ACT III

[At the conclusion now of the English Interlude, out of the shadow a roseate glow suffuses the cell of Caliban, from which the green-clad Spirits of Ariel come running forth, bringing in their midst Miranda. Leading her in daisy chains, they mount with her the steps toward Prospero, singing in glad chorus:]

THE SPIRITS OF ARIEL“Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king;Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!“The palm and may make country houses gay,Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!“The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,In every street these tunes our ears do greet:Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!Spring! the sweet Spring!”PROSPERO[Greeting her.]Welcome, most dear!MIRANDAOnce more you bring me home,And the gray world wears green!THE VOICE OF CALIBAN[Calling, beneath.]Ho, Spring-i’-the-air!MIRANDAHark![From his cell, bare-headed, with gray cloak unboundand flapping behind, Caliban bursts forth andhastens toward them.]CALIBANSpring-i’-the-air! Ah, leave me not alone!Take me forth with thee, too! Not Death can hold meWhen thou goest forth from him.MIRANDAIt was thyselfThat led’st me unto him.CALIBANWith thee—with theeWould I lie even with Death. But when thou leavest,Thy life-song prickleth his sod, and maketh my sapTo leap, and lick the sun again.[Kneeling before her.]O, whitherThou goest, let Caliban go, and wear thy clothWhatso its colors be!PROSPERO[Darkly.]Keep from her, slave!Touch not her hem. Her Muses garbed thee onceGay in her colors. Thou soiled’st them with shame.Next time thou worest drab, and lured’st thy MistressDeathward in gray. Now—now thou darest craveOnce more to wear her cloth?CALIBANYea, do I! See:This cloak—so I forswear it![He puts off the gray cloak, tears it, and tramples uponit; then turns to Miranda.]Give me nowThy green to wear!PROSPEROInsolence infinite!Ariel, my staff!MIRANDAStay!—What to do?PROSPERO[About to raise the staff.]To teachThis unwhipt hound—to howl.CALIBAN[Starting back.]Great Master!MIRANDAGrace,Dear Father! Patience needs no quick compulsion.Thine art is wondrous patient, and this poorSlow climber needs thine art.PROSPEROWhy, once againThou art my wiser self.[To Caliban.]Go, lick her hand,And feed from it.CALIBAN[Laying his cheek on Miranda’s hand weeps,with great sobs.]Spring—Spring-i’-the-air, thy dewDabbleth my face. O wonder, what art thouThat fillest so mine eyes with rain-shine?MIRANDAApril,Not I, can conjure spring i’ the air, and AprilPlies rarest art in England.—Ariel,Fetch us, from out my father’s dreamery,Nature’s spring-charm and echo of English song![To the Spirits of Ariel.]Our greenwood cloth! Come, busk him, merry men all:Aye, both of us!CALIBAN[Rapturously.]This time I will not fail thee.MIRANDA[To Prospero, indicating Caliban.]Have faith in this fellow-creature, and let these spiritsClothe him anew.PROSPEROAs you like it, dear, be it so![The Spirits clothe Caliban and Miranda in green, while fromwithin the Cloudy Curtains an unseen chorus sings:]THE CHORUS“Under the greenwood treeWho loves to lie with me,And tune his merry noteUnto the sweet bird’s throat,Come hither, come hither, come hither:Here shall he seeNo enemyBut winter and rough weather.”ARIELSpirits within, ho![The Spirits run through the curtains, at centre,and disappear within.]Prosper’s hoodBroods now a dream of Arden wood,Where young Orlando, daring fightFor succor of old Adam’s plight,Defies the greenwood company—But meets there with no enemy.CALIBAN[By the throne with Miranda and Prospero, murmurs aloud:]No enemy![As Ariel raises his staff, the Cloudy Curtains part,disclosing

“The palm and may make country houses gay,Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

“The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,In every street these tunes our ears do greet:Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!Spring! the sweet Spring!”

PROSPERO[Greeting her.]Welcome, most dear!

MIRANDAOnce more you bring me home,And the gray world wears green!

THE VOICE OF CALIBAN[Calling, beneath.]Ho, Spring-i’-the-air!

MIRANDAHark!

[From his cell, bare-headed, with gray cloak unboundand flapping behind, Caliban bursts forth andhastens toward them.]

CALIBANSpring-i’-the-air! Ah, leave me not alone!Take me forth with thee, too! Not Death can hold meWhen thou goest forth from him.

MIRANDAIt was thyselfThat led’st me unto him.

