Pericles, Prince of Tyre

1To sing a song that old was sung,

2From ashes ancient Gower is come;

3Assuming man's infirmities,

4To glad your ear, and please your eyes.

5It hath been sung at festivals,

6On ember-eves and holy-ales;

7And lords and ladies in their lives

8Have read it for restoratives:

9The purchase is to make men glorious;

10Et bonum quo antiquius, eo melius.

11If you, born in these latter times,

12When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes.

13And that to hear an old man sing

14May to your wishes pleasure bring

15I life would wish, and that I might

16Waste it for you, like taper-light.

17This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great

18Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat:

19The fairest in all Syria,

20I tell you what mine authors say:

21This king unto him took a fere,

22Who died and left a female heir,

23So buxom, blithe, and full of face,

24As heaven had lent her all his grace;

25With whom the father liking took,

26And her to incest did provoke:

27Bad child; worse father! to entice his own

28To evil should be done by none:

29But custom what they did begin

30Was with long use account no sin.

31The beauty of this sinful dame

32Made many princes thither frame,

33To seek her as a bed-fellow,

34In marriage-pleasures play-fellow:

35Which to prevent he made a law,

36To keep her still, and men in awe,

37That whoso ask'd her for his wife,

38His riddle told not, lost his life:

39So for her many a wight did die,

40As yon grim looks do testify.

41What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye

42I give, my cause who best can justify.

1Here have you seen a mighty king

2His child, iwis, to incest bring;

3A better prince and benign lord,

4That will prove awful both in deed and word.

5Be quiet then as men should be,

6Till he hath pass'd necessity.

7I'll show you those in troubles reign,

8Losing a mite, a mountain gain.

9The good in conversation,

10To whom I give my benison,

11Is still at Tarsus, where each man

12Thinks all is writ he speken can;

13And to remember what he does,

14Build his statue to make him glorious:

15But tidings to the contrary

16Are brought your eyes; what need speak I?

17Good Helicane, that stay'd at home.

18Not to eat honey like a drone

19From others' labours; for though he strive

20To killen bad, keep good alive;

21And to fulfil his prince' desire,

22Sends word of all that haps in Tyre:

23How Thaliard came full bent with sin

24And had intent to murder him;

25And that in Tarsus was not best

26Longer for him to make his rest.

27He, doing so, put forth to seas,

28Where when men been, there's seldom ease;

29For now the wind begins to blow;

30Thunder above and deeps below

31Make such unquiet, that the ship

32Should house him safe is wreck'd and split;

33And he, good prince, having all lost,

34By waves from coast to coast is tost:

35All perishen of man, of pelf,

36Ne aught escapen but himself;

37Till Fortune, tired with doing bad,

38Threw him ashore, to give him glad:

39And here he comes. What shall be next,

40Pardon old Gower,—this longs the text.

1Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!

2Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man

3Is but a substance that must yield to you;

4And I, as fits my nature, do obey you:

5Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,

6Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath

7Nothing to think on but ensuing death:

8Let it suffice the greatness of your powers

9To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;

10And having thrown him from your watery grave,

11Here to have death in peace is all he'll crave.

12What, ho, Pilch!

13Ha, come and bring away the nets!

14What, Patch-breech, I say!

15What say you, master?

16Look how thou stirrest now! come away, or I'll

17fetch thee with a wanion.

18Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that

19were cast away before us even now.

20Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what

21pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when,

22well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves.

23Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the

24porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say

25they're half fish, half flesh: a plague on them,

26they ne'er come but I look to be washed. Master, I

27marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

28Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the

29little ones: I can compare our rich misers to

30nothing so fitly as to a whale; a' plays and

31tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at

32last devours them all at a mouthful: such whales

33have I heard on o' the land, who never leave gaping

34till they've swallowed the whole parish, church,

35steeple, bells, and all.

36[Aside] A pretty moral.

37But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have

38been that day in the belfry.

39Why, man?

40Because he should have swallowed me too: and when I

41had been in his belly, I would have kept such a

42jangling of the bells, that he should never have

43left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and

44parish up again. But if the good King Simonides

45were of my mind,--

46[Aside] Simonides!

47We would purge the land of these drones, that rob

48the bee of her honey.

49[Aside] How from the finny subject of the sea

50These fishers tell the infirmities of men;

51And from their watery empire recollect

52All that may men approve or men detect!

53Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen.

54Honest! good fellow, what's that? If it be a day

55fits you, search out of the calendar, and nobody

56look after it.

57May see the sea hath cast upon your coast.

58What a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our

59way!

60A man whom both the waters and the wind,

61In that vast tennis-court, have made the ball

62For them to play upon, entreats you pity him:

63He asks of you, that never used to beg.

64No, friend, cannot you beg? Here's them in our

65country Greece gets more with begging than we can do

66with working.

