Chapter VI: 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!

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

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

MIRANDA
Hark!

[_From his cell, bare-headed, with gray cloak unbound
and flapping behind, Caliban bursts forth and
hastens toward them._]

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

MIRANDA
It was thyself
That led’st me unto him.

CALIBAN
With thee—with thee
Would I lie even with Death. But when thou leavest,
Thy life-song prickleth his sod, and maketh my sap
To leap, and lick the sun again.
[_Kneeling before her._]
O, whither
Thou goest, let Caliban go, and wear thy cloth
Whatso its colors be!

PROSPERO
[_Darkly._]
Keep from her, slave!
Touch not her hem. Her Muses garbed thee once
Gay in her colors. Thou soiled’st them with shame.
Next time thou worest drab, and lured’st thy Mistress
Deathward in gray. Now—now thou darest crave
Once more to wear her cloth?

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

[_He puts off the gray cloak, tears it, and tramples upon
it; then turns to Miranda._]

Give me now
Thy green to wear!

PROSPERO
Insolence infinite!
Ariel, my staff!

MIRANDA
Stay!—What to do?

PROSPERO
[_About to raise the staff._]
To teach
This unwhipt hound—to howl.

CALIBAN
[_Starting back._]
Great Master!

MIRANDA
Grace,
Dear Father! Patience needs no quick compulsion.
Thine art is wondrous patient, and this poor
Slow climber needs thine art.

PROSPERO
Why, once again
Thou 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 dew
Dabbleth my face. O wonder, what art thou
That fillest so mine eyes with rain-shine?

MIRANDA
April,
Not I, can conjure spring i’ the air, and April
Plies 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 spirits
Clothe him anew.

PROSPERO
As you like it, dear, be it so!

[_The Spirits clothe Caliban and Miranda in green, while from
within the Cloudy Curtains an unseen chorus sings_:]

THE CHORUS
“Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird’s throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.”

ARIEL
Spirits within, ho!
[_The Spirits run through the curtains, at centre,
and disappear within._]
Prosper’s hood
Broods now a dream of Arden wood,
Where young Orlando, daring fight
For 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 EIGHTH INNER SCENE

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 CHORUS
Who doth ambition shun
And loves to live i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats
And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

[Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn.]

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

JACQUES
Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO
Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

THE DUKE
What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
More than your force move us to gentleness.

ORLANDO
I almost die for food; and let me have it.

THE DUKE
Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

ORLANDO
Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
I thought that all things had been savage here;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are
That in this desert inaccessible
Under the shade of melancholy boughs
Lose 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 tear
And 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 DUKE
True 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 eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender’d:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness
And take upon command what help we have
That to your wanting may be minister’d.

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

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

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

THE DUKE
Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

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

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

THE DUKE
Welcome! Set down your venerable burden
And let him feed.

ORLANDO
I thank you most for him.

ADAM
So 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 “Under
the Greenwood Tree,”

THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

[_The music dies away within._

_With a strange, dawning reverence, Caliban turns to
Miranda and speaks_:]

CALIBAN
“I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.”—
Like him there you have furnish’d me food of pity
And a new world with _no enemy_!

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

CALIBAN
Those
Tempests are still now.

PROSPERO
[_Approaching._]
So mine art hath power
Once more to calm? Good: now the time is ripe
Methinks to rest awhile, for I am happily
Weary, 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, accompanied
by Ariel. Miranda, about to follow,
pauses at Caliban’s entreating voice._]

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

MIRANDA
[_Wonderingly._]
How mean you—mine?

CALIBAN
Your Caliban, your creature, your bond slave
To fetch and bear for you.

MIRANDA
I want no bonds
’Twixt me and any friend. Nay, we are friends
And free to serve each other.

CALIBAN
Yet I yearn
For more: I know not what.

MIRANDA
What more could be
More happy?

CALIBAN
Here I crawled upon my belly
Brute-stuttering for you, where now I stand
And pray—with Prosper’s tongue. His art hath bred
Within my blood a kinship with your kindness
That cries: “Miranda, thou and I are one!”—
I know not how—I know not how.

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

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

MIRANDA
Nay, truly
You know not how. Love knows not _mine_ and _thine_,
But only _ours_; and all the world is ours
To serve Love in. I am not _thine_, good friend.

[_She goes within._]

CALIBAN
Stay yet!—She loveth me! Yet Love, she saith,
Love knows not _mine_ and _thine_.

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

CALIBAN
[_Starting._]
Mine! Who saith that word?

THE VOICE
She shall
Be thine!

CALIBAN
How mine?—Say!

THE VOICE
Thou 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 force
More than your force move us to gentleness.”

THE VOICE
Yet thou shalt fight!

CALIBAN
[_Springing forward above his cell._]
What art thou?
[_From the mouth of the cell a flame-colored Figure
strides forth and replies_:]

THE FIGURE
War: thy father’s
Priest.—Caliban, remember Setebos!

CALIBAN
Ha, Setebos! Com’st thou once more with priest-craft
To lure me back to him?—Begone!

WAR
Yet not
Without _me_ shalt thou win Miranda.

CALIBAN
[_Fiercely._]
Go!

WAR
[_Returning within the cell, disappears as his voice
dies 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 thee
A dream of fairy laughter.

CALIBAN
[_Darkly, amazed._]
Laughter!

ARIEL
Aye,
An English make-believe of antic elves
And merry wives, to douse the lustful fire
Of old John Falstaff, lured to Windsor Forest.—
Our Master deems thou hast learned art enough
To laugh at apings of it.

CALIBAN
[_Still amazed, but curious._]
Laugh?

ARIEL
Aye, list!

