Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log

FERDINAND 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 composed 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 lest, when I do it.

Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance, unseen

MIRANDA Alas, now, pray you,

Work not so