67Canst thou catch any fishes, then?

68I never practised it.

69Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here's nothing

70to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish for't.

71What I have been I have forgot to know;

72But what I am, want teaches me to think on:

73A man throng'd up with cold: my veins are chill,

74And have no more of life than may suffice

75To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;

76Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,

77For that I am a man, pray see me buried.

78Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid! I have a gown here;

79come, put it on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a

80handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and

81we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for

82fasting-days, and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks,

83and thou shalt be welcome.

84I thank you, sir.

85Hark you, my friend; you said you could not beg.

86I did but crave.

87But crave! Then I'll turn craver too, and so I

88shall 'scape whipping.

89Why, are all your beggars whipped, then?

90O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your

91beggars were whipped, I would wish no better office

92than to be beadle. But, master, I'll go draw up the

93net.

94[Aside] How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!

95Hark you, sir, do you know where ye are?

96Not well.

97Why, I'll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and

98our king the good Simonides.

99The good King Simonides, do you call him.

100Ay, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his

101peaceable reign and good government.

102He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects

103the name of good by his government. How far is his

104court distant from this shore?

105Marry, sir, half a day's journey: and I'll tell

106you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is her

107birth-day; and there are princes and knights come

108from all parts of the world to just and tourney for her love.

109Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish

110to make one there.

111O, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man

112cannot get, he may lawfully deal for--his wife's soul.

113Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net,

114like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill hardly

115come out. Ha! bots on't, 'tis come at last, and

116'tis turned to a rusty armour.

117An armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.

118Thanks, fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses,

119Thou givest me somewhat to repair myself;

120And though it was mine own, part of my heritage,

121Which my dead father did bequeath to me.

122With this strict charge, even as he left his life,

123'Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield

124Twixt me and death;'--and pointed to this brace;--

125'For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity--

126The which the gods protect thee from!--may

127defend thee.'

128It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;

129Till the rough seas, that spare not any man,

130Took it in rage, though calm'd have given't again:

131I thank thee for't: my shipwreck now's no ill,

132Since I have here my father's gift in's will.

133What mean you, sir?

134To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth,

135For it was sometime target to a king;

136I know it by this mark. He loved me dearly,

137And for his sake I wish the having of it;

138And that you'ld guide me to your sovereign's court,

139Where with it I may appear a gentleman;

140And if that ever my low fortune's better,

141I'll pay your bounties; till then rest your debtor.

142Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady?

143I'll show the virtue I have borne in arms.

144Why, do 'e take it, and the gods give thee good on't!

145Ay, but hark you, my friend; 'twas we that made up

146this garment through the rough seams of the waters:

147there are certain condolements, certain vails. I

148hope, sir, if you thrive, you'll remember from

149whence you had it.

150Believe 't, I will.

151By your furtherance I am clothed in steel;

152And, spite of all the rapture of the sea,

153This jewel holds his building on my arm:

154Unto thy value I will mount myself

155Upon a courser, whose delightful steps

156Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread.

157Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided

158Of a pair of bases.

159We'll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to

160make thee a pair; and I'll bring thee to the court myself.

161Then honour be but a goal to my will,

162This day I'll rise, or else add ill to ill.

1Are the knights ready to begin the triumph?

2They are, my liege;

3And stay your coming to present themselves.

4Return them, we are ready; and our daughter,

5In honour of whose birth these triumphs are,

6Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat

7For men to see, and seeing wonder at.

8It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express

9My commendations great, whose merit's less.

10It's fit it should be so; for princes are

11A model which heaven makes like to itself:

12As jewels lose their glory if neglected,

13So princes their renowns if not respected.

14'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain

15The labour of each knight in his device.

16Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll perform.

17Who is the first that doth prefer himself?

18A knight of Sparta, my renowned father;

19And the device he bears upon his shield

20Is a black Ethiope reaching at the sun

21The word, 'Lux tua vita mihi.'

22He loves you well that holds his life of you.

23Who is the second that presents himself?

24A prince of Macedon, my royal father;

25And the device he bears upon his shield

26Is an arm'd knight that's conquer'd by a lady;

27The motto thus, in Spanish, 'Piu por dulzura que por fuerza.'

28And what's the third?

29The third of Antioch;

30And his device, a wreath of chivalry;

31The word, 'Me pompae provexit apex.'

32What is the fourth?

33A burning torch that's turned upside down;

34The word, 'Quod me alit, me extinguit.'

35Which shows that beauty hath his power and will,

36Which can as well inflame as it can kill.

37The fifth, an hand environed with clouds,

38Holding out gold that's by the touchstone tried;

39The motto thus, 'Sic spectanda fides.'

40And what's

41The sixth and last, the which the knight himself

42With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd?

