Ariel
Yes, Caliban her son.
Prospero
Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st
What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts
Of ever angry bears: it was a torment
To lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax
Could not again undo: it was mine art,
When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape
The pine and let thee out.
Ariel
I thank thee, master.
Prospero
If thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak
And peg thee in his knotty entrails till
Thou hast howl’d away twelve winters.
Ariel
Pardon, master;
I will be correspondent to command
And do my spiriting gently.
Prospero
Do so, and after two days
I will discharge thee.
Ariel
That’s my noble master!
What shall I do? say what; what shall I do?