Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, Do not smile at me that I boast her off, For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, Fer. Against an oracle. I do believe it Pros. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: but If thou dost break her virgin-knot before Fer. As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, The most oppórtune place, the strong'st suggestion Mine honour into lust; to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd, Or Night kept chain'd below. Pros. Sit, then, and talk with her; Fairly spoke. she is thine own. What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel! Enter ARIEL. Ari. What would my potent master? here I am. Did worthily perform; and I must use you In such another trick. Go bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place: Incite them to quick motion; for I must Ari. Before you can say, "Come," and "Go," And breathe twice, and cry, "So, so," Each one, tripping on his toe, Will be here with mop and mow. Pros. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach Till thou dost hear me call. Well, I conceive. Ari. Fer. I warrant you, sir; The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver. Pros. Well. Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary, Enter IRIS. [Exit. [Soft music. Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep; Thy banks with peonèd and lilied brims, Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom-groves, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, Where thou thyself dost air; the queen Whose watery arch and messenger am I, o' the sky, Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace, Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain: Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. Enter CERES. Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate; And some donation freely to estate On the bless'd lovers. Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot Be not afraid: I met her deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain; Mars's hot minion is return'd again; Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, Cer. High'st queen of state, Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait. Enter JUNO. Juno. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, And honour'd in their issue. Cer. Song. Juno. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Scarcity and want shall shun you; Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and Pros. Spirits, which by mine art I have from their confínes call'd to enact My present fancies. Fer. Let me live here ever; So rare a wonder'd father and a wife Make this place Paradise. Pros. [Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment. Sweet, now, silence! Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; There's something else to do; hush, and be mute, Or else our spell is marr'd. Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiades, of the wandering brooks, With your sedg'd crowns and ever-harmless looks, Enter certain Nymphs. You sunburn'd sicklemen, of August weary, Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof PROSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish. Pros. [aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy Of the beast Caliban and his confederates Against my life: the minute of their plot Is almost come. more. Fer. This is most strange: your father 's in some passion That works him strongly. Mir. Never till this day Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. Pros. Sure, you do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, |