The Tempest: Act 4

As I hope
For quiet days, fair issue, and long life,
With such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den,
The most opportune place, the strong’st suggestion
Our worser genius can shall never melt
Mine honor into lust

Be more abstemious,
Or else goodnight your vow.

Now come, my Ariel. Bring a corollary
Rather than want a spirit.

Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas;
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads thatched with stover, them to keep

...the Queen o’ th’ sky,
Whose wat’ry arch and messenger am I,
Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
To come and sport.

Here thought they to have done
Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,
Whose vows are that no bed-right shall be paid
Till Hymen’s torch be lighted—but in vain.

How does my bounteous sister? Go with me
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be
And honored in their issue.

Earth’s increase, foison plenty,
Barns and garners never empty,
Vines with clust’ring bunches growing,
Plants with goodly burden bowing;
Spring come to you at the farthest
In the very end of harvest.

Hush, and be mute,
Or else our spell is marred.

Our revels now are ended.

These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.

Be not disturbed with my infirmity.

The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither
For stale to catch these thieves.

Mistress Line, is not this my jerkin? [He takes a jacket from the tree.] Now is the jerkin under the line.

Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints
With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews
With agèd cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them
Than pard or cat o’ mountain.