CALIBANWith thee—with theeWould I lie even with Death. But when thou leavest,Thy life-song prickleth his sod, and maketh my sapTo leap, and lick the sun again.[Kneeling before her.]O, whitherThou goest, let Caliban go, and wear thy clothWhatso its colors be!

PROSPERO[Darkly.]Keep from her, slave!Touch not her hem. Her Muses garbed thee onceGay in her colors. Thou soiled’st them with shame.Next time thou worest drab, and lured’st thy MistressDeathward in gray. Now—now thou darest craveOnce more to wear her cloth?

CALIBANYea, do I! See:This cloak—so I forswear it!

[He puts off the gray cloak, tears it, and tramples uponit; then turns to Miranda.]

Give me nowThy green to wear!

PROSPEROInsolence infinite!Ariel, my staff!

MIRANDAStay!—What to do?

PROSPERO[About to raise the staff.]To teachThis unwhipt hound—to howl.

CALIBAN[Starting back.]Great Master!

MIRANDAGrace,Dear Father! Patience needs no quick compulsion.Thine art is wondrous patient, and this poorSlow climber needs thine art.

PROSPEROWhy, once againThou art my wiser self.[To Caliban.]Go, lick her hand,And feed from it.

CALIBAN[Laying his cheek on Miranda’s hand weeps,with great sobs.]Spring—Spring-i’-the-air, thy dewDabbleth my face. O wonder, what art thouThat fillest so mine eyes with rain-shine?

MIRANDAApril,Not I, can conjure spring i’ the air, and AprilPlies rarest art in England.—Ariel,Fetch us, from out my father’s dreamery,Nature’s spring-charm and echo of English song![To the Spirits of Ariel.]Our greenwood cloth! Come, busk him, merry men all:Aye, both of us!

CALIBAN[Rapturously.]This time I will not fail thee.

MIRANDA[To Prospero, indicating Caliban.]Have faith in this fellow-creature, and let these spiritsClothe him anew.

PROSPEROAs you like it, dear, be it so!

[The Spirits clothe Caliban and Miranda in green, while fromwithin the Cloudy Curtains an unseen chorus sings:]

THE CHORUS“Under the greenwood treeWho loves to lie with me,And tune his merry noteUnto the sweet bird’s throat,Come hither, come hither, come hither:Here shall he seeNo enemyBut winter and rough weather.”

ARIELSpirits within, ho![The Spirits run through the curtains, at centre,and disappear within.]Prosper’s hoodBroods now a dream of Arden wood,Where young Orlando, daring fightFor succor of old Adam’s plight,Defies the greenwood company—But meets there with no enemy.

CALIBAN[By the throne with Miranda and Prospero, murmurs aloud:]No enemy![As Ariel raises his staff, the Cloudy Curtains part,disclosing

A place of dappled shine and shadow in the forest. No boughs or trees are visible, but only a luminous glade of color, where falling sunlight filters a swaying glow and gloom from high, wind-stirred branches above. On the edges of the scene, the semi-obscurity half conceals forms of the forest company [Jacques, the Duke, etc.] who, seated about their noon-time meal, sing their chorus:

THE CHORUSWho doth ambition shunAnd loves to live i’ the sun,Seeking the food he eatsAnd pleased with what he gets,Come hither, come hither, come hither:Here shall he seeNo enemyBut winter and rough weather.[Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn.]ORLANDO[Fiercely.]Forbear, and eat no more!JACQUESWhy, I have eat none yet.ORLANDONor shalt not, till necessity be served.THE DUKEWhat would you have? Your gentleness shall forceMore than your force move us to gentleness.ORLANDOI almost die for food; and let me have it.THE DUKESit down and feed, and welcome to our table.ORLANDOSpeak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:I thought that all things had been savage here;And therefore put I on the countenanceOf stern commandment. But whate’er you areThat in this desert inaccessibleUnder the shade of melancholy boughsLose and neglect the creeping hours of time;If ever you have looked on better days,If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church,If ever sat at any good man’s feast,If ever from your eyelids wiped a tearAnd known what ’tis to pity and be pitied,Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.THE DUKETrue is it that we have seen better days,And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church,And sat at good men’s feasts, and wiped our eyesOf drops that sacred pity hath engender’d:And therefore sit you down in gentlenessAnd take upon command what help we haveThat to your wanting may be minister’d.ORLANDOThen but forbear your food a little while,Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawnAnd give it food. There is an old poor man,Who after me hath many a weary stepLimp’d in pure love: till he be first suffic’dI will not touch a bit.THE DUKEGo find him out,And we will nothing waste till you return.ORLANDOI thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort![Exit Orlando.]THE DUKEThou seest we are not all alone unhappy:This wide and universal theatrePresents more woeful pageants than the sceneWherein we play in.JACQUESAll the world’s a stage,And all the men and women merely players![Re-enter Orlando with Adam, whom he helps to support.]THE DUKEWelcome! Set down your venerable burdenAnd let him feed.ORLANDOI thank you most for him.ADAMSo had you need:I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.THE DUKEWelcome: fall to! Give us some music; sing![Once more, as the chorus resumes the song “Underthe Greenwood Tree,”THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

[Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn.]

