SEBASTIAN.
Why, how now, Stephano!
STEPHANO.
O! touch me not. I am not Stephano, but a cramp.
PROSPERO.
You’d be King o’ the isle, sirrah?
STEPHANO.
I should have been a sore one, then.
ALONSO.
This is as strange a thing as e’er I look’d on.
[Pointing to Caliban.]
PROSPERO.
He is as disproportioned in his manners
As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;
Take with you your companions. As you look
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.
CALIBAN.
Ay, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter,
And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,
And worship this dull fool!
PROSPERO.
Go to; away!
ALONSO.
Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.