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Montāžas Teksta
Heavens, I pray you, sir. For still tis beating in my mind your reason for raising this sea strom?
Know thus far forth. Here cease more questions. Thou art inclined to sleep. Tis a good dullness, and give it way. I know thou canst not choose.
Come away, servant, come! Hast thou, spirit,. Performed to point, the tempest that I bade thee?
To every article.
Thou most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness!
O ho! Wouldn`t had been done! Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else. This isle with Calibans.
My affections are then most humble. I have no ambition to see a goodlier man
Abhorred slave, which any print of goodness wilt not take, being capable of all ill I pitied thee.
What is't? A spirit? I might call him.
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance and say what thou seest yond.
Where should this music be?
My language! Heavens! I am the best of them that speak this speech, were I but where tis spoken.
No wonder, sir, but certainly a maid.
How? The best? What wert thou if the king of Naples heard thee?
So they are. My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
Come on, obey! Thy nerves are in their infancy again and have no vigor in them.
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