_Pros._ Behold, sir King, The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero: For more assurance that a living prince Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; And to thee and thy company I bid A hearty welcome. _Alon._ Whêr[456-25] thou be'st he or no, Or some enchanted trifle[456-26] to abuse me, As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which, I fear, a madness held me: this must crave-- An if this be at all[456-27]--a most strange story. Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs.[456-28] But how should Prospero Be living and be here? _Pros._ First, noble friend,[456-29] Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot Be measured or confined. _Gonza._ Whether this be Or be not, I'll not swear. _Pros._ You do yet taste Some subtilties[457-30] o' the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain.--Welcome, my friends all:-- [_Aside to SEBAS. and ANTO._] But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, I here could pluck his Highness' frown upon you, And justify you traitors:[457-31] at this time I'll tell no tales. _Sebas._ [_Aside to ANTO._] The Devil speaks in him. _Pros._ Now, For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know, Thou must restore. _Alon._ 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. _Pros._ I'm woe[457-32] for't, sir. _Alon._ Irreparable is the loss; and patience Says it is past her cure. _Pros._ 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. _Alon._ You the like loss! _Pros._ As great to me, as late;[458-33] and, portable To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you; for I Have lost my daughter. _Alon._ A daughter! O Heavens, that they were living both in Naples, The King and Queen there! that they were, I wish Myself were mudded in that oozy bed Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?