THE VOICE OF WAR [Calls deeply from below.] Hail, Caliban!
CALIBAN [Pausing, releases Ariel, and listens.] Callest me, War?
THE VOICE Miranda shall be thine!
CALIBAN Mine!—Yea, now I am mocked to know myself What rutting stag I am! And her, the doe I mate, my horns shall battle for, and be Mine own—mine, mine! Miranda!
MIRANDA [Coming from within, right, raises her hand in gentle warning.] Hush thy tone; My father slumbers yet. [Showing Prospero’s hood, which she carries.] He hath put by This hood, wherein he sends thee here another Visioning.
CALIBAN [Stares at her, breathing hard.] So: what now?
ARIEL [To Miranda.] He rages, Mistress. Beware! He babbleth of War.
MIRANDA Why, then he conjures The dream my father sends: another picture, Painted in gules on England’s ancient shield: King Harry, by the high walls of Harfleur. [To Caliban.] So you may learn, good friend, how noblest natures Are moved to tiger passions—by a painting Called Honor, dearer than their brothers’ lives.
CALIBAN Why will he show me this?
MIRANDA Perchance that you, Born of a tiger’s loins, seeing that picture, May recognize an image of yourself And so recoil to reason and to love.