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 the face of sky
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
With those that I saw suffer! 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

Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your pitying heart
There's no harm done