Ariel: Do you love me, Master? No?
Prospero: Dearly, my delicate Ariel.
– William Shakespeare, The Tempest (4.1.48-49)
I am transfixed by a spirit of air –
Sublime Ariel – and stand enchanted.
For 'tis by thy art my heart lies ensnared
In magic, and reason is supplanted;
O, command my eye with grace that transcends
Corporeal, theós dó̱ro̱n – thou gift
Of God. And as you, quick’ning muse, ascend
The stage, thy glory will become my shrift;
Tribute would o’erflow thy ears if you’d hear
It from my lips; though highest praise shall fall
Short of thy deserving, and ne’er come near
The admiration which leaves me in thrall.
I commend the beauty of thy nature,
And, thus, expose my soul to your censure.