_Cal._ [_Sings drunkenly._] Farewell, master; farewell, farewell. _Trin._ A howling monster; a drunken monster! _Cal._ No more dams I'll make for fish; Nor fetch in firing at requiring; Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish: 'Ban, 'Ban, Ca--Caliban Has a new master; get a new man. Freedom, hey-day, hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey-day, freedom! _Steph._ O brave monster! lead the way. [_Exeunt._ ACT III SCENE I.--_Before PROSPERO'S Cell._ _Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log._ There be some sports are painful, and their labour Delight in them sets off:[418-1] some kinds of baseness[418-2] Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be As heavy to me as 'tis odious, but The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead, And makes my labours pleasures:[418-3] 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 labour; Most busy when I do it least.[419-4] _Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO behind._ _Mira._ Alas, now, pray you, Work not so hard: I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs that you're 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. _Ferd._ O most dear mistress, The Sun will set before I shall discharge What I must strive to do. _Mira._ If you'll sit down, I'll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that; I'll carry't to the pile. _Ferd._ No, precious creature; I'd rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by. _Mira._ 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. _Pros._ [_Aside._] Poor worm, thou art infected! This visitation shows it. _Mira._ You look wearily. _Ferd._ No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night. I do beseech you,-- Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers,-- What is your name? _Mira._ Miranda--O my father, I've broke your best to say so!