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Enter MIRANDA ; and PROSPERO at a distance. Mir.

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. Fer.

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

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

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

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,

Poor worm ! thou art infected ;
This visitation shows it.

You look wearily.
Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with

When you are by at night. I do beseech you,
(Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers)
What is your name?

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