Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.

-------------------------------

I really like the way Caliban suddenly comes out with this after scenes and scenes of nastiness and completely weird bawdiness, and then he slips into his nastiness again. Prospero seems awful because he fucks Caliban about so much.

Sorry for the mega-proliferation of literary threads recently. I have a lot on my mind which maybe was worth sharing.