THE DIRGE Gray—gray—gray: Joy be unholy and hidden; Wan be the rainbow of wonder, frozen the tide! Blind—blind—blind: Passion be pale and forbidden; Dumb be the lips of the soul to Beauty denied!
PROSPERO [Speaks to Ariel, who comes running from behind the Cloudy Curtains.] Blithe bird of mine, my heart is boding ill. Hast thou heard?
ARIEL Nay, Master, what?
PROSPERO His dirges.
ARIEL Whose?
PROSPERO Setebos’. Ha, ’tis not his lust I dread, Nay, nor his tiger tooth, nor belly on fire: ’Tis when his fever cools: when the gray ash Covers the life-flame, and the boiling senses Skim with thin ice, and the rank bloom wears hoar-frost: Not savage souls, ’tis dead souls that defeat us. Not red, but gray—gray.
[While Prospero and Ariel have spoken together above, Caliban, below, has been drawn half hypnotized by Death toward the cell.]
DEATH [To Caliban.] Follow me.
CALIBAN I follow!
DEATH [At the cell’s mouth, lifts the gray cloak to put upon Caliban.] Wear now my color.