Miranda's Lament

Miranda:

If by your art, my dearest father, you have

Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's cheek

Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered

With those that I saw suffer! [ A brave vessel

Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her

Dashed all to pieces. ] O, the cry did knock

Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perished!

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 swallowed, and

The fraughting souls within her.

Prospero:

Be collected:

No more amazement: tell your piteous heart

There's no harm done.