Calib. All the infections, that the sun sucks up from fogs, fens, flats, on Prospero fall, and make him by inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me, and yet I needs must curse; but they'll not pinch, fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i'the mire, nor lead me in the dark out of my way, unless he bid them. But for every trifle he sets them on me: Sometimes, like baboons, they mow and chatter at me, and often bite me; like hedge-hogs, then, they mount their prickles at me, tumbling before me in my barefoot way. Sometimes I am all wound about with adders, who, with their cloven tongues, hiss me to madness.—Ha! yonder stands one of his spirits, sent to torment me.
Trinc. What have we here, a man, or a fish? This is some monster of the isle. Were I in England, as once I was, and had him painted, not a holiday fool there but would give me sixpence for the sight of him. Well, if I could make him tame, he were a present for an emperor.—Come hither, pretty monster; I'll do thee no harm: Come hither!
Calib. Torment me not; I'll bring the wood home faster.
Trinc. He talks none of the wisest; but I'll give him a dram o'the bottle, that will clear his understanding.—Come on your ways, master monster, open your mouth: How now, you perverse moon-calf! what, I think you cannot tell who is your friend?—Open your chops, I say.
[Pours wine down his throat.
Calib. This is a brave god, and bears celestial liquor: I'll kneel to him.
Trinc. He is a very hopeful monster.—Monster, what say'st thou, art thou content to turn civil and sober, as I am? for then thou shalt be my subject.
Calib. I'll swear upon that bottle to be true; for the liquor is not earthly. Did'st thou not drop from heaven?
Trinc. Only out of the moon; I was the man in her, when time was.—By this light, a very shallow monster.
Calib. I'll shew thee every fertile inch in the isle, and kiss thy foot: I pr'ythee be my god, and let me drink.
[Drinks again.
Trinc. Well drawn, monster, in good faith!