ORLANDO[Fiercely.]Forbear, and eat no more!

JACQUESWhy, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDONor shalt not, till necessity be served.

THE DUKEWhat would you have? Your gentleness shall forceMore than your force move us to gentleness.

ORLANDOI almost die for food; and let me have it.

THE DUKESit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

ORLANDOSpeak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:I thought that all things had been savage here;And therefore put I on the countenanceOf stern commandment. But whate’er you areThat in this desert inaccessibleUnder the shade of melancholy boughsLose and neglect the creeping hours of time;If ever you have looked on better days,If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church,If ever sat at any good man’s feast,If ever from your eyelids wiped a tearAnd known what ’tis to pity and be pitied,Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

THE DUKETrue is it that we have seen better days,And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church,And sat at good men’s feasts, and wiped our eyesOf drops that sacred pity hath engender’d:And therefore sit you down in gentlenessAnd take upon command what help we haveThat to your wanting may be minister’d.

ORLANDOThen but forbear your food a little while,Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawnAnd give it food. There is an old poor man,Who after me hath many a weary stepLimp’d in pure love: till he be first suffic’dI will not touch a bit.

THE DUKEGo find him out,And we will nothing waste till you return.

ORLANDOI thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort![Exit Orlando.]

THE DUKEThou seest we are not all alone unhappy:This wide and universal theatrePresents more woeful pageants than the sceneWherein we play in.

JACQUESAll the world’s a stage,And all the men and women merely players!

[Re-enter Orlando with Adam, whom he helps to support.]

THE DUKEWelcome! Set down your venerable burdenAnd let him feed.

ORLANDOI thank you most for him.

ADAMSo had you need:I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

THE DUKE

Welcome: fall to! Give us some music; sing!

[Once more, as the chorus resumes the song “Underthe Greenwood Tree,”

THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

[The music dies away within.With a strange, dawning reverence, Caliban turns toMiranda and speaks:]CALIBAN“I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.”—Like him there you have furnish’d me food of pityAnd a new world withno enemy!MIRANDAYou have none,Save the blind storms of your own nature.CALIBANThoseTempests are still now.PROSPERO[Approaching.]So mine art hath powerOnce more to calm? Good: now the time is ripeMethinks to rest awhile, for I am happilyWeary, and will take rest from thought.—Miranda,Wilt come within? Unhood me for brief slumber,And smooth my couch?MIRANDA[Rising.]Right gladly.PROSPERO[To Ariel.]And thou, too,One moment: I’ve more for this tutelage.[Prospero passes off, right, by the throne exit, accompaniedby Ariel. Miranda, about to follow,pauses at Caliban’s entreating voice.]CALIBANStay! What your pity hath made me cries to you—Leave me not! Let me be yours!MIRANDA[Wonderingly.]How mean you—mine?CALIBANYour Caliban, your creature, your bond slaveTo fetch and bear for you.MIRANDAI want no bonds’Twixt me and any friend. Nay, we are friendsAnd free to serve each other.CALIBANYet I yearnFor more: I know not what.MIRANDAWhat more could beMore happy?CALIBANHere I crawled upon my bellyBrute-stuttering for you, where now I standAnd pray—with Prosper’s tongue. His art hath bredWithin my blood a kinship with your kindnessThat cries: “Miranda, thou and I are one!”—I know not how—I know not how.MIRANDAYou love me.’Tis simple, then: I love you, Caliban.CALIBAN[In a splendor of amazement.]Lovest me—thou? thou!—Wilt be mine?MIRANDANay, trulyYou know not how. Love knows notmineandthine,But onlyours; and all the world is oursTo serve Love in. I am notthine, good friend.[She goes within.]CALIBANStay yet!—She loveth me! Yet Love, she saith,Love knows notmineandthine.A VOICE FROM BENEATH[Calls deeply.]She shall be thine,Caliban!CALIBAN[Starting.]Mine! Who saith that word?THE VOICEShe shallBe thine!CALIBANHow mine?—Say!THE VOICEThou shalt fight for her.CALIBAN[Pointing toward the Cloudy Curtains.]Shall fight? Nay, there—the youth put by his sword,For the other said: “Your gentleness shall forceMore than your force move us to gentleness.”THE VOICEYet thou shalt fight!CALIBAN[Springing forward above his cell.]What art thou?[From the mouth of the cell a flame-colored Figurestrides forth and replies:]THE FIGUREWar: thy father’sPriest.—Caliban, remember Setebos!CALIBANHa, Setebos! Com’st thou once more with priest-craftTo lure me back to him?—Begone!WARYet notWithoutmeshalt thou win Miranda.CALIBAN[Fiercely.]Go!WAR[Returning within the cell, disappears as his voicedies away.]Remember War! Miranda shall be thine!CALIBAN[Hoarsely.]Miranda—mine!ARIEL[Comes running from the throne entrance.]Ho, pupil, now be merry!Great Prosper sleeps, and from his slumber sends theeA dream of fairy laughter.CALIBAN[Darkly, amazed.]Laughter!ARIELAye,An English make-believe of antic elvesAnd merry wives, to douse the lustful fireOf old John Falstaff, lured to Windsor Forest.—Our Master deems thou hast learned art enoughTo laugh at apings of it.CALIBAN[Still amazed, but curious.]Laugh?ARIELAye, list![Caliban stands on one side, with arms folded andlistens.]To Windsor’s magic oak now turn:There—his fatty bulk in guiseOf the hornèd hunter Herne—Big Sir John in ambush liesWhere the counterfeited faysTroop along the forest ways:How his lust will cease to burnFor the Merry Wives—now gazeYonder by the oak, and learn![Ariel raises his staff. Parting, the Cloudy Curtainsdisclose

