Datasets:
Kyudan
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gpt2traindata

Dataset card Data Studio Files
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PROSPERO:
Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There's no harm done.
MIRANDA:
O, woe the day!
PROSPERO:
No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.
MIRANDA:
More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
PROSPERO:
'Tis time
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me. So:
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely ordered that there is no soul--
No, not so much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
For thou must now know farther.
MIRANDA:
You have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'
PROSPERO:
The hour's now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
Out three years old.
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 remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
How thou camest 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 thou his only heir
And princess no worse issued.
MIRANDA:
O the heavens!
What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was't we did?
PROSPERO:
Both, both, my girl:
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,
But blessedly holp hither.
MIRANDA:
O, my heart bleeds