There be some sports are painful, and 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 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 composed 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 never like executor. I forget:
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,
Most busy lest, when I do it.

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 wearied you. My father
Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;
He’s safe for these three hours.

O most dear mistress,
The sun will set before I shall discharge
What I must strive to do.

If you’ll sit down,
I’ll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that;
I’ll carry it to the pile.

No, precious creature;
I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
Than you should such dishonour undergo,
While I sit lazy by.

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 it is against.

Poor worm, thou art infected!
This visitation shows it.

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?

Miranda.⁠—O my father,
I have broke your hest to say so!

Admired Miranda!
Indeed the top of admiration! worth
What’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady
I have eyed 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 liked several women; never any
With so fun soul, but some defect in her
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed
And put it to the foil: but you, O you,
So perfect and so peerless, are created
Of every creature’s best!

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 skilless 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 precepts
I therein do forget.

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 to 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.

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.

I am a fool
To weep at what I am glad of.

Fair encounter
Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace
On that which breeds between ’em!

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 shows. 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.

My mistress, dearest;
And I thus humble ever.

Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.

And mine, with my heart in’t: and now farewell
Till half an hour hence.

So glad of this as they I cannot be,
Who are surprised withal; but my rejoicing
At nothing can be more. I’ll to my book,
For yet ere supper-time must I perform
Much business appertaining. Exit.

How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe.
I’ll not serve him; he’s not valiant.

Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou:
I would my valiant master would destroy thee!
I do not lie.

I say, by sorcery he got this isle;
From me he got it. If thy greatness will
Revenge it on him⁠—for I know thou darest,
But this thing dare not⁠—

Yea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep,
Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head.

What a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch!
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows
And take his bottle from him: when that’s gone
He shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him
Where the quick freshes are.

Beat him enough: after a little time
I’ll beat him too.

Why, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him,
I’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,
Having first seized his books, or with a log
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
First to possess his books; for without them
He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
One spirit to command: they all do hate him
As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.
He has brave utensils⁠—for so he calls them⁠—
Which when he has a house, he’ll deck withal.
And that most deeply to consider is
The beauty of his daughter; he himself
Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman,
But only Sycorax my dam and she;
But she as far surpasseth Sycorax
As great’st does least.

Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant.
And bring thee forth brave brood.

Within this half hour will he be asleep:
Wilt thou destroy him then?

Thou makest me merry; I am full of pleasure:
Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch
You taught me but while-ere?

Flout ’em and scout ’em
And scout ’em and flout ’em;
Thought is free.

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.

By’r lakin, I can go no further, sir;
My old bones ache: here’s a maze trod indeed
Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience,
I needs must rest me.

Old lord, I cannot blame thee,
Who am myself attach’d with weariness,
To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.
Even here I will put off my hope and keep it
No longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d
Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks
Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.

Aside to Sebastian. I am right glad that he’s so out of hope.
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose
That you resolved to effect.

Aside to Antonio. The next advantage
Will we take throughly.

Aside to Sebastian. Let it be to-night;
For, now they are oppress’d with travel, they
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance
As when they are fresh.

A living drollery. Now I will believe
That there are unicorns, that in Arabia
There is one tree, the phoenix’ throne, one phoenix
At this hour reigning there.

I’ll believe both;
And what does else want credit, come to me,
And I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie,
Though fools at home condemn ’em.

If in Naples
I should report this now, would they believe me?
If I should say, I saw such islanders⁠—
For, certes, these are people of the island⁠—
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note,
Their manners are more gentle-kind than of
Our human generation you shall find
Many, nay, almost any.

Aside. Honest lord,
Thou hast said well; for some of you there present
Are worse than devils.

I cannot too much muse
Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, expressing,
Although they want the use of tongue, a kind
Of excellent dumb discourse.

No matter, since
They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.
Will’t please you taste of what is here?

Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,
Who would believe that there were mountaineers
Dew-lapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em
Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men
Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find
Each putter-out of five for one will bring us
Good warrant of.

I will stand to and feed,
Although my last: no matter, since I feel
The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke,
Stand to and do as we.

You are three men of sin, whom Destiny,
That hath to instrument this lower world
And what is in’t, the never-surfeited sea
Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island
Where man doth not inhabit; you ’mongst men
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;
And even with such-like valour men hang and drown
Their proper selves. Alonso, Sebastian etc. draw their swords. You fools! I and my fellows
Are ministers of Fate: the elements,
Of whom your swords are temper’d, may as well
Wound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
One dowle that’s in my plume: my fellow-ministers
Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,
Your swords are now too massy for your strengths
And will not be uplifted. But remember⁠—
For that’s my business to you⁠—that you three
From Milan did supplant good Prospero;
Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it,
Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed
The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have
Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,
Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,
They have bereft; and do pronounce by me
Lingering perdition, worse than any death
Can be at once, shall step by step attend
You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from⁠—
Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls
Upon your heads⁠—is nothing but heart-sorrow
And a clear life ensuing.

Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
Perform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring:
Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated
In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life
And observation strange, my meaner ministers
Their several kinds have done. My high charms work
And these mine enemies are all knit up
In their distractions; they now are in my power;
And in these fits I leave them, while I visit
Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown’d,
And his and mine loved darling. Exit above.

I’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you
In this strange stare?

O, it is monstrous, monstrous!
Methought the billows spoke and told me of it;
The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder,
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced
The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass.
Therefore my son i’ the ooze is bedded, and
I’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded
And with him there lie mudded. Exit.

But one fiend at a time,
I’ll fight their legions o’er.

All three of them are desperate: their great guilt,
Like poison given to work a great time after,
Now ’gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly
And hinder them from what this ecstasy
May now provoke them to.