[The music dies away within.With a strange, dawning reverence, Caliban turns toMiranda and speaks:]

CALIBAN“I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.”—Like him there you have furnish’d me food of pityAnd a new world withno enemy!

MIRANDAYou have none,Save the blind storms of your own nature.

CALIBANThoseTempests are still now.

PROSPERO[Approaching.]So mine art hath powerOnce more to calm? Good: now the time is ripeMethinks to rest awhile, for I am happilyWeary, and will take rest from thought.—Miranda,Wilt come within? Unhood me for brief slumber,And smooth my couch?

MIRANDA[Rising.]Right gladly.

PROSPERO[To Ariel.]And thou, too,One moment: I’ve more for this tutelage.

[Prospero passes off, right, by the throne exit, accompaniedby Ariel. Miranda, about to follow,pauses at Caliban’s entreating voice.]

CALIBANStay! What your pity hath made me cries to you—Leave me not! Let me be yours!

MIRANDA[Wonderingly.]How mean you—mine?

CALIBANYour Caliban, your creature, your bond slaveTo fetch and bear for you.

MIRANDAI want no bonds’Twixt me and any friend. Nay, we are friendsAnd free to serve each other.

CALIBANYet I yearnFor more: I know not what.

MIRANDAWhat more could beMore happy?

CALIBANHere I crawled upon my bellyBrute-stuttering for you, where now I standAnd pray—with Prosper’s tongue. His art hath bredWithin my blood a kinship with your kindnessThat cries: “Miranda, thou and I are one!”—I know not how—I know not how.

MIRANDAYou love me.’Tis simple, then: I love you, Caliban.

CALIBAN[In a splendor of amazement.]Lovest me—thou? thou!—Wilt be mine?

MIRANDANay, trulyYou know not how. Love knows notmineandthine,But onlyours; and all the world is oursTo serve Love in. I am notthine, good friend.[She goes within.]

CALIBANStay yet!—She loveth me! Yet Love, she saith,Love knows notmineandthine.

A VOICE FROM BENEATH[Calls deeply.]She shall be thine,Caliban!

CALIBAN[Starting.]Mine! Who saith that word?

THE VOICEShe shallBe thine!

CALIBANHow mine?—Say!

THE VOICEThou shalt fight for her.

CALIBAN[Pointing toward the Cloudy Curtains.]Shall fight? Nay, there—the youth put by his sword,For the other said: “Your gentleness shall forceMore than your force move us to gentleness.”

THE VOICEYet thou shalt fight!

CALIBAN[Springing forward above his cell.]What art thou?[From the mouth of the cell a flame-colored Figurestrides forth and replies:]

THE FIGUREWar: thy father’sPriest.—Caliban, remember Setebos!

CALIBANHa, Setebos! Com’st thou once more with priest-craftTo lure me back to him?—Begone!

WARYet notWithoutmeshalt thou win Miranda.

CALIBAN[Fiercely.]Go!

WAR[Returning within the cell, disappears as his voicedies away.]Remember War! Miranda shall be thine!

