Behold, sir king, The wrongèd Duke of Milan, Prospero.

Prospero, to Alonso
Behold, sir king,
The wrongèd Duke of Milan, Prospero.
For more assurance that a living prince
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body,
 He embraces Alonso.
And to thee and thy company I bid
A hearty welcome.
Alonso
Whe’er thou be’st he or no,
Or some enchanted trifle 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, a most strange story.
Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat
Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero
Be living and be here?
Prospero, to Gonzalo
First, noble friend,
Let me embrace thine age, whose honor cannot
Be measured or confined.
Gonzalo
Whether this be
Or be not, I’ll not swear.
Prospero
You do yet taste
Some subtleties o’ th’ isle, that will not let you
Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all.
 Aside to Sebastian and Antonio.
But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded,
I here could pluck his Highness’ frown upon you
And justify you traitors. At this time
I will tell no tales.
Sebastian, aside
The devil speaks in him.
Prospero, aside to Sebastian
No.
To Antonio.
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.
Alonso
If thou be’st Prospero,
Give us particulars of thy preservation,
How thou hast met us here, whom three hours since
Were wracked upon this shore, where I have lost—
How sharp the point of this remembrance is!—
My dear son Ferdinand.
Prospero
I am woe for ’t, sir.
Alonso
Irreparable is the loss, and patience
Says it is past her cure.
Prospero
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.
Alonso
You the like loss?
Prospero
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.
ALONSO
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?
Prospero
In this last tempest. I perceive these lords
At this encounter do so much admire
That they devour their reason, and scarce think
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
Are natural breath.—But howsoe’er you have
Been justled from your senses, know for certain
That I am Prospero and that very duke
Which was thrust forth of Milan, who most strangely
Upon this shore, where you were wracked, was landed
To be the lord on ’t. No more yet of this.
For ’tis a chronicle of day by day,
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
Befitting this first meeting. To Alonso. Welcome, sir.
This cell’s my court. Here have I few attendants,
And subjects none abroad. Pray you, look in.
My dukedom since you have given me again,
I will requite you with as good a thing,
At least bring forth a wonder to content you
As much as me my dukedom.