ARIEL.
Thou liest.
STEPHANO.
Do I so? Take thou that.
[Strikes Trinculo.]
As you like this, give me the lie another time.
TRINCULO.
I did not give the lie. Out o’ your wits and hearing too? A pox o’ your bottle! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers!
CALIBAN.
Ha, ha, ha!
STEPHANO.
Now, forward with your tale.—Prithee stand further off.
CALIBAN.
Beat him enough: after a little time,
I’ll beat him too.
STEPHANO.
Stand farther.—Come, proceed.
CALIBAN.
Why, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him
I’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,
Having first seiz’d his books; or with a log
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
First to possess his books; for without them
He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
One spirit to command: they all do hate him
As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.
He has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,—
Which, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal.
And that most deeply to consider is
The beauty of his daughter; he himself
Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman
But only Sycorax my dam and she;
But she as far surpasseth Sycorax
As great’st does least.