O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't!

Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,
And I would call it, fair play.

Sweet lord, you play me false.

Never till this day
Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.

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

My husband, then?

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 a fool
To weep at what I am glad of.

Do you love me?

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 ...

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

You look wearily.

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.

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

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 ...

Be of comfort;
My father's of a better nature, sir,
Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted
Which now came from him.

My affections
Are then most humble; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.

Sir, have pity;
I'll be his surety.

Beseech you, father.

O dear father,
Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He's gentle and not fearful.

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.

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!

Alack, for mercy!

No wonder, sir;
But certainly a maid.

I might call him
A thing divine, for nothing natural
I ever saw so noble.

What is't? a spirit?
Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.

'Tis a villain, sir,
I do not love to look on.

The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.

Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir,
For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
For raising this sea-storm?

Would I might
But ever see that man!

How came we ashore?

Alack, what trouble
Was I then to you!

Wherefore did they not
That hour destroy us?

Alack, for pity!
I, not remembering how I cried out then,
Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint
That wrings mine eyes to't.

I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother:
Good wombs have borne bad sons.

O the heavens!

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

O, good sir, I do.

Sir, most heedfully.

O, my heart bleeds
To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

O the heavens!
What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was't we did?

Sir, are not you my father?

But that I do not.

'Tis far off
And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
Four or five women once that tended me?

Certainly, sir, I can.

You have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.

O, woe the day!

If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
With those that I saw ...