STEPHANO. By mine head, a scurvy trick o’ the King to give us over to a dog’s life in this heathen isle with a man-monster for a master, and none other company beside. TRINCULO. More wisdom from that mouth of thine, most sage STEPHANO. Thou art indeed become a second Socrates for sober conclusions. CALIBAN [_awaking_] What, Trinculo! Get me some food, I say, or thy bones shall pay thy jape. Get thee hence at once, for a mighty hunger is come upon me and I would eat. [_To_ STEPHANO] Sing thou, and caper nimbly the while. STEPHANO [_sings and dances clumsily_] A lass I had, A lass I had, But I’ve a lass no longer. She’s dead and cold In churchyard mould Grim Death he was the stronger. ARIEL [_invisible_] _sings_. In churchyard mould She lieth cold: From her dust the violets spring. To her dark bed Have fairies sped To sing her welcoming. CALIBAN [_alarmed_] Methinks like music have I heard before When Prospero I did serve. And it should bode Damn’d Prospero’s return then were I slave Again, doing his will in everything. STEPHANO. What is this same that sings i’ the air without lips or body? TRINCULO [_returning with food which he places before_ CALIBAN] Master Nobody is at his ancient tricks. An’ he be a devil, he hath an angel’s voice. CALIBAN. Retire ye both, for I would be alone. [_Exeunt_ TRINCULO and STEPHANO. ARIEL _plays softly on a tabor, scatters poppy leaves and departs, leaving_ CALIBAN _asleep_. SCENE II. _A room in the palace at Naples._ [_Enter_ FERDINAND _and_ MIRANDA. FERDINAND. Admir’d Miranda, you are sad, and sad Am I you should be sad. Then will you not Declare what canker eats your tender rose That I may kill ’t, or what untoward care Weighs down your spirit, that I may kiss ’t away? MIRANDA. O, my sweet prince, my husband Ferdinand, In truth I am not well, and yet I am, And yet again I am not. What say I? It is no fever of the blood, no pain That speaks in sharp besetment which doth ail Me now. Not these, and yet ’tis somewhat, still, And when I bid it down ’twill not away. FERDINAND. O lov’d Miranda, ope thy soul to me. MIRANDA. ’Tis silly, sooth, too simple for your ear To heed ’t, and I unworthy of your love To waste a single thought on it. O teach Me to forget it utterly. FERDINAND. O sweet, And so I will, when I do know what is ’t Thou would’st forget. MIRANDA. And will you then forgive? FERDINAND. I will, and yet I’m sure it is no fault Needing forgiveness.