43He seems to be a stranger; but his present is

44A wither'd branch, that's only green at top;

45The motto, 'In hac spe vivo.'

46A pretty moral;

47From the dejected state wherein he is,

48He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.

49He had need mean better than his outward show

50Can any way speak in his just commend;

51For by his rusty outside he appears

52To have practised more the whipstock than the lance.

53He well may be a stranger, for he comes

54To an honour'd triumph strangely furnished.

55And on set purpose let his armour rust

56Until this day, to scour it in the dust.

57Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan

58The outward habit by the inward man.

59But stay, the knights are coming: we will withdraw

60Into the gallery.

1Knights,

2To say you're welcome were superfluous.

3To place upon the volume of your deeds,

4As in a title-page, your worth in arms,

5Were more than you expect, or more than's fit,

6Since every worth in show commends itself.

7Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast:

8You are princes and my guests.

9But you, my knight and guest;

10To whom this wreath of victory I give,

11And crown you king of this day's happiness.

12'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit.

13Call it by what you will, the day is yours;

14And here, I hope, is none that envies it.

15In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed,

16To make some good, but others to exceed;

17And you are her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o'

18the feast,--

19For, daughter, so you are,--here take your place:

20Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.

21We are honour'd much by good Simonides.

22Your presence glads our days: honour we love;

23For who hates honour hates the gods above.

24Sir, yonder is your place.

25Some other is more fit.

26Contend not, sir; for we are gentlemen

27That neither in our hearts nor outward eyes

28Envy the great nor do the low despise.

29You are right courteous knights.

30Sit, sir, sit.

31By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts,

32These cates resist me, she but thought upon.

33By Juno, that is queen of marriage,

34All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury.

35Wishing him my meat. Sure, he's a gallant gentleman.

36He's but a country gentleman;

37Has done no more than other knights have done;

38Has broken a staff or so; so let it pass.

39To me he seems like diamond to glass.

40Yon king's to me like to my father's picture,

41Which tells me in that glory once he was;

42Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne,

43And he the sun, for them to reverence;

44None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights,

45Did vail their crowns to his supremacy:

46Where now his son's like a glow-worm in the night,

47The which hath fire in darkness, none in light:

48Whereby I see that Time's the king of men,

49He's both their parent, and he is their grave,

50And gives them what he will, not what they crave.

51What, are you merry, knights?

52Who can be other in this royal presence?

53Here, with a cup that's stored unto the brim,--

54As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,--

55We drink this health to you.

56We thank your grace.

57Yet pause awhile:

58Yon knight doth sit too melancholy,

59As if the entertainment in our court

60Had not a show might countervail his worth.

61Note it not you, Thaisa?

62What is it

63To me, my father?

64O, attend, my daughter:

65Princes in this should live like gods above,

66Who freely give to every one that comes

67To honour them:

68And princes not doin g so are like to gnats,

69Which make a sound, but kill'd are wonder'd at.

70Therefore to make his entrance more sweet,

71Here, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him.

72Alas, my father, it befits not me

73Unto a stranger knight to be so bold:

74He may my proffer take for an offence,

75Since men take women's gifts for impudence.

76How!

77Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else.

78[Aside] Now, by the gods, he could not please me better.

79And furthermore tell him, we desire to know of him,

80Of whence he is, his name and parentage.

81The king my father, sir, has drunk to you.

82I thank him.

83Wishing it so much blood unto your life.

84I thank both him and you, and pledge him freely.

85And further he desires to know of you,

86Of whence you are, your name and parentage.

87A gentleman of Tyre; my name, Pericles;

88My education been in arts and arms;

89Who, looking for adventures in the world,

90Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men,

91And after shipwreck driven upon this shore.

92He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles,

93A gentleman of Tyre,

94Who only by misfortune of the seas

95Bereft of ships and men, cast on this shore.

96Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune,

97And will awake him from his melancholy.

98Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles,

99And waste the time, which looks for other revels.

100Even in your armours, as you are address'd,

101Will very well become a soldier's dance.

102I will not have excuse, with saying this

103Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads,

104Since they love men in arms as well as beds.

105So, this was well ask'd,'twas so well perform'd.

106Come, sir;

107Here is a lady that wants breathing too:

108And I have heard, you knights of Tyre

109Are excellent in making ladies trip;

110And that their measures are as excellent.

111In those that practise them they are, my lord.

112O, that's as much as you would be denied

113Of your fair courtesy.

114Unclasp, unclasp:

115Thanks, gentlemen, to all; all have done well.

116But you the best. Pages and lights, to conduct

117These knights unto their several lodgings!

118Yours, sir,

119We have given order to be next our own.

120I am at your grace's pleasure.

121Princes, it is too late to talk of love;

122And that's the mark I know you level at:

123Therefore each one betake him to his rest;

124To-morrow all for speeding do their best.

