there more work?” said Ariel. “Let me remind you, master, you have promised me my liberty. I pray, remember, , I have done you worthy service, told you no lies, made no mistakes, served you without grudge or grumbling.”
“How now!” said Prospero. “You do not recollect what a torment I freed you from. Have you forgot the wicked witch Sycorax, who with age and envy was almost bent double? Where was she born? Speak; tell me.”
“Sir, in Algiers,” said Ariel.
“Oh, was she so?” said Prospero. “I must recount what you have been, which I find you do not remember. This bad witch, Sycorax, for her witchcrafts, too terrible to enter human hearing, was banished from Algiers, and here left by the sailors-; and because you were a spirit too delicate to execute her wicked commands, she shut you up in a tree, where I found you howling. This torment, remember, I did free you from.”
“Pardon me, dear master,” said Ariel, ashamed to seem ungrateful; “I will obey your commands.”
“Do so,” said Prospero, “and I will set you free.” He then gave orders what further he would have him do; and away went Ariel, first to where he had left Ferdinand, and found him still sitting on the grass in the same melancholy posture.
“Oh, my young gentleman,” said Ariel, when he saw him, ‘I will soon move you. You must be brought, I find, for the Lady Miranda to have a sight of your pretty person. Come. sir,, follow me.” He then began singing:
“Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Hark! now I hear them—Ding-dong, bell.”
This strange news of his lost father soon roused the prince from the stupid fit into which he had fallen. He followed in amazement the sound of Ariel’s voice, till it led him to Prospero and Miranda, who were sitting under the shade of a large tree. Now Miranda had never seen a man before, except her own father.
“Miranda,” said Prospero, “tell me what you are looking at yonder.”
“Oh, father,” said Miranda, in a strange surprise, “surely that is a spirit. Lord! how it looks about! Believe me, sir, it is a beautiful creature. Is it not a spirit?”
“No, girl,” answered her father; “it eats, and sleeps, and has senses such as we have. This young man you see was in the ship. He is somewhat altered by grief, or you might call him a handsome person. He has lost his companions, and is wandering about to find them.”
Miranda, who thought all men had grave faces and gray beards like her father, was delighted with the appearance of this beautiful young prince; and Ferdinand, seeing such a lovely lady in this desert place, and from the strange sounds he had heard, expecting nothing but wonders, thought be was upon an enchanted island, and that Miranda was the goddess of the place, and as such he began to address her.
She timidly answered, she was no goddess, but a simple maid and was going to give him an account of herself, when Prospero interrupted her. He was well pleased to find they admired each other, for he plainly perceived they had (as we say) fallen in love at first sight: but to try Ferdinand’s constancy, he resolved to throw some difficulties in their way: therefore, advancing forward, be addressed the prince with a stern air, telling him, he came to the island as a spy, to take it from him who was the lord of it. “Follow me,” said be. “I will tie your neck and feet together. You shall drink sea-water; shell-fish, withered roots, and husks of acorns shall be your food.”
“No,” said Ferdinand, “I will resist such entertainment till I see a more powerful enemy,” and drew his sword; but Prospero, waving his magic wand, fixed him to the spot where he stood, so that he had no power to move.
Miranda hung upon her father, saying: “Why are you so ungentle? Have pity, I will be his surety. This is the second man I ever saw, and to me he seems a true one.”
“Silence!” said the father. “One word more will make me chide you, girl! What! an advocate for an impostor! You think there are no more such fine men, having seen only him and Caliban. I tell you, foolish girl, most men as far excel this as he does Calliban.” This he said to prove his daughter’s constancy; and she replied:
“My affections are most humble. I have no wish to see a goodlier man.”
“Come on, young man,” said Prospero to the prince; “you have no power to disobey -me.”
“I have not indeed,” answered Ferdinand; and not knowing that it was by magic he was deprived of all power of resistance, he was astonished to kind himself so strangely compelled to follow Prospero: looking back on Miranda as long as he could see her, he said, as he went after Prospero into the cave: “My spirits are all bound up as if I were in a dream; but this man’s threats, and the weakness which I feel, would seem light to me if from my prison I might once a day behold this fair maid.”
Prospero kept Ferdinand not long confined within the cell: he soon brought out his prisoner, and set him a severe task to perform, taking care to let his daughter know the hard labour he had imposed on him, and then pretending to go into his study, he secretly watched them both.
Prospero had commanded Ferdinand to pile up some heavy logs of wood. Kings’ sons not being much used to laborious work, Miranda soon after found her lover almost dying with fatigue. “Alas!” said she, “do not work so hard; my father is at his studies, he is safe for these three hours; pray rest yourself.”
“O my dear lady,” said Ferdinand, “I dare not. I must finish my task before I take my rest.”
“If you will sit down,” said Miranda, “I will carry your logs the while.” But this Ferdinand would by no means agree to. Instead of a help Miranda became a hindrance, for they began a long conversation, so that the business of log-carrying went on very slowly.
Prospero, who had enjoined Ferdinand this task merely as a trial of his love, was not at his books, as his daughter supposed, but was standing by them invisible, to overhear what they said.
Ferdinand inquired her name, which she told, saying it was against her father’s express command she did so.
Prospero only smiled at this first instance of his daughter’s disobedience, for having by his magic art caused his daughter to fall in love so suddenly, he was not angry that she showed her love by forgetting to obey his commands. And he listened well pleased to a long speech of Ferdinand’s, in which he professed to love her above all the ladies he ever saw.
In answer to his praises of her beauty, which he said exceeded all the women in the world, she replied: “I do not remember the face of any woman, nor have I seen any more men than you, my good friend, and my dear father. How features are abroad, I know not: but, believe me, sir, I would not wish any companion in the world but you, nor can my imagination form any shape but yours that I could like. But, sir, I fear I talk to you too freely, and my father’s precepts I forget.”
At this Prospero smiled, and nodded his head, as much as to say: “This
