MIR. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.

If you but knew how you the purpose cherish Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, You more invest it!

Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of.

PROS. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick;

misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows.

CAL. Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices, That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open, and show riches Ready to drop

And by that destiny, to perform an act Whereof what ’s past is prologue; what to come, In yours and my discharge.

CAL. 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!

They are both in either’s powers: but this swift business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning Make the prize light.