Calib. O my lord! my mother left us in her will a hundred spirits to attend us, devils of all sorts, some great roaring devils, and some little singing spirits.
Syc. Shall we call? And thou shalt hear them in the air.
Trinc. I accept the motion: Let us have our mother-in-law's legacy immediately.
CALIBAN SINGS.
We want music, we want mirth. Up, dam, and cleave the earth: We have no lords that wrong us, Send thy merry spirits among us.
Trinc. What a merry tyrant am I, to have my music, and pay nothing for't!
A table rises, and four Spirits with wine and meat enter, placing it, as they dance, on the table: The dance ended, the bottles vanish, and the table sinks again.
Vent. The bottle's drunk.
Must. Then the bottle's a weak shallow fellow, if it be drunk first.