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brave vessel, Who had no doubt some noble creature in her, Dash’d all to pieces! O, the cry did knock Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish’d.
Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere It should the good ship so have swallow’d and The fraughting souls within her.
PROSPERO Be conected; No more amazement; tell your piteous heart There’s no harm done.
MIRANDA O, woe the day! PROSPERO No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee, Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am, nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father.
MIRANDA More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. PROSPERO ‘Tis time I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. So, [Lays down his mantle] Lie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch’d The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely ordered that there is no soulNo, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink.
Sit down, for thou must now know farther.
MIRANDA You have often Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp’d, And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding ‘Stay; not yet.’
PROSPERO The hour’s now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear.
Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell? I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not Out three years old.
MIRANDA Certainly, sir, I can.
PROSPERO By what? By any other house, or person? Of any thing the image, tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance? MIRANDA ‘Tis far off, And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four, or five, women once, that tended me? PROSPERO Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time? If thou rememb’rest aught, ere thou cam’st here, How thou cam’st here thou mayst.
MIRANDA But that I do not.
PROSPERO Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and A prince of power.
MIRANDA Sir, are not you my father? PROSPERO Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir And princess no worse issued.