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THE DRAMA OF THE HOLY
CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS
from THE TEMPEST
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25 'Thinketh, He dwelleth i' the cold o' the moon.
26 'Thinketh He made it, with the sun to match,
27 But not the stars; the stars came otherwise;
28 Only made clouds, winds, meteors, such as that:
29 Also this isle, what lives and grows thereon,
30 And snaky sea which rounds and ends the same.
31 'Thinketh, it came of being ill at ease:
32 He hated that He cannot change His cold,
33 Nor cure its ache. 'Hath spied an icy fish
34 That longed to 'scape the rock-stream where she lived,
35 And thaw herself within the lukewarm brine
36 O' the lazy sea her stream thrusts far amid,
37 A crystal spike 'twixt two warm walls of wave;
38 Only, she ever sickened, found repulse
39 At the other kind of water, not her life,
40 (Green-dense and dim-delicious, bred o' the sun)
41 Flounced back from bliss she was not born to breathe,
42 And in her old bounds buried her despair,
43 Hating and loving warmth alike: so He.
44 'Thinketh, He made thereat the sun, this isle,
45 Trees and the fowls here, beast and creeping thing.
46 Yon otter, sleek-wet, black, lithe as a leech;
47 Yon auk, one fire-eye in a ball of foam,
48 That floats and feeds; a certain badger brown
49 He hath watched hunt with that slant white-wedge eye
50 By moonlight; and the pie with the long tongue
51 That pricks deep into oak warts for a worm,
52 And says a plain word when she finds her prize,
53 But will not eat the ants; the ants themselves
54 That build a wall of seeds and settled stalks
55 About their hole--He made all these and more,
56 Made all we see, and us, in spite: how else?
57 He could not, Himself, make a second self
58 To be His mate; as well have made Himself:
59 He would not make what He mislikes or slights,
60 An eyesore to Him, or not worth His pains:
61 But did, in envy, listlessness or sport,
62 Make what Himself would fain, in a manner, be--
63 Weaker in most points, stronger in a few,
64 Worthy, and yet mere playthings all the while,
65 Things He admires and mocks too,--that is it.
66 Because, so brave, so better though they be,
67 It nothing skills if He begin to plague.
68 Look, now, I melt a gourd-fruit into mash,
69 Add honeycomb and pods, I have perceived,
70 Which bite like finches when they bill and kiss,--
71 Then, when froth rises bladdery, drink up all,
72 Quick, quick, till maggots scamper through my brain;
73 Last, throw me on my back i' the seeded thyme,
74 And wanton, wishing I were born a bird.
75 Put case, unacower and couch,
76 I yet could make a live bird out of clay:
77 Would not I take clay, pinch my Caliban
78 Able to fly?--for, there, see, he hath wings,
79 And great comb like the hoopoe's to admire,
80 And there, a sting to do his foes offence,
81 There, and I will that he begin to live,
82 Fly to yon rock-top, nip me off the horns
83 Of grigs high up that make the merry din,
84 Saucy through their veined wings, and mind me not.
85 In which feat, if his leg snapped, brittle clay,
86 And he lay stupid-like,--why, I should laugh;
87 And if he, spying me, should fall to weep,
88 Beseech me to be good, repair his wrong,
89 Bid his poor leg smart less or grow again,--
90 Well, as the chance were, this might take or else
91 Not take my fancy: I might hear his cry,
92 And give the mankin three sound legs for one,
93 Or pluck the other off, leave him like an egg
94 And lessoned he was mine and merely clay.
95 Were this no pleasure, lying in the thyme,
96 Drinking the mash, with brain become alive,
97 Making and marring clay at will? So He.
98 'Thinketh, such shows nor right nor wrong in Him,
99 Nor kind, nor cruel: He is strong and Lord.
100 'Am strong myself compared to yonder crabs
101 That march now from the mountain to the sea;
102 'Let twenty pass, and stone the twenty-first,
103 Loving not, hating not, just choosing so.
104 'Say, the first straggler that boasts purple spots
105 Shall join the file, one pincer twisted off;
106 'Say, this bruised fellow shall receive a worm,
107 And two worms he whose nippers end in red;
108 As it likes me each time, I do: so He.
109 Well then, 'supposeth He is good i' the main,
110 Placable if His mind and ways were guessed,
111 But rougher than His handiwork, be sure!
