PROSPERO [Darkly.] Keep from her, slave! Touch not her hem. Her Muses garbed thee once Gay in her colors. Thou soiled’st them with shame. Next time thou worest drab, and lured’st thy Mistress Deathward in gray. Now—now thou darest crave Once more to wear her cloth?
CALIBAN Yea, do I! See: This cloak—so I forswear it!
[He puts off the gray cloak, tears it, and tramples upon it; then turns to Miranda.]
Give me now Thy green to wear!
PROSPERO Insolence infinite! Ariel, my staff!
MIRANDA Stay!—What to do?
PROSPERO [About to raise the staff.] To teach This unwhipt hound—to howl.
CALIBAN [Starting back.] Great Master!
MIRANDA Grace, Dear Father! Patience needs no quick compulsion. Thine art is wondrous patient, and this poor Slow climber needs thine art.
PROSPERO Why, once again Thou art my wiser self. [To Caliban.] Go, lick her hand, And feed from it.