yet always bending
Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor; 175
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears,
Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses
As they smelt music: so I charm'd their ears,
That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd through
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, 180
Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them
I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake
O'erstunk their feet.

_Pros._ This was well done, my bird.
Thy shape invisible retain thou still: 185
The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither,
For stale to catch these thieves.

_Ari._ I go, I go. [_Exit._

_Pros._ A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; 190
And as with age his body uglier grows,
So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,
Even to roaring.

_Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, &c._

Come, hang them on this line.

_PROSPERO and ARIEL remain, invisible. Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO,
and TRINCULO, all wet._

_Cal._ Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not
Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. 195

_Ste._ Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless
fairy, has done little better than played the Jack with us.

_Trin._ Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my
nose is in great indignation.

_Ste._ So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should 200
take a displeasure against you, look you,--

_Trin._ Thou wert but a lost monster.

_Cal._ Good my lord, give me thy favour still.
Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to
Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly. 205
All's hush'd as midnight yet.

_Trin._ Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,--

_Ste._ There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that,
monster, but an infinite loss.

_Trin._ That's more to me than my wetting: yet this is 210
your harmless fairy, monster.

_Ste._ I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears for
my labour.

_Cal._ Prithee, my king, be quiet. See'st thou here,
This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter. 215
Do that good mischief which may make this island
Thine own for ever, and I, thy