112 Oh, He hath made things worthier than Himself,
113 And envieth that, so helped, such things do more
114 Than He who made them! What consoles but this?
115 That they, unless through Him, do nought at all,
116 And must submit: what other use in things?
117 'Hath cut a pipe of pithless elder-joint
118 That, blown through, gives exact the scream o' the jay
119 When from her wing you twitch the feathers blue:
120 Sound this, and little birds that hate the jay
121 Flock within stone's throw, glad their foe is hurt:
122 Put case such pipe could prattle and boast forsooth
123 "I catch the birds, I am the crafty thing,
124 I make the cry my maker cannot make
125 With his great round mouth; he must blow through mine!'
126 Would not I smash it with my foot? So He.
127 But wherefore rough, why cold and ill at ease?
128 Aha, that is a question! Ask, for that,
129 What knows,--the something over Setebos
130 That made Him, or He, may be, found and fought,
131 Worsted, drove off and did to nothing, perchance.
132 There may be something quiet o'er His head,
133 Out of His reach, that feels nor joy nor grief,
134 Since both derive from weakness in some way.
135 I joy because the quails come; would not joy
136 Could I bring quails here when I have a mind:
137 This Quiet, all it hath a mind to, doth.
138 'Esteemeth stars the outposts of its couch,
139 But never spends much thought nor care that way.
140 It may look up, work up,--the worse for those
141 It works on! 'Careth but for Setebos
142 The many-handed as a cuttle-fish,
143 Who, making Himself feared through what He does,
144 Looks up, first, and perceives he cannot soar
145 To what is quiet and hath happy life;
146 Next looks down here, and out of very spite
147 Makes this a bauble-world to ape yon real,
148 These good things to match those as hips do grapes.
149 'Tis solace making baubles, ay, and sport.
150 Himself peeped late, eyed Prosper at his books
151 Careless and lofty, lord now of the isle:
152 Vexed, 'stitched a book of broad leaves, arrow-shaped,
153 Wrote thereon, he knows what, prodigious words;
154 Has peeled a wand and called it by a name;
155 Weareth at whiles for an enchanter's robe
156 The eyed skin of a supple oncelot;
157 And hath an ounce sleeker than youngling mole,
158 A four-legged serpent he makes Setebos!
159 Now snarl, now hold its breath and mind his eye,
160 And saith she is Miranda and my wife:
161 'Keeps for his Ariel a tall pouch-bill crane
162 He bids go wade for fish and straight disgorge;
163 Also a sea-beast, lumpish, which he snared,
164 Blinded the eyes of, and brought somewhat tame,
165 And split its toe-webs, and now pens the drudge
166 In a hole o' the rock and calls him Caliban;
167 A bitter heart that bides its time and bites.
168 'Plays thus at being Prosper in a way,
169 Taketh his mirth with make-believes: so He.
170 His dam held that the Quiet made all things
171 Which Setebos vexed only: 'holds not so.
172 Who made them weak, meant weakness He might vex.
173 Had He meant other, while His hand was in,
174 Why not make horny eyes no thorn could prick,
175 Or plate my scalp with bone against the snow,
176 Or overscale my flesh 'neath joint and joint
177 Like an orc's armour? Ay,--so spoil His sport!
178 He is the One now: only He doth all.
179 'Saith, He may like, perchance, what profits Him.
180 Ay, himself loves what does him good; but why?
181 'Gets good no otherwise. This blinded beast
182 Loves whoso places flesh-meat on his nose,
183 But, had he eyes, would want no help, but hate
184 Or love, just as it liked him: He hath eyes.
185 Also it pleaseth Setebos to work,
186 Use all His hands, and exercise much craft,
187 By no means for the love of what is worked.
188 'Tasteth, himself, no finer good i' the world
189 When all goes right, in this safe summer-time,
190 And he wants little, hungers, aches not much,
191 Than trying what to do with wit and strength.
192 'Falls to make something: 'piled yon pile of turfs,
193 And squared and stuck there squares of soft white chalk,
194 And, with a fish-tooth, scratched a moon on each,
195 And set up endwise certain spikes of tree,
196 And crowned the whole with a sloth's skull a-top,
197 Found dead i' the woods, too hard for one to kill.
198 No use at all i' the work, for work's sole sake;
199 'Shall some day knock it down again: so He.
200 'Saith He is terrible: watch His feats in proof!