CALIBAN[Hoarsely.]Miranda—mine!

ARIEL[Comes running from the throne entrance.]Ho, pupil, now be merry!Great Prosper sleeps, and from his slumber sends theeA dream of fairy laughter.

CALIBAN[Darkly, amazed.]Laughter!

ARIELAye,An English make-believe of antic elvesAnd merry wives, to douse the lustful fireOf old John Falstaff, lured to Windsor Forest.—Our Master deems thou hast learned art enoughTo laugh at apings of it.

CALIBAN[Still amazed, but curious.]Laugh?

ARIELAye, list!

[Caliban stands on one side, with arms folded andlistens.]

To Windsor’s magic oak now turn:There—his fatty bulk in guiseOf the hornèd hunter Herne—Big Sir John in ambush liesWhere the counterfeited faysTroop along the forest ways:How his lust will cease to burnFor the Merry Wives—now gazeYonder by the oak, and learn!

[Ariel raises his staff. Parting, the Cloudy Curtainsdisclose

The gigantic trunk of an oak rises in moonlight, surrounded by the glimmering purple of the obscure forest.

Trooping from the left, enter the disguised Fairies, following their leader Sir Hugh Evans.]

EVANSTrib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts:be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; and whenI give the watch ’ords, do as I pid you: Come,come; trib, trib.[They conceal themselves.A distant chiming sounds as Falstaff enters, disguisedas Herne, wearing a stag’s head with great horns.]FALSTAFFThe Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minutedraws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me!Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa;love set on thy horns. O powerful love! That, insome respects, makes a beast a man, in some othera man a beast.CALIBAN[Listening intently near the edge of the scene.]A man a beast!FALSTAFFThink on ’t, Jove: Where gods have hot backs, what shallpoor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor stag; andthe fattest, I think, i’ the forest. Send me a coolrut-time, Jove! Who comes here? My doe?[Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page.]MRS. FORDSir John! Art thou there, my deer? My male deer?FALSTAFFMy doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain potatoes,let it thunder to the tune of green sleeves; I willshelter me here.MRS. FORDMistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.FALSTAFFDivide me like a bribe buck, each a haunch: Am I awoodman, ha? Speak I like Herne the hunter?As I am a true spirit, welcome![Noise within.]MRS. PAGEAlas, what noise?MRS. FORDHeaven forgive our sins!FALSTAFFWhat should this be?MRS. PAGE AND MRS. FORDAway! Away![They run off.]FALSTAFFI think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oilthat’s in me should set hell on fire; he would neverelse cross me thus.[Enter Sir Hugh Evans, disguised as before; Pistol,as Hobgoblin; Mistress Quickly, Anne Page, andothers as Fairies, with tapers.]MRS. QUICKLYFairies, black, gray, green, and white,You moonshine revellers, and shades of night,You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,Attend your office and your quality.Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.PISTOLElves, list your names; silence, you airy toys!FALSTAFFThey are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die:I’ll wink and couch: no man their works must eye.[He lies upon his face.]EVANSWhere’s Bede? Go you, and where you find a maidThat, ere she sleeps, has thrice her prayers said,Raise up the organs of her fantasy;Sleep she as sound as careless infancy!But those as sleep and think not on their sinsPinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins!CALIBAN[Growing excitedly absorbed.]Ha,pinchthem, saith!MRS. QUICKLYAway; disperse: but till ’tis one o’clock,Our dance of custom round about the oakOf Herne the hunter, let us not forget.EVANSPray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set;And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns beTo guide our measure round about the tree.But, stay; I smell a man of middle-earth.FALSTAFFHeaven defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest hetransform me to a piece of cheese!PISTOLVile worm, thou wast o’erlook’d even in thy birth.MRS. QUICKLYWith trial-fire touch me his finger-end:If he be chaste, the flame will back descendAnd turn him to no pain; but if he start,It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.PISTOLA trial, come.EVANSCome, will this wood take fire?[They burn him with their tapers.]FALSTAFFOh! Oh! Oh!CALIBAN[Crying out.]Ah, ah! They plague him, too!MRS. QUICKLYCorrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!About him, Fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.ALL[As they dance about him, pinch, burn him, and sing:]Fie on sinful fantasy!Fie on lust and luxury!Lust is but a bloody fireKindled with unchaste desire,Fed in heart, whose flames aspireAs thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.Pinch him, Fairies, mutually;Pinch him for his villany;Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out!FALSTAFF[Rising and pulling off his buck’s head, cries out:]Oh! Oh! Oh![As he is about to flee, tormented by the dancing figures,THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

FALSTAFFThe Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minutedraws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me!Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa;love set on thy horns. O powerful love! That, insome respects, makes a beast a man, in some othera man a beast.