1No, Escanes, know this of me,

2Antiochus from incest lived not free:

3For which, the most high gods not minding longer

4To withhold the vengeance that they had in store,

5Due to this heinous capital offence,

6Even in the height and pride of all his glory,

7When he was seated in a chariot

8Of an inestimable value, and his daughter with him,

9A fire from heaven came and shrivell'd up

10Their bodies, even to loathing; for they so stunk,

11That all those eyes adored them ere their fall

12Scorn now their hand should give them burial.

13'Twas very strange.

14And yet but justice; for though

15This king were great, his greatness was no guard

16To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward.

17'Tis very true.

18See, not a man in private conference

19Or council has respect with him but he.

20It shall no longer grieve without reproof.

21And cursed be he that will not second it.

22Follow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word.

23With me? and welcome: happy day, my lords.

24Know that our griefs are risen to the top,

25And now at length they overflow their banks.

26Your griefs! for what? wrong not your prince you love.

27Wrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane;

28But if the prince do live, let us salute him,

29Or know what ground's made happy by his breath.

30If in the world he live, we'll seek him out;

31If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there;

32And be resolved he lives to govern us,

33Or dead, give's cause to mourn his funeral,

34And leave us to our free election.

35Whose death indeed's the strongest in our censure:

36And knowing this kingdom is without a head,--

37Like goodly buildings left without a roof

38Soon fall to ruin,--your noble self,

39That best know how to rule and how to reign,

40We thus submit unto,--our sovereign.

41Live, noble Helicane!

42For honour's cause, forbear your suffrages:

43If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear.

44Take I your wish, I leap into the seas,

45Where's hourly trouble for a minute's ease.

46A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you to

47Forbear the absence of your king:

48If in which time expired, he not return,

49I shall with aged patience bear your yoke.

50But if I cannot win you to this love,

51Go search like nobles, like noble subjects,

52And in your search spend your adventurous worth;

53Whom if you find, and win unto return,

54You shall like diamonds sit about his crown.

55To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield;

56And since Lord Helicane enjoineth us,

57We with our travels will endeavour us.

58Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp hands:

59When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.

1Good morrow to the good Simonides.

2Knights, from my daughter this I let you know,

3That for this twelvemonth she'll not undertake

4A married life.

5Her reason to herself is only known,

6Which yet from her by no means can I get.

7May we not get access to her, my lord?

8'Faith, by no means; she has so strictly tied

9Her to her chamber, that 'tis impossible.

10One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery;

11This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd

12And on her virgin honour will not break it.

13Loath to bid farewell, we take our leaves.

14So,

15They are well dispatch'd; now to my daughter's letter:

16She tells me here, she'd wed the stranger knight,

17Or never more to view nor day nor light.

18'Tis well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine;

19I like that well: nay, how absolute she's in't,

20Not minding whether I dislike or no!

21Well, I do commend her choice;

22And will no longer have it be delay'd.

23Soft! here he comes: I must dissemble it.

24All fortune to the good Simonides!

25To you as much, sir! I am beholding to you

26For your sweet music this last night: I do

27Protest my ears were never better fed

28With such delightful pleasing harmony.

29It is your grace's pleasure to commend;

30Not my desert.

31Sir, you are music's master.

32The worst of all her scholars, my good lord.

33Let me ask you one thing:

34What do you think of my daughter, sir?

35A most virtuous princess.

36And she is fair too, is she not?

37As a fair day in summer, wondrous fair.

38Sir, my daughter thinks very well of you;

39Ay, so well, that you must be her master,

40And she will be your scholar: therefore look to it.

41I am unworthy for her schoolmaster.

42She thinks not so; peruse this writing else.

43[Aside] What's here?

44A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre!

45'Tis the king's subtlety to have my life.

46O, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord,

47A stranger and distressed gentleman,

48That never aim'd so high to love your daughter,

49But bent all offices to honour her.

50Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and thou art

51A villain.

52By the gods, I have not:

53Never did thought of mine levy offence;

54Nor never did my actions yet commence

55A deed might gain her love or your displeasure.

56Traitor, thou liest.

57Traitor!

58Ay, traitor.

59Even in his throat--unless it be the king--

60That calls me traitor, I return the lie.

61[Aside] Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage.

62My actions are as noble as my thoughts,

63That never relish'd of a base descent.

64I came unto your court for honour's cause,

65And not to be a rebel to her state;

66And he that otherwise accounts of me,

67This sword shall prove he's honour's enemy.

68No?

69Here comes my daughter, she can witness it.

70Then, as you are as virtuous as fair,

71Resolve your angry father, if my tongue

72Did ere solicit, or my hand subscribe

73To any syllable that made love to you.

74Why, sir, say if you had,

75Who takes offence at that would make me glad?

76Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory?

77I am glad on't with all my heart.--

78I'll tame you; I'll bring you in subjection.

79Will you, not having my consent,

80Bestow your love and your affections

81Upon a stranger?

82who, for aught I know,

83May be, nor can I think the contrary,

84As great in blood as I myself.--

85Therefore hear you, mistress; either frame

86Your will to mine,--and you, sir, hear you,

87Either be ruled by me, or I will make you--

88Man and wife:

89Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it too:

90And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy;

91And for a further grief,--God give you joy!--

92What, are you both pleased?

93Yes, if you love me, sir.

94Even as my life, or blood that fosters it.

95What, are you both agreed?

96Yes, if it please your majesty.

97It pleaseth me so well, that I will see you wed;

98And then with what haste you can get you to bed.

99Now sleep y-slaked hath the rout;

100No din but snores the house about,

101Made louder by the o'er-fed breast

102Of this most pompous marriage-feast.

103The cat, with eyne of burning coal,

104Now crouches fore the mouse's hole;

105And crickets sing at the oven's mouth,

106E'er the blither for their drouth.

107Hymen hath brought the bride to bed.

108Where, by the loss of maidenhead,

109A babe is moulded. Be attent,

110And time that is so briefly spent

111With your fine fancies quaintly eche:

112What's dumb in show I'll plain with speech.

113DUMB SHOW.

114By many a dern and painful perch

115Of Pericles the careful search,

116By the four opposing coigns

117Which the world together joins,

118Is made with all due diligence

119That horse and sail and high expense

120Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre,

121Fame answering the most strange inquire,

122To the court of King Simonides

123Are letters brought, the tenor these:

124Antiochus and his daughter dead;

125The men of Tyrus on the head

126Of Helicanus would set on

127The crown of Tyre, but he will none:

128The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress;

129Says to 'em, if King Pericles

130Come not home in twice six moons,

131He, obedient to their dooms,

132Will take the crown. The sum of this,

133Brought hither to Pentapolis,

134Y-ravished the regions round,

135And every one with claps can sound,

136'Our heir-apparent is a king!

137Who dream'd, who thought of such a thing?'

138Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre:

139His queen with child makes her desire--

140Which who shall cross?--along to go:

141Omit we all their dole and woe:

142Lychorida, her nurse, she takes,

143And so to sea. Their vessel shakes

144On Neptune's billow; half the flood

145Hath their keel cut: but fortune's mood

146Varies again; the grisly north

147Disgorges such a tempest forth,

148That, as a duck for life that dives,

149So up and down the poor ship drives:

150The lady shrieks, and well-a-near

151Does fall in travail with her fear:

152And what ensues in this fell storm

153Shall for itself itself perform.

154I nill relate, action may

155Conveniently the rest convey;

156Which might not what by me is told.

157In your imagination hold

158This stage the ship, upon whose deck

159The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.

160SCENE I:

161Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,

162Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou, that hast

163Upon the winds command, bind them in brass,

164Having call'd them from the deep! O, still

165Thy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench

166Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,

167How does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;

168Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman's whistle

169Is as a whisper in the ears of death,

170Unheard. Lychorida!--Lucina, O

171Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle

172To those that cry by night, convey thy deity

173Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs

174Of my queen's travails!

175Now, Lychorida!

176Here is a thing too young for such a place,

177Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I

178Am like to do: take in your arms this piece

179Of your dead queen.

180How, how, Lychorida!

181Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm.

182Here's all that is left living of your queen,

183A little daughter: for the sake of it,

184Be manly, and take comfort.

185O you gods!

186Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,

187And snatch them straight away? We here below

188Recall not what we give, and therein may

189Use honour with you.

190Patience, good sir,

191Even for this charge.

192Now, mild may be thy life!

193For a more blustrous birth had never babe:

194Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for

195Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world

196That ever was prince's child. Happy what follows!

197Thou hast as chiding a nativity

198As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,

199To herald thee from the womb: even at the first

200Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit,

201With all thou canst find here. Now, the good gods

202Throw their best eyes upon't!

203What courage, sir? God save you!

204Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw;

205It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love

206Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer,

207I would it would be quiet.

208Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou?

209Blow, and split thyself.

210But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy billow kiss

211the moon, I care not.

212Sir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high,

213the wind is loud, and will not lie till the ship be

214cleared of the dead.

215That's your superstition.

216Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it hath been still

217observed: and we are strong in custom. Therefore

218briefly yield her; for she must overboard straight.

219As you think meet. Most wretched queen!

220Here she lies, sir.

221A terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;

222No light, no fire: the unfriendly elements

223Forgot thee utterly: nor have I time

224To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight

225Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze;

226Where, for a monument upon thy bones,

227And e'er-remaining lamps, the belching whale

228And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse,

229Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida,

230Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,

231My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander

232Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe

233Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say

234A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.

235Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked

236and bitumed ready.

237I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?

238We are near Tarsus.

239Thither, gentle mariner.

240Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?

241By break of day, if the wind cease.

242O, make for Tarsus!

243There will I visit Cleon, for the babe

244Cannot hold out to Tyrus: there I'll leave it

245At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner:

246I'll bring the body presently.

1Now sleep yslaked hath the rouse;

2No din but snores about the house,

3Made louder by the o'erfed breast

4Of this most pompous marriage feast.

5The cat, with eyne of burning coal,

6Now couches fore the mouse's hole;

7And crickets sing at the oven's mouth,

8Are the blither for their drouth.

9Hymen hath brought the bride to bed,

10Where, by the loss of maidenhead,

11A babe is moulded. Be attent,

12And time that is so briefly spent

13With your fine fancies quaintly eche:

14What's dumb in show I'll plain with speech.

15By many a dern and painful perch

16Of Pericles the careful search,

17By the four opposing coigns

18Which the world together joins,

19Is made with all due diligence

20That horse and sail and high expense

21Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre,

22Fame answering the most strange enquire,

23To th' court of King Simonides

24Are letters brought, the tenour these:

25Antiochus and his daughter dead;

26The men of Tyrus on the head

27Of Helicanus would set on

28The crown of Tyre, but he will none:

29The mutiny he there hastes t'oppress;

30Says to 'em, if King Pericles

31Come not home in twice six moons,

32He, obedient to their dooms,

33Will take the crown. The sum of this,

34Brought hither to Pentapolis

35Y-ravished the regions round,

36And everyone with claps can sound,

37'Our heir apparent is a king!

38Who dreamt, who thought of such a thing?'

39Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre:

40His queen with child makes her desire—

41Which who shall cross?—along to go:

42Omit we all their dole and woe:

43Lychorida, her nurse, she takes,

44And so to sea. Their vessel shakes

45On Neptune's billow; half the flood

46Hath their keel cut: but fortune's mood

47Varies again; the grisled north

48Disgorges such a tempest forth,

49That, as a duck for life that dives,

50So up and down the poor ship drives:

51The lady shrieks, and well-a-near

52Does fall in travail with her fear:

53And what ensues in this fell storm

54Shall for itself itself perform.

55I nill relate, action may

56Conveniently the rest convey;

57Which might not what by me is told.

58In your imagination hold

59This stage the ship, upon whose deck

60The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.

1Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,

2Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast

3Upon the winds command, bind them in brass,

4Having call'd them from the deep! O, still

5Thy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench

6Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,

7How does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;

8Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman's whistle

9Is as a whisper in the ears of death,

10Unheard. Lychorida! - Lucina, O!

11Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle

12To those that cry by night, convey thy deity

13Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs

14Of my queen's travails! Now, Lychorida!

15Here is a thing too young for such a place,

16Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I

17Am like to do: take in your arms this piece

18Of your dead queen.

19How? how, Lychorida?

20Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm.

21Here's all that is left living of your queen,

22A little daughter: for the sake of it,

23Be manly, and take comfort.

24O you gods!

25Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,

26And snatch them straight away? We here below

27Recall not what we give, and therein may

28Vie honour with you.

29Patience, good sir.

30Even for this charge.

31Now, mild may be thy life!

32For a more blustrous birth had never babe:

33Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for

34Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world

35That ever was prince's child. Happy what follows!

36Thou hast as chiding a nativity

37As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,

38To herald thee from the womb.

39Even at the first thy loss is more than can

40Thy portage quit, with all thou canst find here,

41Now, the good gods throw their best eyes upon't!

42What courage, sir? God save you!

43Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw;

44It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love

45Of this poor infant, this fresh new sea-farer,

46I would it would be quiet.

47Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself.

48But sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not.

49Sir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high, the wind is loud and will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead.

50That's your superstition.

51Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it has been still observed; and we are strong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard straight.

52As you think meet. Most wretched queen!

53Here she lies, sir.

54A terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;

55No light, no fire: th'unfriendly elements

56Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time

57To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight

58Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze;

59Where, for a monument upon thy bones,

60And e'er-remaining lamps, the belching whale

61And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse,

62Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida.

63Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,

64My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander

65Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe

66Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say

67A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.

68Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.

69I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?

70We are near Tarsus.

71Thither, gentle mariner,

72Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?

73By break of day, if the wind cease.

74O, make for Tarsus!

75There will I visit Cleon, for the babe

76Cannot hold out to Tyrus. There I'll leave it

77At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner:

78I'll bring the body presently.

1Philemon, ho!

2Doth my lord call?

3Get fire and meat for these poor men:

4'T has been a turbulent and stormy night.

5I have been in many; but such a night as this,

6Till now, I ne'er endured.

