[Ariel hastens off, left. As he does so, the Muses, withdowncast looks, file off right into the shrine.]MIRANDANay, darling Muses! do not leave me, too.What, must you all go hence? Still I must tarryTo greet my father. Friends, good-bye![They depart.]Ah me!What voices make their dirge within my heart?[While she has spoken, the mouth of Caliban’s cell,emitting a ghastly glow, fills with dim Shapes, whichpour outward, and swarm slowly upward over the steps,covering the stage with a moving, huddled grayness,out of which two cloaked Figures rise distinct in thedusk. As they come forth and hover nearer to Miranda,a cold dirge issues with them from below.]THE DIRGE[As before.]Gray—gray—gray: Joy be unholy and hidden;Wan be the rainbow of wonder, frozen the tide!Blind—blind—blind: Passion be pale and forbidden;Dumb be the lips of the soul to Beauty denied![Slowly the gray hosts surround Miranda, who stares atthem, only half believing their presence, till thedusk, growing lighter, reveals their long Puritancloaks and peaked hats, and the two muffled Ones inGray towering before her. Then faintly she speaksto them:]MIRANDAWhat are you? Why are you come? Ah, you—’tisyou:Priest of Setebos!—Caliban![She sways and falls.]CALIBANHa, she swooneth.—O Death, unfasten thy spell!DEATHNay, thou hast failed.[Lifting the scroll of Prospero, which he has taken fromCaliban, Death makes a gesture to his followers.]Bear her to Setebos![Then, laying his hand upon Caliban, he turns with himbackward, as a group of the gray-cloaked Shapes raisethe limp form of Miranda to a cloth-draped bier, andthus bear her downward toward the cell’s mouth. Indim processional, as they go, they raise again theirdirge:]THE DIRGEGray—gray—gray: Love, be sin-born of Misgiving!Life, be a garment of dullness, drab from the loom!Bleak—bleak—bleak: Death, Death is lord of the living:Not in the clay but the heart of man lies the tomb.[Disappearing in the cell below, their chant dies away.Above them, from the left, Ariel returns, alone.Searching in the dusk, half fearfully, he calls:]ARIELMiranda—mistress: He hath vanished. NowhereCan I find trace of him. Yea, and my SpiritsThey, too—they, too, are gone, lost in the grayness:All have deserted us! Miranda—mistress!Where art thou? Gone, thyself?—and I alone!O gray, that hast engulfed a world of beauty,Where shall I find them ever more—my master,My star-bright mistress? Hear me, Yellow Sands!If you have beheld them, answer now my prayer![Outstretching his arms toward the Sands.]Prospero! Prospero!—Master![From far across the Sands bursts a mellow radiance,and the rich voice of Prospero calling in answer:]PROSPEROAriel! Ariel!Ho, bird![Springing into light upon the farthest wave-lines of theYellow Sands, Prospero comes returning, surrounded bythe Spirits of Ariel, clad all in green and bearing intheir midst a garlanded May-pole.Marching joyously across the circle toward Ariel, all inradiant glow, they come shouting a choral song:]THE SPIRITS OF ARIEL“Sumer is icumen in,Lhude sing cuccu!Groweth sed, and bloweth med,And springth the wude nu.—Sing cuccu!“Awe bleteth after lombLhouth after calve cu!Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth,Murie sing cuccu!“Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu:Ne swike thu naver nu;Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu,Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!”[Leaping up the steps, they plant the May-pole atthe centre, where Ariel greets them.]ARIELDear Master! O blithe hearts: Have welcome home!PROSPEROWelcome our May-pole back!—Where is thy mistress?ARIEL[Startled.]Alas!Youknow not?PROSPERO[Reassuringly.]Nay, I know. But cheerly,My birdlings! Now that ye are flocked once moreRound this enchanted tree, I’ll conjure youOut of mine art such joyous rites, that theyShall draw your Mistress even from the tombTo join our revels. Come now, gather roundAnd watch my antic rites of Merry England!

ARIELYea, so I have feltAfter the equinox—November coming on.

MIRANDA[Starting, as she gazes at one of the Muses.]Euterpe dear! What lock of gray is thisIn thy bright hair?—Quick, Ariel: fetch my father,For sudden my heart aches, and I wish him near.

