MIRANDA.
At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer
What I desire to give; and much less take,
What I shall die to want:...
I am your wife, if you will marry me;
If not, I'll die your maid.
«O sweetest, fairest lily!»
O you, kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up,
Of this child-changed father!
O my dear father! Restauration hang
Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!
Was this a face
To be exposed against the warring winds?
Mine enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire....
How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?
O, you're well met. The hoarded plague o' the gods
Requite your love!
If that I could for weeping, you should hear,
Nay, and you shall hear some.
I'll tell thee what.—Yet go.
Nay, but thou shall stay too.—I would my son
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,
His good sword in his hand.
Voyez aussi la scène III, acte I. C'est le triomphe naïf et abandonné d'une femme du peuple.
I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child, than now in first seeing he has proved himself a man.