201 One hurricane will spoil six good months' hope.
202 He hath a spite against me, that I know,
203 Just as He favours Prosper, who knows why?
204 So it is, all the same, as well I find.
205 'Wove wattles half the winter, fenced them firm
206 With stone and stake to stop she-tortoises
207 Crawling to lay their eggs here: well, one wave,
208 Feeling the foot of Him upon its neck,
209 Gaped as a snake does, lolled out its large tongue,
210 And licked the whole labour flat: so much for spite.
211 'Saw a ball flame down late (yonder it lies)
212 Where, half an hour before, I slept i' the shade:
213 Often they scatter sparkles: there is force!
214 'Dug up a newt He may have envied once
215 And turned to stone, shut up Inside a stone.
216 Please Him and hinder this?--What Prosper does?
217 Aha, if He would tell me how! Not He!
218 There is the sport: discover how or die!
219 All need not die, for of the things o' the isle
220 Some flee afar, some dive, some run up trees;
221 Those at His mercy,--why, they please Him most
222 When . . . when . . . well, never try the same way twice!
223 Repeat what act has pleased, He may grow wroth.
224 You must not know His ways, and play Him off,
225 Sure of the issue. 'Doth the like himself:
226 'Spareth a squirrel that it nothing fears
227 But steals the nut from underneath my thumb,
228 And when I threat, bites stoutly in defence:
229 'Spareth an urchin that contrariwise,
230 Curls up into a ball, pretending death
231 For fright at my approach: the two ways please.
232 But what would move my choler more than this,
233 That either creature counted on its life
234 To-morrow and next day and all days to come,
235 Saying, forsooth, in the inmost of its heart,
236 "Because he did so yesterday with me,
237 And otherwise with such another brute,
238 So must he do henceforth and always."--Ay?
239 Would teach the reasoning couple what "must" means!
240 'Doth as he likes, or wherefore Lord? So He.
241 'Conceiveth all things will continue thus,
242 And we shall have to live in fear of Him
243 So long as He lives, keeps His strength: no change,
244 If He have done His best, make no new world
245 To please Him more, so leave off watching this,--
246 If He surprise not even the Quiet's self
247 Some strange day,--or, suppose, grow into it
248 As grubs grow butterflies: else, here are we,
249 And there is He, and nowhere help at all.
250 'Believeth with the life, the pain shall stop.
251 His dam held different, that after death
252 He both plagued enemies and feasted friends:
253 Idly! He doth His worst in this our life,
254 Giving just respite lest we die through pain,
255 Saving last pain for worst,--with which, an end.
256 Meanwhile, the best way to escape His ire
257 Is, not to seem too happy. 'Sees, himself,
258 Yonder two flies, with purple films and pink,
259 Bask on the pompion-bell above: kills both.
260 'Sees two black painful beetles roll their ball
261 On head and tail as if to save their lives:
262 Moves them the stick away they strive to clear.
263 Even so, 'would have Him misconceive, suppose
264 This Caliban strives hard and ails no less,
265 And always, above all else, envies Him;
266 Wherefore he mainly dances on dark nights,
267 Moans in the sun, gets under holes to laugh,
268 And never speaks his mind save housed as now:
269 Outside, 'groans, curses. If He caught me here,
270 O'erheard this speech, and asked "What chucklest at?"
271 'Would, to appease Him, cut a finger off,
272 Or of my three kid yearlings burn the best,
273 Or let the toothsome apples rot on tree,
274 Or push my tame beast for the orc to taste:
275 While myself lit a fire, and made a song
276 And sung it, "What I hate, be consecrate
277 To celebrate Thee and Thy state, no mate
278 For Thee; what see for envy in poor me?"
279 Hoping the while, since evils sometimes mend,
280 Warts rub away and sores are cured with slime,
281 That some strange day, will either the Quiet catch
282 And conquer Setebos, or likelier He
283 Decrepit may doze, doze, as good as die.
284 [What, what? A curtain o'er the world at once!
285 Crickets stop hissing: not a bird--or, yes,
286 There scuds His raven that has told Him all!
287 It was fool's play, this prattling! Ha! The wind
288 Shoulders the pillared dust, death's house o' the move,
289 And fast invading fires begin! White blaze--
290 A tree's head snaps--and there, there, there, there, there,
291 His thunder follows! Fool to gibe at Him!
292 Lo! 'Lieth flat and loveth Setebos!
293 'Maketh his teeth meet through his upper lip,
294 Will let those quails fly, will not eat this month
295 One little mess of whelks, so he may 'scape!]