Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mira. Put the wild waters i
Mira. The skye it seems
Mira. But that th Sea,
Mira. The Tempest.
Mira. (Who had no doubt some noble creature in her)
Mira. Dash'd all to peeces: O the cry did knocke
Mira. Against my very heart: poore soules, they perish'd.
Mira. Had I byn any God of power, I would
Mira. Haue suncke the Sea within the Earth, or ere
Mira. It should the good Ship so haue swallow'd, and
Mira. The fraughting Soules within her.
Pros. Pros.
Pros. Be collected,
Pros. No more amazement: Tell your pitteous heart
Pros. there's no harme done.
Mira. Mira.
Mira. O woe, the day.
Pros. No harme:
Pros. I haue done nothing, but in care of thee