Act III

Now, forward with your tale. Prithee, stand farther off.

Beat him enough: after a little time

I’ll beat him too.

Stand farther. Come, proceed.

Why, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him,

I’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,

Having first seized his books, or with a log

Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,

Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember

First to possess his books; for without them

He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not

One spirit to command: they all do hate him

As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.

He has brave utensils⁠—for so he calls them⁠—

Which when he has a house, he’ll deck withal.

And that most deeply to consider is

The beauty of his daughter; he himself

Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman,

But only Sycorax my dam and she;

But she as far surpasseth Sycorax

As great’st does least.

Is it so brave a lass?

Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant.

And bring thee forth brave brood.