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Kyudan
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And that he does I weep: myself am Naples,
Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld
The king my father wreck'd.
MIRANDA:
Alack, for mercy!
FERDINAND:
Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan
And his brave son being twain.
PROSPERO:
MIRANDA:
Why speaks my father so ungently? This
Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first
That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father
To be inclined my way!
FERDINAND:
O, if a virgin,
And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
The queen of Naples.
PROSPERO:
Soft, sir! one word more.
They are both in either's powers; but this swift business
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
Make the prize light.
One word more; I charge thee
That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp
The name thou owest not; and hast put thyself
Upon this island as a spy, to win it
From me, the lord on't.
FERDINAND:
No, as I am a man.
MIRANDA:
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with't.
PROSPERO:
Follow me.
Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come;
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:
Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.
FERDINAND:
No;
I will resist such entertainment till
Mine enemy has more power.
MIRANDA:
O dear father,
Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He's gentle and not fearful.
PROSPERO:
What? I say,
My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience
Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward,
For I can here disarm thee with this stick
And make thy weapon drop.
MIRANDA:
Beseech you, father.
PROSPERO:
Hence! hang not on my garments.
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 imposter! hush!
Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he,
Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!
To the 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:
Come on; obey:
Thy nerves are in their infancy again
And have no vigour in them.
FERDINAND:
So they are;