If thou be’st Prospero, Give us particulars of thy preservation; How thou hast met us here, who three hours since Were wreck’d upon this shore; where I have lost⁠— How sharp the point of this remembrance is!⁠— My dear son Ferdinand.

Irreparable is the loss, and patience Says it is past her cure.

I rather think You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace For the like loss I have her sovereign aid And rest myself content.

As great to me as late; and, supportable To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you, for I Have lost my daughter.