7Your master will be dead ere you return;

8There's nothing can be minister'd to nature

9That can recover him.

10Give this to the 'pothecary,

11And tell me how it works.

12Good morrow.

13Good morrow to your lordship.

14Gentlemen,

15Why do you stir so early?

16Sir,

17Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,

18Shook as the earth did quake;

19The very principals did seem to rend,

20And all-to topple: pure surprise and fear

21Made me to quit the house.

22That is the cause we trouble you so early;

23'Tis not our husbandry.

24O, you say well.

25But I much marvel that your lordship, having

26Rich tire about you, should at these early hours

27Shake off the golden slumber of repose.

28'Tis most strange,

29Nature should be so conversant with pain,

30Being thereto not compell'd.

31I hold it ever,

32Virtue and cunning were endowments greater

33Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs

34May the two latter darken and expend;

35But immortality attends the former.

36Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever

37Have studied physic, through which secret art,

38By turning o'er authorities, I have,

39Together with my practise, made familiar

40To me and to my aid the blest infusions

41That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones;

42And I can speak of the disturbances

43That nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me

44A more content in course of true delight

45Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,

46Or tie my treasure up in silken bags,

47To please the fool and death.

48Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth

49Your charity, and hundreds call themselves

50Your creatures, who by you have been restored:

51And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even

52Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon

53Such strong renown as time shall ne'er decay.

54So; lift there.

55What is that?

56Sir, even now

57Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest:

58'Tis of some wreck.

59Set 't down, let's look upon't.

60'Tis like a coffin, sir.

61Whate'er it be,

62'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:

63If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold,

64'Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.

65'Tis so, my lord.

66How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed!

67Did the sea cast it up?

68I never saw so huge a billow, sir,

69As toss'd it upon shore.

70Wrench it open;

71Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.

72A delicate odour.

73As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it.

74O you most potent gods! what's here? a corse!

75Most strange!

76Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and entreasured

77With full bags of spices! A passport too!

78Apollo, perfect me in the characters!

79'Here I give to understand,

80If e'er this coffin drive a-land,

81I, King Pericles, have lost

82This queen, worth all our mundane cost.

83Who finds her, give her burying;

84She was the daughter of a king:

85Besides this treasure for a fee,

86The gods requite his charity!'

87If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart

88That even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.

89Most likely, sir.

90Nay, certainly to-night;

91For look how fresh she looks! They were too rough

92That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within:

93Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet.

94Death may usurp on nature many hours,

95And yet the fire of life kindle again

96The o'erpress'd spirits. I heard of an Egyptian

97That had nine hours lien dead,

98Who was by good appliance recovered.

99Well said, well said; the fire and cloths.

100The rough and woeful music that we have,

101Cause it to sound, beseech you.

102The viol once more: how thou stirr'st, thou block!

103The music there!--I pray you, give her air.

104Gentlemen.

105This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth

106Breathes out of her: she hath not been entranced

107Above five hours: see how she gins to blow

108Into life's flower again!

109The heavens,

110Through you, increase our wonder and set up

111Your fame forever.

112She is alive; behold,

113Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels

114Which Pericles hath lost,

115Begin to part their fringes of bright gold;

116The diamonds of a most praised water

117Do appear, to make the world twice rich. Live,

118And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature,

119Rare as you seem to be.

120O dear Diana,

121Where am I? Where's my lord? What world is this?

122Is not this strange?

123Most rare.

124Hush, my gentle neighbours!

125Lend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.

126Get linen: now this matter must be look'd to,

127For her relapse is mortal. Come, come;

128And AEsculapius guide us!

1Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone;

2My twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands

3In a litigious peace. You, and your lady,

4Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods

5Make up the rest upon you!

6Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,

7Yet glance full wanderingly on us.

8O your sweet queen!

9That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,

10To have bless'd mine eyes with her!

11We cannot but obey

12The powers above us. Could I rage and roar

13As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end

14Must be as 'tis. My gentle babe Marina, whom,

15For she was born at sea, I have named so, here

16I charge your charity withal, leaving her

17The infant of your care; beseeching you

18To give her princely training, that she may be

19Manner'd as she is born.

20Fear not, my lord, but think

21Your grace, that fed my country with your corn,

22For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,

23Must in your child be thought on. If neglection

24Should therein make me vile, the common body,

25By you relieved, would force me to my duty:

26But if to that my nature need a spur,

27The gods revenge it upon me and mine,

28To the end of generation!

29I believe you;

30Your honour and your goodness teach me to't,

31Without your vows. Till she be married, madam,

32By bright Diana, whom we honour, all

33Unscissor'd shall this hair of mine remain,

34Though I show ill in't. So I take my leave.

35Good madam, make me blessed in your care

36In bringing up my child.

