Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant, And for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorred commands, Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine, within which rift Imprisoned thou didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which space she died And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans As fast as mill wheels strike. William Shakespeare
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As thou report'st thyself, thou wast her servant, and for thou wast a spirit too delicate to act her earthy and abhorred commands, thou didst refuse her grand hests. She confined thee by the help of her more potent ministers. And in her most unmitigable rage, she intorted thee into a cloven pine within which rift thou didst painfully remain a dozen years. Within this time she died, and left thee there where thou didst vent thy groans as fast as mill wheels strike.

Source: The Tempest

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