CALIBAN[Listening intently near the edge of the scene.]A man a beast!

FALSTAFFThink on ’t, Jove: Where gods have hot backs, what shallpoor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor stag; andthe fattest, I think, i’ the forest. Send me a coolrut-time, Jove! Who comes here? My doe?

[Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page.]

MRS. FORDSir John! Art thou there, my deer? My male deer?

FALSTAFFMy doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain potatoes,let it thunder to the tune of green sleeves; I willshelter me here.

MRS. FORDMistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.

FALSTAFFDivide me like a bribe buck, each a haunch: Am I awoodman, ha? Speak I like Herne the hunter?As I am a true spirit, welcome!

[Noise within.]

MRS. PAGEAlas, what noise?

MRS. FORDHeaven forgive our sins!

FALSTAFFWhat should this be?

MRS. PAGE AND MRS. FORDAway! Away![They run off.]

FALSTAFFI think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oilthat’s in me should set hell on fire; he would neverelse cross me thus.

[Enter Sir Hugh Evans, disguised as before; Pistol,as Hobgoblin; Mistress Quickly, Anne Page, andothers as Fairies, with tapers.]

MRS. QUICKLYFairies, black, gray, green, and white,You moonshine revellers, and shades of night,You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,Attend your office and your quality.Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.

PISTOLElves, list your names; silence, you airy toys!

FALSTAFFThey are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die:I’ll wink and couch: no man their works must eye.[He lies upon his face.]

EVANSWhere’s Bede? Go you, and where you find a maidThat, ere she sleeps, has thrice her prayers said,Raise up the organs of her fantasy;Sleep she as sound as careless infancy!But those as sleep and think not on their sinsPinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins!

CALIBAN[Growing excitedly absorbed.]Ha,pinchthem, saith!

MRS. QUICKLYAway; disperse: but till ’tis one o’clock,Our dance of custom round about the oakOf Herne the hunter, let us not forget.

EVANSPray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set;And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns beTo guide our measure round about the tree.But, stay; I smell a man of middle-earth.

FALSTAFFHeaven defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest hetransform me to a piece of cheese!

PISTOLVile worm, thou wast o’erlook’d even in thy birth.

MRS. QUICKLYWith trial-fire touch me his finger-end:If he be chaste, the flame will back descendAnd turn him to no pain; but if he start,It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.

PISTOLA trial, come.

EVANSCome, will this wood take fire?[They burn him with their tapers.]

FALSTAFFOh! Oh! Oh!

CALIBAN[Crying out.]Ah, ah! They plague him, too!

MRS. QUICKLYCorrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!About him, Fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.

ALL[As they dance about him, pinch, burn him, and sing:]

Fie on sinful fantasy!Fie on lust and luxury!Lust is but a bloody fireKindled with unchaste desire,Fed in heart, whose flames aspireAs thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.Pinch him, Fairies, mutually;Pinch him for his villany;Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about,Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out!

FALSTAFF[Rising and pulling off his buck’s head, cries out:]Oh! Oh! Oh![As he is about to flee, tormented by the dancing figures,

THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

CALIBAN[Bursting into bitter laughter.]Ah-ha, ha!“Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!”Mocketh me, mocketh me, ah!—A man with hornsAnd heart of monster![Striding fiercely toward Ariel.]He mocketh me, thy lord!ARIEL[Laughing silverly.]Why, ’tis but fairy sport for laughter.CALIBAN[With choking passion.]Laughter!Ah-ha! Me, too—me, too, thy spirits plaguedAnd pinched, to piping jigs.[Seizing Ariel.]I tell thee, smilingSpirit, thy laughter scorcheth me with nettles,[Pointing toward the curtains.]And that hot bulk of lust hath made my loinsTo rage with boiling blood.ARIEL[Struggling.]Unclutch thy hand!CALIBANNot till I bleed that oil of laughter from theeWhich lappeth me in flame.THE VOICE OF WAR[Calls deeply from below.]Hail, Caliban!CALIBAN[Pausing, releases Ariel, and listens.]Callest me, War?THE VOICEMiranda shall be thine!CALIBANMine!—Yea, now I am mocked to know myselfWhat rutting stag I am! And her, the doeI mate, my horns shall battle for, and beMine own—mine, mine! Miranda!MIRANDA[Coming from within, right, raises her hand in gentlewarning.]Hush thy tone;My father slumbers yet.[Showing Prospero’s hood, which she carries.]He hath put byThis hood, wherein he sends thee here anotherVisioning.CALIBAN[Stares at her, breathing hard.]So: what now?ARIEL[To Miranda.]He rages, Mistress.Beware! He babbleth of War.MIRANDAWhy, then he conjuresThe dream my father sends: another picture,Painted in gules on England’s ancient shield:King Harry, by the high walls of Harfleur.[To Caliban.]So you may learn, good friend, how noblest naturesAre moved to tiger passions—by a paintingCalled Honor, dearer than their brothers’ lives.CALIBANWhy will he show me this?MIRANDAPerchance that you,Born of a tiger’s loins, seeing that picture,May recognize an image of yourselfAnd so recoil to reason and to love.CALIBANSo, mocketh me once more?MIRANDANay, never that.But let us look thereon, and learn together.CALIBAN[Starts toward her, but curbs himself, trembling.]Together!MIRANDA[To Ariel.]Hold his magic hood and conjure.ARIEL[Taking the hood of Prospero.]Image of Strife, may never moreYour like draw near!Pageant of long-forgotten War,Appear!Harry of England, lo, is here![As Ariel lifts Prospero’s hood on the staff, theCloudy Curtains party and discover

