The Tempest. Уильям Шекспир

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          I boarded the King's ship; now on the beak,

          Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,

          I flam'd amazement. Sometime I'd divide,

          And burn in many places; on the topmast,

          The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,

          Then meet and join Jove's lightning, the precursors

          O' th' dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary

          And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks

          Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune

          Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,

          Yea, his dread trident shake.

        PROSPERO. My brave spirit!

          Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil

          Would not infect his reason?

        ARIEL. Not a soul

          But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd

          Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners

          Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel,

          Then all afire with me; the King's son, Ferdinand,

          With hair up-staring-then like reeds, not hair-

          Was the first man that leapt; cried 'Hell is empty,

          And all the devils are here.'

        PROSPERO. Why, that's my spirit!

          But was not this nigh shore?

        ARIEL. Close by, my master.

        PROSPERO. But are they, Ariel, safe?

        ARIEL. Not a hair perish'd;

          On their sustaining garments not a blemish,

          But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me,

          In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle.

          The King's son have I landed by himself,

          Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs

          In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting,

          His arms in this sad knot.

        PROSPERO. Of the King's ship,

          The mariners, say how thou hast dispos'd,

          And all the rest o' th' fleet?

        ARIEL. Safely in harbour

          Is the King's ship; in the deep nook, where once

          Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew

          From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid;

          The mariners all under hatches stowed,

          Who, with a charm join'd to their suff'red labour,

          I have left asleep; and for the rest o' th' fleet,

          Which I dispers'd, they all have met again,

          And are upon the Mediterranean flote

          Bound sadly home for Naples,

          Supposing that they saw the King's ship wreck'd,

          And his great person perish.

        PROSPERO. Ariel, thy charge

          Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work.

          What is the time o' th' day?

        ARIEL. Past the mid season.

        PROSPERO. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now

          Must by us both be spent most preciously.

        ARIEL. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,

          Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd,

          Which is not yet perform'd me.

        PROSPERO. How now, moody?

          What is't thou canst demand?

        ARIEL. My liberty.

        PROSPERO. Before the time be out? No more!

        ARIEL. I prithee,

          Remember I have done thee worthy service,

          Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd

          Without or grudge or grumblings. Thou didst promise

          To bate me a full year.

        PROSPERO. Dost thou forget

          From what a torment I did free thee?

        ARIEL. No.

        PROSPERO. Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze

          Of the salt deep,

          To run upon the sharp wind of the north,

          To do me business in the veins o' th' earth

          When it is bak'd with frost.

        ARIEL. I do not, sir.

        PROSPERO. Thou liest, malignant thing. Hast thou forgot

          The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy

          Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her?

        ARIEL. No, sir.

        PROSPERO. Thou hast. Where was she born?

          Speak; tell me.

        ARIEL. Sir, in Argier.

        PROSPERO. O, was she so? I must

          Once in a month recount what thou hast been,

          Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax,

          For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible

          To enter human hearing, from Argier

          Thou know'st was banish'd; for one thing she did

          They would not take her life. Is not this true?

        ARIEL. Ay, sir.

        PROSPERO. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child,

          And here was left by th'sailors. Thou, my slave,

          As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant;

          And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate

          To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,

          Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,

          By help of her more potent ministers,

          And in her most unmitigable rage,

          Into a cloven pine; within which rift

          Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain

          A dozen years; within which space she died,

          And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans

          As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island-

          Save for the son that she did litter here,

          A freckl'd whelp, hag-born-not honour'd with

          A human shape.

        ARIEL. Yes, Caliban her son.

        PROSPERO. СКАЧАТЬ