Miranda
There’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with’t.
Prospero
Follow me.
Speak not you for him; he’s a traitor. Come;
I’ll manacle thy neck and feet together:
Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
The fresh-brook muscles, wither’d roots and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.
Ferdinand
No;
I will resist such entertainment till
Mine enemy has more power.
Draws, and is charmed from moving.
Miranda
O dear father,
Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He’s gentle and not fearful.
Prospero
What? I say,
My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience
Is so possess’d with guilt: come from thy ward,
For I can here disarm thee with this stick
And make thy weapon drop.
Miranda
Beseech you, father.