ARIEL[Laughing silverly.]Why, ’tis but fairy sport for laughter.

CALIBAN[With choking passion.]Laughter!Ah-ha! Me, too—me, too, thy spirits plaguedAnd pinched, to piping jigs.[Seizing Ariel.]I tell thee, smilingSpirit, thy laughter scorcheth me with nettles,[Pointing toward the curtains.]And that hot bulk of lust hath made my loinsTo rage with boiling blood.

ARIEL[Struggling.]Unclutch thy hand!

CALIBANNot till I bleed that oil of laughter from theeWhich lappeth me in flame.

THE VOICE OF WAR[Calls deeply from below.]Hail, Caliban!

CALIBAN[Pausing, releases Ariel, and listens.]Callest me, War?

THE VOICEMiranda shall be thine!

CALIBANMine!—Yea, now I am mocked to know myselfWhat rutting stag I am! And her, the doeI mate, my horns shall battle for, and beMine own—mine, mine! Miranda!

MIRANDA[Coming from within, right, raises her hand in gentlewarning.]Hush thy tone;My father slumbers yet.[Showing Prospero’s hood, which she carries.]He hath put byThis hood, wherein he sends thee here anotherVisioning.

CALIBAN[Stares at her, breathing hard.]So: what now?

ARIEL[To Miranda.]He rages, Mistress.Beware! He babbleth of War.

MIRANDAWhy, then he conjuresThe dream my father sends: another picture,Painted in gules on England’s ancient shield:King Harry, by the high walls of Harfleur.[To Caliban.]So you may learn, good friend, how noblest naturesAre moved to tiger passions—by a paintingCalled Honor, dearer than their brothers’ lives.

CALIBANWhy will he show me this?

MIRANDAPerchance that you,Born of a tiger’s loins, seeing that picture,May recognize an image of yourselfAnd so recoil to reason and to love.

CALIBANSo, mocketh me once more?

MIRANDANay, never that.But let us look thereon, and learn together.

CALIBAN[Starts toward her, but curbs himself, trembling.]Together!

MIRANDA[To Ariel.]Hold his magic hood and conjure.

ARIEL[Taking the hood of Prospero.]

Image of Strife, may never moreYour like draw near!Pageant of long-forgotten War,Appear!Harry of England, lo, is here!

[As Ariel lifts Prospero’s hood on the staff, theCloudy Curtains party and discover

Before high mediæval walls, partly shattered, to pealing of trumpets, appear in their armor, King Henry the Fifth, and his nobles, surrounded by soldiers, with cross-bows and scaling-ladders.

Standing above on a parapet, the King is exhorting them with vehement ardor.

KING HENRYOnce more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,Or close the wall up with the English dead!In peace there’s nothing so becomes a manAs modest stillness and humility:But when the blast of war blows in our ears,Then imitate the action of the tiger;Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,Disguise fair nature with hard-favor’d rage;Then lend the eye a terrible aspect....Hold hard the breath and bend up every spiritTo his full height. On, on, you noble English,Whose blood is fet from fathers of War-proof!...Be copy now to men of grosser blood,And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,Whose limbs were made in England, show us hereThe mettle of your pasture; let us swearThat you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not....I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot.Follow your spirit, and upon this chargeCry, “God for Harry, England, and Saint George!”THE SOLDIERS[With a great shout.]Ho, God for Harry, England, and Saint George![As they leap forward, to the blare of trumpets, andbegin to scale the ladders,THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE[Instantly Caliban, seizing from the staff the hood ofProspero, shakes it aloft and shouts:]

THE SOLDIERS[With a great shout.]Ho, God for Harry, England, and Saint George!

