Ari. My lord, it shall be done.

[Exit.

Pros. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself

Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

Enter Caliban.

Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed

With raven's feather from unwholesome fen

Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye

And blister you all o'er!

Pros. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,