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.

MIRANDA.
O, the heavens!
What foul play had we that we came from thence?
Or blessed was't we did?

PROSPERO.
Both, both, my girl.
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence;
But blessedly holp hither.

MIRANDA.
O! my heart bleeds
To think o' th' teen that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance. Please you, further.

PROSPERO.