FERDINAND Wherefore weep you?
MIRANDA At mine unworthiness that dare not offer
What I desire to give, and much less take
What I shall die to want. But this is trifling,
And all the more it seeks to hide itself,
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning,
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!
I am your wife, if you will marry me;
If not, I’ll die your maid. To be your fellow
You may deny me, but I’ll be your servant
Whether you will or no.
FERDINAND My mistress, dearest,
And I thus humble ever.
MIRANDA My husband, then?
FERDINAND Ay, with a heart as willing,
As bondage e’er of freedom. Here’s my hand.
MIRANDA And mine, with my heart in’t. And now farewell
Till half an hour hence.
FERDINAND A thousand thousand!
Exeunt [Miranda and Ferdinand] (3.1.76-91)
Why are you crying? Because I’m suddenly shy. Because you’re a prince (or a king). Because I am so inexperienced. Because I can’t seem to find the right words to say everything that I want, to give you everything that I want to give you (which is myself), let alone take the thing which I want more than anything (which is you) – I want you, and your love, more than anything – so much that I feel like I’d die without you, and your love. (But I’m bashful, still, about saying it.) But this is trifling, messing around, silly, and the more I try to conceal how I feel, or hedge it around with politeness, or courtesy, or propriety, the bigger it gets. So I’m giving up: no more bashful cunning, flirtatious or not; let me speak plainly, straightforwardly, prompted only by my modesty, and holy innocence. (There’s nothing wrong or improper about what I’m going to say.) I will be your wife, if you will marry me. (She’s the first to raise marriage explicitly, although it’s certainly been implicit in what he’s been saying. Like Juliet, Miranda sees marriage as the proper end of love; she would not pursue or consent to a mere dalliance. Miranda is much more worldly than she might appear.) And if you won’t marry me, I’ll die your maid, both your servant and a virgin, ever yours. You might not want me to be your wife, your fellow – your spouse, your equal, your companion – and your bed-fellow – but like it or not, I will serve you. (Juliet again, agreeing to marry Romeo: And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay, | And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world.) You will be my mistress, dearest– my beloved – and I will be your servant, always, thus humble. (He might well kneel at this point? Humble suggests it, as well as the context of proposal and betrothal.) My husband, then?Again Miranda does not shy from asking a direct question, when it really matters – she may be shy about expressing her own feelings, but not about wanting to know where she stands, absolutely. Yes, ay, willingly, freely given – like a slave, a servant embraces freedom. I too want this more than anything. Here’s my hand – and mine, with my heart in’t. A contract, a betrothal, an exchange. That done, an abrupt and oddly specific conclusion: and now farewell, till half an hour hence. A thousand thousand farewells, blessings – kisses, even?… and they exit, presumably in different directions, Ferdinand with his logs.
