Pro. Sweet now, silence: Iuno and Ceres whisper seriously, There's something else to doe: hush, and be mute Or else our spell is mar'd. Iuno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment. Iris. You Nimphs cald Nayades of y windring brooks, With your sedg'd crownes, and euer-harmelesse lookes, Leaue your crispe channels, and on this green-Land Answere your summons, Iuno do's command. Come temperate Nimphes, and helpe to celebrate A Contract of true Loue: be not too late. Enter Certaine Nimphes. You Sun-burn'd Sicklemen of August weary, Come hether from the furrow, and be merry, Make holly day: your Rye-straw hats put on, And these fresh Nimphes encounter euery one In Country footing. Enter certaine Reapers (properly habited:) they ioyne with the Nimphes, in a gracefull dance, towards the end whereof, Prospero starts sodainly and speakes, after which to a strange hollow and confused noyse, they heauily vanish. Pro. I had forgot that foule conspiracy Of the beast Calliban, and his confederates Against my life: the minute of their plot Is almost come: Well done, auoid: no more Fer. This is strange: your fathers in some passion That workes him strongly Mir. Neuer till this day Saw I him touch'd with anger, so distemper'd Pro. You doe looke (my son) in a mou'd sort, As if you were dismaid: be cheerefull Sir, Our Reuels now are ended: These our actors, (As I foretold you) were all Spirits, and Are melted into Ayre, into thin Ayre, And like the baselesse fabricke of this vision The Clowd-capt Towres, the gorgeous Pallaces, The solemne Temples, the great Globe it selfe, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolue, And like this insubstantiall Pageant faded Leaue not a racke behinde: we are such stuffe As dreames are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleepe: Sir, I am vext, Beare with my weakenesse, my old braine is troubled: Be not disturb'd with my infirmitie, If you be pleas'd, retire into my Cell, And there repose, a turne or two, Ile walke To still my beating minde Fer. Mir. We wish your peace. Enter. Pro. Come with a thought; I thank thee Ariell: come. Enter Ariell. Ar. Thy thoughts I cleaue to, what's thy pleasure? Pro. Spirit: We must prepare to meet with Caliban Ar. I my Commander, when I presented Ceres I thought to haue told thee of it, but I fear'd Least I might anger thee Pro. Say again, where didst thou leaue these varlots?