THE TEMPEST.

ACT I. SCENE II.

Miranda.

F by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them :
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking

pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd

With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel,

Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart! Poor souls! they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would

Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er

It should the good ship so have swallowed, and
The freighting souls within her.

Thou wast, that did preserve me! Thou didst smile,
Infused with a fortitude from heaven,

When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt;
Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me
A stubborn resolution, to bear up

Against what should ensue.

Miranda. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:

If the ill spirit have so fair an house,

Good things will strive to dwell with 't.

Ferdinand.

ACT III. SCENE I.

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
Of every creature's best.

Miranda.

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 precepts
Therein forget.

Ferdinand.

I am, in my condition,

A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; (I would, not so!)

The

*

very

Hear my soul speak ;

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.

Miranda.

Do you love me?

Ferdinand. Oheaven, 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.

Miranda.

I am a fool,

To weep at what I am glad of.12

Ferdinand. Wherefore weep you?

Miranda. 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.

Ferdinand.

My mistress, 'dearest,

And I thus humble ever.

Miranda.

My husband then?

Ferdinand. Ay, with a heart as willing

As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand.

Miranda. And mine, with my heart in 't: And now

farewell,

Till half an hour hence.

Ferdinand.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Sir, she's mortal;

But, by immortal Providence, she 's mine;
I chose her, when I could not ask my father
For his advice; nor thought I had one : she
Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan,
Of whom so often I have heard renown,
But never saw before; of whom I have
Received a second life, and second father
This lady makes him to me.

ETTER forbear, till Proteus make return. Julia. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food?

Pity the dearth that I have pined in,

By longing for that food so long a time.

Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,

Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow,

As seek to quench the fire of love with words.

Lucetta. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire; But qualify the fire's extreme rage,

Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

13

Julia. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns ;13

The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;

But, when his fair course is not hindered,

He makes sweet musick with th' enamel'd stones,

Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge

He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;

And so by many winding nooks he strays,