Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,And ye that on the sands with printless footDo chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly himWhen he comes back; you demi-puppets thatBy moonshine do the green...

Good wombs have borne bad sons.”– (Miranda, I:2)

What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts…

You mar our labour: keep your cabins:you do assist the storm[…] What cares these roarers for the name of king?

A southwest blow on ye and blister you all o’er!”The red plague rid you!”Toads, beetles, bats, light on you!”As wicked dew as e’er my mother brushed with raven’s feather from unwholesome fen drop on you.”Strange...

You tell me the dead are coming through a crack in my barn, but I shouldn’t worry?

Years and years ago, there was a production of The Tempest, out of doors, at an Oxford college on a lawn, which was the stage, and the lawn went back towards the lake in the...

Then to the elements be free…