William Shakespeare - Ultimate Collection: Complete Plays & Poetry in One Volume. William ShakespeareЧитать онлайн книгу.
appear, and pertly.
No tongue! all eyes! be silent.
[Soft music]
[A Masque. Enter IRIS]
IRIS.
Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas;
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep;
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves,
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lass-lorn: thy pole-clipt vineyard;
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,
Where thou thyself dost air: the Queen o’ the sky,
Whose watery arch and messenger am I,
Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
To come and sport; her peacocks fly amain:
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.
[Enter CERES]
CERES.
Hail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;
Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers
Diffusest honey drops, refreshing showers:
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown
My bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down,
Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen
Summon’d me hither to this short-grass’d green?
IRIS.
A contract of true love to celebrate,
And some donation freely to estate
On the blest lovers.
CERES.
Tell me, heavenly bow,
If Venus or her son, as thou dost know,
Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot
The means that dusky Dis my daughter got,
Her and her blind boy’s scandal’d company
I have forsworn.
IRIS.
Of her society
Be not afraid. I met her deity
Cutting the clouds towards Paphos and her son
Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done
Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,
Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid
Till Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain.
Mars’s hot minion is return’d again;
Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,
Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows,
And be a boy right out.
CERES.
Highest Queen of State,
Great Juno comes; I know her by her gait.
[Enter JUNO.]
JUNO.
How does my bounteous sister? Go with me
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be,
And honour’d in their issue.
SONG
JUNO.
Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,
Long continuance, and increasing,
Hourly joys be still upon you!
Juno sings her blessings on you.
CERES.
Earth’s increase, foison plenty,
Barns and gamers never empty;
Vines with clust’ring bunches growing;
Plants with goodly burden bowing;
Spring come to you at the farthest,
In the very end of harvest!
Scarcity and want shall shun you;
Ceres’ blessing so is on you.
FERDINAND.
This is a most majestic vision, and
Harmonious charmingly; may I be bold
To think these spirits?
PROSPERO.
Spirits, which by mine art
I have from their confines call’d to enact
My present fancies.
FERDINAND.
Let me live here ever:
So rare a wonder’d father and a wise,
Makes this place Paradise.
[JUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS on employment.]
PROSPERO.
Sweet now, silence!
Juno and Ceres whisper seriously,
There’s something else to do: hush, and be mute,
Or else our spell is marr’d.
IRIS.
You nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks,
With your sedg’d crowns and ever-harmless looks,
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land
Answer your summons: Juno does command.
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate
A contract of true love: be not too late.
[Enter certain NYMPHS]
You sunburn’d sicklemen, of August weary,
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry:
Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on,
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
In country footing.
[Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join] with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof PROSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish.]
PROSPERO.
[Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy
Of the beast Caliban and his confederates
Against my life: the minute of their plot
Is almost come. [To the Spirits.] Well done! avoid; no
more!
FERDINAND.
This is strange: your father’s in some passion
That works him strongly.
MIRANDA.
Never till this day
Saw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.
PROSPERO.
You do look, my son, in a mov’d sort,
As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless