Mira. O, woe the day!
Pros. 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[370-6]
Than Prospero, master of a full-poor cell,
And thy no greater father.
Mira. More to know
Did never meddle[370-7] with my thoughts.
Pros. ’Tis time
I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me.—So: [Lays down his robe.
Lie there, my art.[370-8]—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 prevision in mine art
So safely order’d, that there is no soul[370-9]—
No, 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 further.
Mira. You have often
Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp’d
And left me to a bootless inquisition,[372-10]
Concluding, Stay, not yet.
Pros. 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[372-11] three years old.
Mira. Certainly, sir, I can.
Pros. By what? by any other house or person?
Of any thing the image tell me that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.