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What have we here? A man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish. He smells like a fish, a very ancient and fish-like smell, a kind of not-of-the-newest poor-john. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man. Any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legged like a man and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth. I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt.
What do we have here, a man or a fish? Whew, he stinks like a fish—an old salted fish, not a fresh-caught one. A strange fish. If I were in England now, like I was once, and I had even a painted picture of this fish, every fool there would give me a piece of silver to look at it. In England this strange monster would be just like a man. Any strange beast there can be considered a man. The men there won’t give a penny to a lame beggar, but they’ll pay ten cents to look at a freak show exhibit. This guy has legs like a man but fins for arms! And he’s still warm, by God. I guess this is not a fish, but a native who got struck by lightning just now.
Thunder
Thunder.

Alas, the storm is come again! My best way is to creep under his gaberdine. There is no other shelter hereabouts. Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past.
(crawls under gaberdine)
Oh, here comes the storm again. The best thing to do is crawl under his cloak. There’s no other shelter around here. In emergencies you meet the strangest folks. I’ll just stay here till the storm passes. (he crawls under CALIBAN ’s cloak)
Enter STEPHANO, singing
STEPHANO enters, singing.




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STEPHANO
(sings)
I shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die ashore
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral.
Well, here’s my comfort. (drinks, sings)
The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner and his mate
Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us cared for Kate.
For she had a tongue with a tang,
STEPHANO
(sings)
I’ll never go to sea again,
I’ll die here on shore—
This is a rotten song to sing at a man’s funeral. At least I’ve got some booze to comfort me. (he drinks and sings)
The master, the deck-washer, the boatswain, and I,
The gunman and his friend,
We loved Moll, Meg, Marian, and Margery
But none of us cared for Kate.
Kate had a gutter mouth,

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The Tempest (No Fear Shakespeare)