The Tempest, Act 3, Scene 1

There be some sports are painful, and their labour 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 odious, but The mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead, And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is Ten times more gentle than her father’s crabbed, And he’s compos’d of harshness. I must remove 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 never like executor. I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, Most busy, least when I do it.

There are some sports that are hard work, and the effort in them sets off the pleasure. Some kinds of lowly work are taken on nobly, and the poorest tasks lead to rich results. This humble job of mine would feel as heavy to me as it is hateful, except that the mistress I serve brings what is dead to life, and turns my labours into pleasures. Oh, she is ten times as gentle as her father is bad-tempered, and he is made of nothing but harshness. I have to shift some thousands of these logs and stack them up, under a cruel order. My sweet mistress cries when she sees me working, and says that such low work never had a worker like me. I am forgetting myself — but these sweet thoughts actually refresh my labours; they are busiest in my mind just when I am hardest at work.

Alas now, pray you, Work not so hard: I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d 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.

Oh please, don't work so hard. I wish lightning had burnt up those logs you have been ordered to stack! Please, put it down and rest. When this log burns, it will weep for having worn you out. My father is deep in his studies; please, rest yourself now. He is safely occupied for the next three hours.

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

Oh, dearest mistress, the sun will go down before I finish what I must work to do.

If you’ll sit down, I’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that; I’ll carry it to the pile.

If you will sit down, I'll carry your logs meanwhile. Please give me that one; I'll take it to the pile.

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

No, precious creature. I would rather crack my sinews and break my back than have you suffer such a disgrace while I sit by doing nothing.

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.

It would suit me as well as it suits you, and I would do it far more easily, because my will is behind it, and yours is against it.

[Aside.] Poor worm! thou art infected. This visitation shows it.

[Aside.] Poor worm! You are infected. This visit of yours shows it.

You look wearily.

You look tired.

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?

No, noble mistress. It is fresh morning for me when you are near me at night. I beg you — chiefly so that I can include it in my prayers — what is your name?

Miranda—O my father! I have broke your hest to say so.

Miranda — oh, my father! I have broken your command by saying it.

Admir’d Miranda! Indeed, the top of admiration; worth What’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady I have 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.

Admired Miranda! Truly the height of admiration, worth everything the world holds dearest! I have looked at many a lady with careful attention, and many times the music of their voices has enslaved my too-willing ear. For different virtues I have liked different women, but never any with such a whole heart that some fault in her did not clash with the finest quality she had, and cancel it out. But you, oh you, so perfect and so unmatched, are made out of the best of every creature.

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 am skilless 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. But I prattle Something too wildly, and my father’s precepts I therein do forget.

I don't know a single woman besides myself, and I remember no woman's face except my own, in my mirror. Nor have I seen any more that I can call men than you, good friend, and my dear father. What people look like elsewhere, I have no idea. But by my modesty, the jewel of my dowry, I would not wish for any companion in the world but you, nor can my imagination form any shape besides yours that I would care for. But I am chattering rather too wildly, and in doing so I am forgetting my father's instructions.

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 to 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.

By rank I am a prince, Miranda; I think, a King — I wish I were not! — and I would no more put up with this slavery over wood than I would let a flesh-fly lay its eggs in my mouth. Hear my soul speak: the very moment I saw you, my heart flew to serve you; it lives there, making me its slave, and for your sake I am this patient carrier of logs.

Do you love me?

Do you love me?

O heaven, 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’ the world, Do love, prize, honour you.

Oh heaven, oh earth, be witnesses to this sound, and crown what I declare with a happy outcome, if I speak the truth; and if I speak falsely, turn the best fortune promised me into disaster! Beyond any limit of anything else in the world, I love, value and honour you.

I am a fool To weep at what I am glad of.

I am a fool to cry at something I am glad of.

[Aside.] Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between ’em!

[Aside.] A beautiful meeting of two very rare affections! May the heavens rain grace on what is growing between them!

Wherefore weep you?

Why are you crying?

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 shows. 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.

At my own unworthiness, which doesn't dare offer what I want to give, and still less dare take what I shall die without. But this is nonsense; and the more it tries to hide itself, the bigger it looks. Away with you, shy trickery! And guide me, plain and holy innocence! I am your wife if you will marry me; if not, I'll die your servant. You may refuse to let me be your partner, but I'll be your servant whether you want it or not.

My mistress, dearest; And I thus humble ever.

My mistress, dearest — and I always kneeling like this.

My husband, then?

My husband, then?

Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.

Yes, with a heart as willing as a prisoner's ever was for freedom. Here is my hand.

And mine, with my heart in ’t: and now farewell Till half an hour hence.

And here is mine, with my heart in it. And now goodbye for half an hour.

A thousand thousand!

A thousand thousand goodbyes!

So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are surpris’d withal; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I’ll to my book; For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining.

I cannot be as glad of this as they are, taken by surprise as they are by it; but nothing could make me rejoice more. I'll go to my book, because before supper time I still have a great deal of related business to carry out.