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Cal. No more dams I'll make for fish;

Nor fetch in firing

At requiring,

Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish;
'Ban 'Ban, Ca-Caliban,

Has a new master-Get a new man.

Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom,

hey-day, freedom!

Ste. O brave monster! lead the way.

[Exeunt.

АСТ III. SCENE I.

BEFORE PROSPERO'S CELL.

Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log.

Fer. There be some sports are painful; but their labour

Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness
Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters.
Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious; but

The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead,
And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is
Ten times more gentle, than her father's crabbed;
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
Upon a sore injunction: My sweet mistress

Weeps when she sees me work; and says, such baseness

Had ne'er like executor.

I forget:

But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours; Most busy-less, when I do it.

Enter Miranda; and Prospero at a distance.

Mira.

Alas, now! pray you,

Work not so hard: I would, the lightning had

Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile!
Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns,
Twill weep for having weary'd you: My father
Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;

He's safe for these three hours.

Fer.

O most dear mistress,

The sun will set, before I shall discharge

What I must strive to do."

Mira.

If you'll sit down,

I'll bear your logs the while: Pray, give me that;

I'll carry it to the pile.

Fer.

No, precious creature:

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
Than you should such dishonour undergo,
While I sit lazy by.

Mira.

It would become me

As well as it does you: and I should do it

With much more ease; for my good will is to it, And yours against.

Pro.

Poor worm! thou art infected;

This visitation shews it.

Mira.

You look wearily.

Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with

me,

When you are by at night. I do beseech you, (Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,) What is your name?

Mira.

Miranda:-O my father,

I have broke your hest to say so!

Fer.

Admir'd Miranda!

Indeed, the top of admiration; worth
What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady
I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues
Have I lik'd several women; never any

With so full soul, but some defect in her

Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd,
And put it to the foil: But you, O you,
So perfect, and so peerless, are created
every creature's best.

Of

Mira.

I do not know

One of my sex; no woman's face remember,

Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
More that I may call men, than you, good friend,
And my dear father: how features are abroad,
I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty,

(The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you;
Nor can imagination form a shape,
Besides yourself, to like of: But I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's

Therein forget.

Fer.

precepts

I am, in my condition,

A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;

(I would, not so!) and would no more endure This wooden slavery, than I would suffer

The flesh-fly blow my mouth.-Hear my soul speak ;

The very instant that I saw you, did

My heart fly to your service; there resides,
To make me slave to it; and, for your sake,

Am I this patient log-man.

Mira.

Do you love me?

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this

sound,

And crown what I profess with kind event,

If I speak true; if hollowly, invert

What best is boded me, to mischief! I,

Beyond all limit of what else i' the world,
Do love, prize, honour you.

Mira.

I am a fool,

To weep at what I am glad of.

Pro.

Fair encounter

Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between them!

Fer.

Wherefore weep you?

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take, What I shall die to want: But this is trifling;

And all the more it seeks to hide itself,

The bigger bulk it shews. Hence, bashful cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!

I am your wife, if you will marry me;

If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow
You may deny me; but I'll be your servant,
Whether you will or no.

Fer.

And I thus humble ever.

Mira.

My mistress, dearest,

My husband then?

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing

As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand. Mira. And mine, with my heart in't: And now farewell,

Till half an hour hence.

Fer.

A thousand! thousand!

[Exeunt Fer. and Mira.

Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are surpriz'd with all; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book;

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