MIRANDA.
Certainly, sir, I can.
PROSPERO.
By what? By any other house, or person?
Of any thing the image, tell me, that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.
MIRANDA.
'Tis far off,
And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
Four, or five, women once, that tended me?
PROSPERO.
Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou rememb'rest aught ere thou cam'st here,
How thou cam'st here, thou mayst.
MIRANDA.
But that I do not.
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.
