Why speaks my father so ungently?

Miranda
Why speaks my father so ungently? This
Is the third man that e’er I saw, the first
That e’er I sighed for. Pity move my father
To be inclined my way.
Ferdinand
O, if a virgin,
And your affection not gone forth, I’ll make you
The Queen of Naples.

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
Soft, sir, one word more.
Aside. They are both in either’s powers. But this swift business
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
Make the prize light. To Ferdinand. One word more. I charge thee
That thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp
The name thou ow’st not, and hast put thyself
Upon this island as a spy, to win it
From me, the lord on ’t.
Ferdinand
No, as I am a man!
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, to Ferdinand Follow me.
To Miranda. Speak not you for him. He’s a traitor.
To Ferdinand. Come,
I’ll manacle thy neck and feet together.
Sea water shalt thou drink. Thy food shall be
The fresh-brook mussels, withered roots, and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.
Ferdinand
No,
I will resist such entertainment till
Mine enemy has more power.
He 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 mak’st a show, but dar’st not strike, thy conscience
Is so possessed with guilt. Come from thy ward,
For I can here disarm thee with this stick
And make thy weapon drop.
Miranda
Beseech you, father—
Prospero
Hence! Hang not on my garments.
Miranda
Sir, have pity.
I’ll be his surety.
Prospero
Silence! One word more
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What,
An advocate for an impostor? Hush.
Thou think’st there is no more such shapes as he,
Having seen but him and Caliban. Foolish wench,
To th’ most of men this is a Caliban,
And they to him are angels.
Miranda
My affections
Are then most humble. I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.
Prospero, to Ferdinand
Come on, obey.
Thy nerves are in their infancy again
And have no vigor in them.
Ferdinand
So they are.
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wrack of all my friends, nor this man’s threats
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid. All corners else o’ th’ Earth
Let liberty make use of. Space enough
Have I in such a prison.
Prospero, aside
It works.—Come on.—
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel.—Follow me.
To Ariel. Hark what thou else shalt do me.
Miranda, to Ferdinand
Be of comfort.
My father’s of a better nature, sir,
Than he appears by speech. This is unwonted
Which now came from him.
Prospero, to Ariel
Thou shalt be as free
As mountain winds; but then exactly do
All points of my command.
Ariel
To th’ syllable.
Prospero, to Ferdinand
Come follow. To Miranda. Speak not for him.
 They exit.