“Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?” said the King of Naples.
“Why, how now, Stephano?” said Sebastian mockingly.
“You would be King of the isle, sirrah?” demanded Prospero.
“I should have been a sore one, then,” groaned Stephano, for he and his worthless friends were still aching all over from the punishment inflicted on them.
“That is as strange a thing as ever I looked on,” said Alonso, pointing to Caliban.
“His manners are as ugly as his appearance,” answered Prospero. “Go, sirrah, to my cell. Take your companions with you, and if you hope to have my pardon, behave properly.”
“Ay, that I will,” said Caliban; “and I will be wise hereafter, and try to be better. What a thrice-double ass I was to take that drunkard for my master!”
And he departed with his companions, glad to have escaped so lightly.
Then Prospero invited the King and his other guests into his cell, where they were to rest for one night. The next morning they were all to set sail for Naples, where the marriage between Prince Ferdinand and Miranda was to take place, after which Prospero would retire to his own dukedom of Milan. Finally he gave his last charge to Ariel, and bade him see that the King’s ship should have calm seas and fair winds to waft it quickly on its way.
“My Ariel, chick, that is thy charge,” said Prospero. “Then be free as the elements, and fare thee well!”