[_Caliban stands on one side, with arms folded and
listens._]

To Windsor’s magic oak now turn:
There—his fatty bulk in guise
Of the hornèd hunter Herne—
Big Sir John in ambush lies
Where the counterfeited fays
Troop along the forest ways:
How his lust will cease to burn
For the Merry Wives—now gaze
Yonder by the oak, and learn!

[_Ariel raises his staff. Parting, the Cloudy Curtains
disclose_

THE NINTH INNER SCENE

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.]

EVANS
Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts:
be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; and when
I give the watch ’ords, do as I pid you: Come,
come; trib, trib.

[They conceal themselves.

A distant chiming sounds as Falstaff enters, disguised
as Herne, wearing a stag’s head with great
horns.]

FALSTAFF
The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute
draws 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, in
some respects, makes a beast a man, in some other
a man a beast.

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

FALSTAFF
Think on ’t, Jove: Where gods have hot backs, what shall
poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor stag; and
the fattest, I think, i’ the forest. Send me a cool
rut-time, Jove! Who comes here? My doe?

[Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page.]

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

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

MRS. FORD
Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.

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

[Noise within.]

MRS. PAGE
Alas, what noise?

MRS. FORD
Heaven forgive our sins!

FALSTAFF
What should this be?

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

FALSTAFF
I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oil
that’s in me should set hell on fire; he would never
else cross me thus.

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

MRS. QUICKLY
Fairies, 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.

PISTOL
Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys!

FALSTAFF
They 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.]

EVANS
Where’s Bede? Go you, and where you find a maid
That, 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 sins
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins!

CALIBAN
[_Growing excitedly absorbed._]
Ha, _pinch_ them, saith!

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

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

FALSTAFF
Heaven defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he
transform me to a piece of cheese!

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

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

PISTOL
A trial, come.

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

FALSTAFF
Oh! Oh! Oh!

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

MRS. QUICKLY
Corrupt, 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 fire
Kindled with unchaste desire,
Fed in heart, whose flames aspire
As 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 horns
And 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 plagued
And pinched, to piping jigs.
[_Seizing Ariel._]
I tell thee, smiling
Spirit, thy laughter scorcheth me with nettles,
[_Pointing toward the curtains._]
And that hot bulk of lust hath made my loins
To rage with boiling blood.

ARIEL
[_Struggling._]
Unclutch thy hand!

CALIBAN
Not till I bleed that oil of laughter from thee
Which lappeth me in flame.

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

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

THE VOICE
Miranda shall be thine!

CALIBAN
Mine!—Yea, now I am mocked to know myself
What rutting stag I am! And her, the doe
I mate, my horns shall battle for, and be
Mine own—mine, mine! Miranda!

MIRANDA
[_Coming from within, right, raises her hand in gentle
warning._]
Hush thy tone;
My father slumbers yet.
[_Showing Prospero’s hood, which she carries._]
He hath put by
This hood, wherein he sends thee here another
Visioning.

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

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

MIRANDA
Why, then he conjures
The 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 natures
Are moved to tiger passions—by a painting
Called Honor, dearer than their brothers’ lives.

CALIBAN
Why will he show me this?

MIRANDA
Perchance that you,
Born of a tiger’s loins, seeing that picture,
May recognize an image of yourself
And so recoil to reason and to love.

CALIBAN
So, mocketh me once more?

MIRANDA
Nay, 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 more
Your like draw near!
Pageant of long-forgotten War,
Appear!
Harry of England, lo, is here!

[_As Ariel lifts Prospero’s hood on the staff, the
Cloudy Curtains party and discover_

THE TENTH INNER SCENE

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 HENRY
Once 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 man
As 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 spirit
To 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 here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That 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 charge
Cry, “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, and
begin to scale the ladders,

THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE

[_Instantly Caliban, seizing from the staff the hood of
Prospero, shakes it aloft and shouts_:]

CALIBAN
Ho, God for Caliban and Setebos!
War, War for Prosper’s throne! Miranda’s shrine!
[_A booming detonation resounds, and a roar of voices
from below._]

THE VOICES

Caliban, Caliban, hail!

[_From the throne-entrance Prospero—unhooded—hastens
in, surrounded by the Spirits of Ariel, bearing
long shining lances. Mounting swiftly the throne
and joined by Ariel and Miranda, Prospero calls
to Caliban, who—wearing his hood and lifting his
staff—strides toward him._]

PROSPERO
[_His unhooded features revealing their likeness to
Shakespeare’s._]
Who wakes my sleep
With these usurping thunders?

CALIBAN
War and I!
Now Setebos returns, and thou art fallen!

[_A second detonation booms._

_Red glare bursts from Caliban’s cell, and War rushes
forth with the Powers of Setebos, clad in his flaring
habiliments, followed by the groups of Lust and Death._

_Bearing lighted torches, amid the roaring of Setebos
choruses, flashing fireworks and bombs, they swarm
upon the half-obscure stage._

_Led by War, the flame-colored hordes clash with the
Spirits of Ariel, overcome them, and take captive
Miranda, Prospero, and Ariel._

_As War holds Miranda in his power, Prospero confronts
Caliban who—wearing his hood and raising his
staff—exults before him_:]

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

PROSPERO
Hail, Caliban!
Slumb’ring, from me thou robb’st my hood and staff
Which wield my power; yet not mine art they wield
Without my will: my will thou canst not rob
Nor ravish.

CALIBAN
[_With eyes gleaming._]
But Miranda!

PROSPERO
Nay, nor her:
For she is charmed against thy body’s rape
By chastity of soul. Thy will and War
May break, but cannot build the world: And One,
Who bore us all within her womb, still lives
To stanch our wounds with her immortal healing.

CALIBAN
Where?

PROSPERO
[_Pointing._]
Yonder, on the Yellow Sands! She rises now
And calls across the tides of fleeting change
Her deathless artists of the plastic mind—
My art that builds the beauty of the world.