THE TENTH INNER SCENE
Before high mediæval walls, partly shattered, to pealing of trumpets, appear in their armor, King Henry the Fifth, and his nobles, surrounded by soldiers, with cross-bows and scaling-ladders.
Standing above on a parapet, the King is exhorting them with vehement ardor.
KING HENRY Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or close the wall up with the English dead! In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favor’d rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.... Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noble English, Whose blood is fet from fathers of War-proof!... Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not.... I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot. Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry, “God for Harry, England, and Saint George!”
THE SOLDIERS [With a great shout.] Ho, God for Harry, England, and Saint George!
[As they leap forward, to the blare of trumpets, and begin to scale the ladders,
THE CLOUDY CURTAINS CLOSE
[Instantly Caliban, seizing from the staff the hood of Prospero, shakes it aloft and shouts:]
PRELIMINARY SKETCH FOR TENTH INNER SCENE: JONES
CALIBAN Ho, God for Caliban and Setebos! War, War for Prosper’s throne! Miranda’s shrine! [A booming detonation resounds, and a roar of voices from below.]
THE VOICES
Caliban, Caliban, hail!
[From the throne-entrance Prospero—unhooded—hastens in, surrounded by the Spirits of Ariel, bearing long shining lances. Mounting swiftly the throne and joined by Ariel and Miranda, Prospero calls to Caliban, who—wearing his hood and lifting his staff—strides toward him.]
PROSPERO [His unhooded features revealing their likeness to Shakespeare’s.] Who wakes my sleep With these usurping thunders?
CALIBAN War and I! Now Setebos returns, and thou art fallen!
[A second detonation booms. Red glare bursts from Caliban’s cell, and War rushes forth with the Powers of Setebos, clad in his flaring habiliments, followed by the groups of Lust and Death. Bearing lighted torches, amid the roaring of Setebos choruses, flashing fireworks and bombs, they swarm upon the half-obscure stage. Led by War, the flame-colored hordes clash with the Spirits of Ariel, overcome them, and take captive Miranda, Prospero, and Ariel. As War holds Miranda in his power, Prospero confronts Caliban who—wearing his hood and raising his staff—exults before him:]
Hail, Prospero! Who now is master-artist! Who wieldeth now the world?
PROSPERO Hail, Caliban! Slumb’ring, from me thou robb’st my hood and staff Which wield my power; yet not mine art they wield Without my will: my will thou canst not rob Nor ravish.
CALIBAN [With eyes gleaming.] But Miranda!
PROSPERO Nay, nor her: For she is charmed against thy body’s rape By chastity of soul. Thy will and War May break, but cannot build the world: And One, Who bore us all within her womb, still lives To stanch our wounds with her immortal healing.
CALIBAN Where?
PROSPERO [Pointing.] Yonder, on the Yellow Sands! She rises now And calls across the tides of fleeting change Her deathless artists of the plastic mind— My art that builds the beauty of the world.