ARIELStraight I will bring him, and my Spirits, too.Be merry, mistress: they shall soon restore us.

[Ariel hastens off, left. As he does so, the Muses, withdowncast looks, file off right into the shrine.]

MIRANDANay, darling Muses! do not leave me, too.What, must you all go hence? Still I must tarryTo greet my father. Friends, good-bye![They depart.]Ah me!What voices make their dirge within my heart?

[While she has spoken, the mouth of Caliban’s cell,emitting a ghastly glow, fills with dim Shapes, whichpour outward, and swarm slowly upward over the steps,covering the stage with a moving, huddled grayness,out of which two cloaked Figures rise distinct in thedusk. As they come forth and hover nearer to Miranda,a cold dirge issues with them from below.]

THE DIRGE[As before.]Gray—gray—gray: Joy be unholy and hidden;Wan be the rainbow of wonder, frozen the tide!Blind—blind—blind: Passion be pale and forbidden;Dumb be the lips of the soul to Beauty denied!

[Slowly the gray hosts surround Miranda, who stares atthem, only half believing their presence, till thedusk, growing lighter, reveals their long Puritancloaks and peaked hats, and the two muffled Ones inGray towering before her. Then faintly she speaksto them:]

MIRANDAWhat are you? Why are you come? Ah, you—’tisyou:Priest of Setebos!—Caliban![She sways and falls.]

CALIBANHa, she swooneth.—O Death, unfasten thy spell!

DEATHNay, thou hast failed.

[Lifting the scroll of Prospero, which he has taken fromCaliban, Death makes a gesture to his followers.]

Bear her to Setebos!

[Then, laying his hand upon Caliban, he turns with himbackward, as a group of the gray-cloaked Shapes raisethe limp form of Miranda to a cloth-draped bier, andthus bear her downward toward the cell’s mouth. Indim processional, as they go, they raise again theirdirge:]

THE DIRGEGray—gray—gray: Love, be sin-born of Misgiving!Life, be a garment of dullness, drab from the loom!Bleak—bleak—bleak: Death, Death is lord of the living:Not in the clay but the heart of man lies the tomb.

[Disappearing in the cell below, their chant dies away.Above them, from the left, Ariel returns, alone.Searching in the dusk, half fearfully, he calls:]

ARIELMiranda—mistress: He hath vanished. NowhereCan I find trace of him. Yea, and my SpiritsThey, too—they, too, are gone, lost in the grayness:All have deserted us! Miranda—mistress!Where art thou? Gone, thyself?—and I alone!O gray, that hast engulfed a world of beauty,Where shall I find them ever more—my master,My star-bright mistress? Hear me, Yellow Sands!If you have beheld them, answer now my prayer![Outstretching his arms toward the Sands.]Prospero! Prospero!—Master!

[From far across the Sands bursts a mellow radiance,and the rich voice of Prospero calling in answer:]

PROSPEROAriel! Ariel!Ho, bird!

[Springing into light upon the farthest wave-lines of theYellow Sands, Prospero comes returning, surrounded bythe Spirits of Ariel, clad all in green and bearing intheir midst a garlanded May-pole.Marching joyously across the circle toward Ariel, all inradiant glow, they come shouting a choral song:]

THE SPIRITS OF ARIEL

“Sumer is icumen in,Lhude sing cuccu!Groweth sed, and bloweth med,And springth the wude nu.—Sing cuccu!

“Awe bleteth after lombLhouth after calve cu!Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth,Murie sing cuccu!

“Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu:Ne swike thu naver nu;Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu,Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!”

[Leaping up the steps, they plant the May-pole atthe centre, where Ariel greets them.]

ARIELDear Master! O blithe hearts: Have welcome home!

PROSPEROWelcome our May-pole back!—Where is thy mistress?

ARIEL[Startled.]Alas!Youknow not?

PROSPERO[Reassuringly.]Nay, I know. But cheerly,My birdlings! Now that ye are flocked once moreRound this enchanted tree, I’ll conjure youOut of mine art such joyous rites, that theyShall draw your Mistress even from the tombTo join our revels. Come now, gather roundAnd watch my antic rites of Merry England!

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