Iris
You nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks,
With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks,
Leave your crisp channels and on this green land
Answer your summons; Juno does command:
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate
A contract of true love; be not too late.
Prospero
I had forgot that foul conspiracy
Of the beast Caliban and his confederates
Against my life: the minute of their plot
Is almost come. Well done! avoid; no more!
Aside.; To the Spirits.
Ferdinand
This is strange: your father’s in some passion
That works him strongly.
Miranda
Never till this day
Saw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.
Prospero
As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,