V. 1. 150 The king and queen there! that they were, I wish
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
Where my son lies. When did you lose you daughter?
Pros. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords
At this encounter do so much admire,
155 That they devour their reason, and scarce think
Their [eyes] do offices of truth, [their] words
Are natural breath: but, howsoe’er you have
Been justled from your senses, know for certain
That I am Prospero, and that very duke