Fer.
There be some sports are painful, but their labour
* ^note
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness
Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters
Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious: but
The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead,
And makes my labours pleasure: O, she is
Ten times more gentle, than her father's crabbed;
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must move
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
Upon a sore injunction. My sweet mistress
Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness
Had ne'er like executor; I forget;
But these sweet thoughts do ev'n refresh my labour,
Most busyless, when I do it. Enter Miranda.

Mira.
Alas, now, pray you,
Work not so hard; I would the lightning had
Burnt up those logs, that thou'rt enjoined to pile:
Pray, set it down, and rest you; when this burns,
'Twill weep for having wearied you: my father
Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;
He's safe for these three hours.

Fer.
O most dear mistress,
The sun will set, before I shall discharge
What I must strive to do.

Mira.
If you'll sit down,
I'll bear your logs the while. Pray, give me that;
I'll carry't to the pile.

Fer.
No, precious creature,
I'd rather crack my sinews, break my back,
Than you should such dishonour undergo,
While I sit lazy by.

Mira.
It would become me,
As well as it does you; and I should do it
With much more ease; for my good will is to it,
And yours it is against.
You look wearily.

Fer.
No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me,
When you are by at night. I do beseech you,
(Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers)
What is your name?

Mira.
Miranda. O my father,
I've broke your hest to say so.

Fer.
Admir'd Miranda!
Indeed, the top of admiration; worth
What's dearest to the world! full many a lady
I've ey'd with best regard, and many a time
Th' 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.

Mira.
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'm 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.

Fer.
I am, in my condition,
A Prince, Miranda; I do think, a King;
(I would, not so!) and would no more endure
This wooden slavery, than I would suffer
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. 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.

Mira.
Do you love me?

Fer.
O heav'n, 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'th' world,
Do love, prize, honour you* ^note.

Mira.
I am a fool,
To weep at what I'm glad of.

Fer.
Wherefore weep you?

Mira.
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 shews. 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.

Fer.
My mistress, dearest,
And I thus humble ever.

Mira.
My husband, then?

Fer.
Ay, with a heart as willing,
As bondage e'er of freedom; here's my hand.

Mira.
And mine, with my heart in't; and now, farewel,
Till half an hour hence.

Fer.
A thousand, thousand. [Exeunt.

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