Enter CALIBAN with a burden of wood A noise of thunder heard
CALIBAN enters with a load of wood. A noise of thunder is heard.
All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him
By inchmeal a disease! His spirits hear me
And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,
Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' th' 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.
I hope all the diseases that breed in swamps and marshes infect Prospero, inch by inch, until he’s nothing but a walking disease! His spirits are listening to me, but I can’t help cursing him anyway. They won’t pinch me, frighten me, push me in the mud, or mislead me unless he tells them to. But he sends them to punish me for every little thing. Sometimes his spirits take the form of apes, grimacing and chattering at me and then biting me; sometimes they come like porcupines, my feet as I walk. Sometimes snakes wrap around me, hissing at me with their forked tongues till I go crazy.
Lo, now, lo!
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
For bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat.
Perchance he will not mind me.
(lies down, covered by his gaberdine)
Hey, look over there! Here comes one of his spirits to torture me for taking so long to bring the wood back. I’ll lie down and hide. Maybe he won’t see me. (he lies down and covers himself with his cloak)
Here’s neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all.
And another storm brewing, I hear it sing i' th' wind. Yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head. Yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. (sees CALIBAN)
There are no bushes or shrubs to protect me from the weather here. And there’s another storm brewing—I can hear it in the way the wind whistles. That huge black cloud over there looks like a filthy liquor jug that’s about to pour out its contents. It won’t be able to help pouring rain down by the bucket-full. (he sees CALIBAN)