pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known. But thy vile race, Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou Deservedly confined into this rock, Who hadst deserved more than a prison. You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language! Hag-seed, hence! Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar That beasts shall tremble at thy din. No, pray thee. I must obey: his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, and make a vassal of him. So, slave; hence! Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Courtsied when you have and kiss'd The wild waves whist, Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. Hark, hark! The watch-dogs bark! Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow. Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth? It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the king my father's wreck, This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone. No, it begins again. Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell Hark! now I hear them,--Ding-dong, bell. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes. I hear it now above me. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance And say what thou seest yond. What is't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit. No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest