University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

PROSPERO.
Now does my project gather to a head,
And little further use have I for charms.
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves;
And ye that on the sands, with printless foot,
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him,
When he comes back; you demy-puppets, that,
By moon-shine, do the green-four ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid
(Weak masters tho' ye be) I have be-dimm'd
The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault
Set roaring war; to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt—the strong-bas'd promontory
Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up
The pine and cedar: graves, at my command,
Have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and let them forth,
By my so potent art. But this rough magic
I here abjure.
AIR.