s else o' the earth
Let liberty make use of, space enough
Have I in such a prison.

Contrasted with the impression of her refined and dignified beauty, and
its effect on all beholders, is Miranda's own soft simplicity, her
virgin innocence, her total ignorance of the conventional forms and
language of society. It is most natural that in a being thus
constituted, the first tears should spring from compassion, "suffering
with those that she saw suffer:"--

O the cry did knock
Against my very heart. Poor souls! they perished.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er
It should the good ship so have swallowed,
And the freighting souls within her;

and that her first sigh should be offered to a love at once fearless and
submissive, delicate and fond. She has no taught scruples of honor like
Juliet; no coy concealments like Viola; no assumed dignity standing in
its own defence. Her bashfulness is less a quality than an instinct; it
is like the self-folding of a flower, spontaneous and unconscious. I
suppose there is nothing of the kind in poetry equal to the scene
between Ferdinand and Miranda. In Ferdinand, who is a noble creature, we
have all the chivalrous magnanimity with which man, in a high state of
civilization, disguises his real superiority, and does humble homage to
the being of whose destiny he disposes; while Miranda, the mere child of
nature, is struck with wonder at her own new emotions. Only conscious of
her own weakness as a woman, and ignorant of those usages of society
which teach us to dissemble the real passion, and assume (and sometimes
abuse) an unreal and transient power, she is equally ready to place her
life, her love, her service beneath his feet.

MIRANDA.

Alas, now! pray you,
Work not so hard: I would the lightning had
Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoined to pile!
Pray set it down and rest you: when this burns,
'Twill weep for having weary'd you. My father
Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself:
He's safe for these three hours.

FERDINAND.

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

MIRANDA.

If you'll sit down,
I'll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that,