Page 1073 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery
acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs
[40] of the storm be past.

Enter Stephano, singing: [a bolle in his band].

STEPHANO
I shall no more to sea, to sea,

Here shall I die ashore, −
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral; [45] well, here’s my
comfort.
Drinks.

Sings:
The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,
Lov’d Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,

But none of us car’d for Kate: [50]
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
She lov’d not the savour of tar nor of pitch;

Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch.
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang! [55]
This is a scurvy tune, too: but here’s my comfort.
Drinks.

CALIBAN

Do not torment me: − O!

STEPHANO

What’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon ’s with
salvages and men of India, ha? I have not scap’d drowning, to be afeard [60]
now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on
four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so again, while

Stephano breathes at’ nostrils.

CALIBAN
The spirit torments me: − O! [65]