The Tempest
·II ii 1 ·
Verse
Caliban All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch, Fright me with urchin鈥攕hows, pitch me i' the mire, Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but For every trifle are they set upon me; Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I All wound with adders who with cloven tongues Do hiss me into madness. |