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.
Miranda.
Alack! what trouble
Was I then to you !
Prospero.
O! a cherubim
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.
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 !)
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.
Miranda.
Do you love me?
Ferdinand. Oheaven, 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.
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.
Lucetta.
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.
Julia. The more thou dam’st it up, the more it burns ;** 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' enameld stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; And so by many winding nooks he strays,
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