The Tempest

Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA.MIRANDA.If by your art, my dearest father, you havePut 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 sufferedWith those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knockAgainst my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.Had I been any god of power, I wouldHave sunk the sea within the earth, or ereIt should the good ship so have swallow'd andThe fraughting souls within her.PROSPERO.Be collected: No more amazement: tell your piteous heartThere'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, whoArt ignorant of what thou art, nought knowingOf whence I am, nor that I am more betterThan Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father.MIRANDA.More to knowDid never meddle with my th