Miranda:
 If by your art, my dearest father, you have
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
 The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
 But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's cheek
 Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
 With those that I saw suffer!  A brave vessel
 Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her
 Dashed all to pieces.  O, the cry did knock
 Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perished!
 Had I been any god of power, I would
 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or ere
 It should the good ship so have swallowed, and
 The fraughting souls within her.

Prospero: Be collected:
 No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
 There's no harm done.