The Tempest. Act 2, Scene 2. Caliban
(This text is featured in our interview with Robert Richmond and Richard Sheridan Willis)
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1040 All the infections that the Sunne suckes vp
1041 From Bogs, Fens, Flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
1042 By ynch-meale a disease: his Spirits heare me,
1043 And yet I needes must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,
1044 Fright me with Vrchyn-shewes, pitch me i’th mire,
1045 Nor lead me like a fire-brand, in the darke
1046 Out of my way, vnlesse he bid ’em; but
1047 For euery trifle, are they set vpon me,
1048 Sometime like Apes, that moe and chatter at me,
1049 And after bite me: then like Hedg-hogs, which
1050 Lye tumbling in my bare-foote way, and mount
1051 Their pricks at my foot-fall: sometime am I
1052 All wound with Adders, who with clouen tongues
1053 Doe hisse me into madnesse: Lo, now Lo,
1054 Here comes a Spirit of his, and to torment me
1055 For bringing wood in slowly: I’le fall flat,
1056 Perchance he will not minde me.