Prospero
This was well done, my bird.
Thy shape invisible retain thou still:
The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither,
For stale to catch these thieves.
Ariel
I go, I go.
Exit.
Prospero
A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;
And as with age his body uglier grows,
So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,
Even to roaring.
Caliban
Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not
Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.
Stephano
Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better than played the Jack with us.