[As they leap forward, to the blare of trumpets, andbegin to scale the ladders,

THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

[Instantly Caliban, seizing from the staff the hood ofProspero, shakes it aloft and shouts:]

PRELIMINARY SKETCH FOR TENTH INNER SCENE: JONES

CALIBANHo, God for Caliban and Setebos!War, War for Prosper’s throne! Miranda’s shrine![A booming detonation resounds, and a roar of voicesfrom below.]THE VOICESCaliban, Caliban, hail![From the throne-entrance Prospero—unhooded—hastensin, surrounded by the Spirits of Ariel, bearinglong shining lances. Mounting swiftly the throneand joined by Ariel and Miranda, Prospero callsto Caliban, who—wearing his hood and lifting hisstaff—strides toward him.]PROSPERO[His unhooded features revealing their likeness toShakespeare’s.]Who wakes my sleepWith these usurping thunders?CALIBANWar and I!Now Setebos returns, and thou art fallen![A second detonation booms.Red glare bursts from Caliban’s cell, and War rushesforth with the Powers of Setebos, clad in his flaringhabiliments, followed by the groups of Lust and Death.Bearing lighted torches, amid the roaring of Seteboschoruses, flashing fireworks and bombs, they swarmupon the half-obscure stage.Led by War, the flame-colored hordes clash with theSpirits of Ariel, overcome them, and take captiveMiranda, Prospero, and Ariel.As War holds Miranda in his power, Prospero confrontsCaliban who—wearing his hood and raising hisstaff—exults before him:]Hail, Prospero! Who now is master-artist!Who wieldeth now the world?PROSPEROHail, Caliban!Slumb’ring, from me thou robb’st my hood and staffWhich wield my power; yet not mine art they wieldWithout my will: my will thou canst not robNor ravish.CALIBAN[With eyes gleaming.]But Miranda!PROSPERONay, nor her:For she is charmed against thy body’s rapeBy chastity of soul. Thy will and WarMay break, but cannot build the world: And One,Who bore us all within her womb, still livesTo stanch our wounds with her immortal healing.CALIBANWhere?PROSPERO[Pointing.]Yonder, on the Yellow Sands! She rises nowAnd calls across the tides of fleeting changeHer deathless artists of the plastic mind—My art that builds the beauty of the world.

CALIBANHo, God for Caliban and Setebos!War, War for Prosper’s throne! Miranda’s shrine![A booming detonation resounds, and a roar of voicesfrom below.]

THE VOICES

Caliban, Caliban, hail!

[From the throne-entrance Prospero—unhooded—hastensin, surrounded by the Spirits of Ariel, bearinglong shining lances. Mounting swiftly the throneand joined by Ariel and Miranda, Prospero callsto Caliban, who—wearing his hood and lifting hisstaff—strides toward him.]

PROSPERO[His unhooded features revealing their likeness toShakespeare’s.]Who wakes my sleepWith these usurping thunders?

CALIBANWar and I!Now Setebos returns, and thou art fallen!

[A second detonation booms.Red glare bursts from Caliban’s cell, and War rushesforth with the Powers of Setebos, clad in his flaringhabiliments, followed by the groups of Lust and Death.Bearing lighted torches, amid the roaring of Seteboschoruses, flashing fireworks and bombs, they swarmupon the half-obscure stage.Led by War, the flame-colored hordes clash with theSpirits of Ariel, overcome them, and take captiveMiranda, Prospero, and Ariel.As War holds Miranda in his power, Prospero confrontsCaliban who—wearing his hood and raising hisstaff—exults before him:]

Hail, Prospero! Who now is master-artist!Who wieldeth now the world?

PROSPEROHail, Caliban!Slumb’ring, from me thou robb’st my hood and staffWhich wield my power; yet not mine art they wieldWithout my will: my will thou canst not robNor ravish.

CALIBAN[With eyes gleaming.]But Miranda!

PROSPERONay, nor her:For she is charmed against thy body’s rapeBy chastity of soul. Thy will and WarMay break, but cannot build the world: And One,Who bore us all within her womb, still livesTo stanch our wounds with her immortal healing.

CALIBANWhere?

PROSPERO[Pointing.]Yonder, on the Yellow Sands! She rises nowAnd calls across the tides of fleeting changeHer deathless artists of the plastic mind—My art that builds the beauty of the world.

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