Prospero kept Ferdinand not long confined within the cell:  he soon brought out his prisoner, and set him a severe task to perform, taking care to let his daughter know the hard labor he had imposed on him, and then pretending to go into his study, he secretly watched them both.

Prospero had commanded Ferdinand to pile up some heavy logs of wood.  King’s sons not being much used to laborious work, Miranda soon after found her lover almost dying with fatigue.  “Alas!” said she, “do not work so hard; my father is at his studies, he is safe for these three hours; pray rest yourself.”

“O my dear lady,” said Ferdinand, “I dare not.  I must finish my task before I take my rest.”

“If you will sit down,” said Miranda, “I will carry your logs the while.”  But this Ferdinand would by no means agree to.  Instead of a help Miranda became a hindrance, for they began a long conversation, so that the business of log-carrying went on very slowly.

Prospero, who had enjoined Ferdinand this task merely as a trial of his love, was not at his books, as his daughter supposed, but was standing by them invisible, to overhear what they said.

Ferdinand inquired her name, which she told, saying it was against her father’s express command she did so.

Prospero only smiled at this first instance of his daughter’s disobedience, for having by his magic art caused his daughter to fall in love so suddenly, he was not angry that she showed her love by forgetting to obey his commands.  And he listened well pleased to a long speech of Ferdinand’s, in which he professed to love her above all the ladies he ever saw.

In answer to his praises of her beauty, which he said exceeded all the women in the world, she replied, “I do not remember the face of any woman, nor have I seen any more men than you, my good friend, and my dear father.  How features are abroad, I know not; but, believe me, sir, I would not wish any companion in the world but you, nor can my imagination form any shape but yours that I could like.  But, sir, I fear I talk to you too freely, and my father’s precepts I forget.”

At this Prospero smiled, and nodded his head, as much as to say, “This goes on exactly as I could wish; my girl will be queen of Naples.”

And then Ferdinand, in another fine long speech (for young princes speak in courtly phrases), told the innocent Miranda he was heir to the crown of Naples, and that she should be his queen.

“Ah! sir,” said she, “I am a fool to weep at what I am glad of.  I will answer you in plain and holy innocence.  I am your wife if you will marry me.”

Prospero prevented Ferdinand’s thanks by appearing visible before them.

“Fear nothing, my child,” said he; “I have overheard, and approve of all you have said.  And, Ferdinand, if I have too severely used you, I will make you rich amends, by giving you my daughter.  All your vexations were but trials of your love, and you have nobly stood the test.  Then as my gift, which your true love has worthily purchased, take my daughter, and do not smile that I boast she is above all praise.”  He then, telling them that he had business which required his presence, desired they would sit down and talk together till he returned; and this command Miranda seemed not at all disposed to disobey.