CALIBAN [As Death touches him, springs back.] No, no; thy hand-touch freezeth. [Fearfully he leaps up the steps, crying aloud:] Prospero! I will serve thee.
DEATH [Disappearing within the cell.] Thou shalt fail.
CALIBAN [Bowing before Prospero.] Master, raise up thy servant.
PROSPERO Raise thyself.
CALIBAN [Slowly rising.] So—while thou lookest on me, I can rise.
PROSPERO Nay, look once more on what I now create For thee to rise by. ’Tis mine art, not me, Reigns as thy master. Master it, and go free.
[The Three move toward the throne, where they soon group themselves on the steps.]
CALIBAN What wilt thou show me now?
PROSPERO A mind distraught— Grasping at realms invisible—like thine, Poor groping dreamer. Ariel, from the scroll Of mine old Gothic meditations, bid Thy spirits blazon now a glimpse of Hamlet.
[He hands to Ariel his scroll.]