MIRANDA.
Sir, have pity;
I’ll be his surety.
PROSPERO.
Silence! One word more
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!
An advocate for an impostor? hush!
Thou think’st there is no more such shapes as he,
Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!
To th’ most of men this is a Caliban,
And they to him are angels.
MIRANDA.
My affections
Are then most humble; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.
PROSPERO.
[To Ferdinand.] Come on; obey:
Thy nerves are in their infancy again,
And have no vigour in them.
FERDINAND.
So they are:
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wrack of all my friends, nor this man’s threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o’ th’ earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I in such a prison.
PROSPERO.
[Aside.] It works. [To Ferdinand.] Come on.
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To Ferdinand.] Follow me.
[To Ariel.] Hark what thou else shalt do me.
MIRANDA.
Be of comfort;
My father’s of a better nature, sir,
Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted
Which now came from him.
PROSPERO.
Thou shalt be as free
As mountain winds; but then exactly do
All points of my command.
ARIEL.
To th’ syllable.
PROSPERO.
[To Ferdinand.] Come, follow. Speak not for him.