37I have one myself,

38Who shall not be more dear to my respect

39Than yours, my lord.

40Madam, my thanks and prayers.

41We'll bring your grace e'en to the edge o' the shore,

42Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune and

43The gentlest winds of heaven.

44I will embrace

45Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no tears,

46Lychorida, no tears:

47Look to your little mistress, on whose grace

48You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.

1Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,

2Lay with you in your coffer: which are now

3At your command. Know you the character?

4It is my lord's.

5That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember,

6Even on my eaning time; but whether there

7Deliver'd, by the holy gods,

8I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,

9My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again,

10A vestal livery will I take me to,

11And never more have joy.

12Madam, if this you purpose as ye speak,

13Diana's temple is not distant far,

14Where you may abide till your date expire.

15Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine

16Shall there attend you.

17My recompense is thanks, that's all;

18Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.

19Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,

20Welcomed and settled to his own desire.

21His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,

22Unto Diana there a votaress.

23Now to Marina bend your mind,

24Whom our fast-growing scene must find

25At Tarsus, and by Cleon train'd

26In music, letters; who hath gain'd

27Of education all the grace,

28Which makes her both the heart and place

29Of general wonder. But, alack,

30That monster envy, oft the wrack

31Of earned praise, Marina's life

32Seeks to take off by treason's knife.

33And in this kind hath our Cleon

34One daughter, and a wench full grown,

35Even ripe for marriage-rite; this maid

36Hight Philoten: and it is said

37For certain in our story, she

38Would ever with Marina be:

39Be't when she weaved the sleided silk

40With fingers long, small, white as milk;

41Or when she would with sharp needle wound

42The cambric, which she made more sound

43By hurting it; or when to the lute

44She sung, and made the night-bird mute,

45That still records with moan; or when

46She would with rich and constant pen

47Vail to her mistress Dian; still

48This Philoten contends in skill

49With absolute Marina: so

50With the dove of Paphos might the crow

51Vie feathers white. Marina gets

52All praises, which are paid as debts,

53And not as given. This so darks

54In Philoten all graceful marks,

55That Cleon's wife, with envy rare,

56A present murderer does prepare

57For good Marina, that her daughter

58Might stand peerless by this slaughter.

59The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,

60Lychorida, our nurse, is dead:

61And cursed Dionyza hath

62The pregnant instrument of wrath

63Prest for this blow. The unborn event

64I do commend to your content:

65Only I carry winged time

66Post on the lame feet of my rhyme;

67Which never could I so convey,

68Unless your thoughts went on my way.

69Dionyza does appear,

70With Leonine, a murderer.

1Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,

2Welcomed and settled to his own desire.

3His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,

4Unto Diana there a votaress.

5Now to Marina bend your mind,

6Whom our fast-growing scene must find

7At Tarsus, and by Cleon train’d

8In music’s letters; who hath gain’d

9Of education all the grace,

10Which makes her both the heart and place

11Of general wonder. But, alack,

12That monster envy, oft the wrack

13Of earned praise, Marina’s life

14Seeks to take off by treason’s knife,

15And in this kind our Cleon hath

16One daughter, and a full grown wench

17Even ripe for marriage-rite; this maid

18Hight Philoten: and it is said

19For certain in our story, she

20Would ever with Marina be.

21Be’t when she weaved the sleided silk

22With fingers long, small, white as milk;

23Or when she would with sharp needle wound,

24The cambric, which she made more sound

25By hurting it; or when to th’ lute

26She sung, and made the night-bird mute

27That still records with moan; or when

28She would with rich and constant pen

29Vail to her mistress Dian; still

30This Philoten contends in skill

31With absolute Marina: so

32The dove of Paphos might with the crow

33Vie feathers white. Marina gets

34All praises, which are paid as debts,

35And not as given. This so darks

36In Philoten all graceful marks,

37That Cleon’s wife, with envy rare,

38A present murderer does prepare

39For good Marina, that her daughter

40Might stand peerless by this slaughter.

41The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,

42Lychorida, our nurse, is dead:

43And cursed Dionyza hath

44The pregnant instrument of wrath

45Prest for this blow. The unborn event

46I do commend to your content:

47Only I carry winged time

48Post on the lame feet of my rhyme;

49Which never could I so convey,

50Unless your thoughts went on my way.

51Dionyza does appear,

52With Leonine, a murderer.

1Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do't:

2'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.

3Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,

4To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,

5Which is but cold, inflaming love i' thy bosom,

6Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which

7Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be

8A soldier to thy purpose.

9I will do't; but yet she is a goodly creature.

10The fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here

11she comes weeping for her only mistress' death.

12Thou art resolved?

13I am resolved.

14No, I will rob Tellus of her weed,

15To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues,

16The purple violets, and marigolds,

17Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave,

18While summer-days do last. Ay me! poor maid,

19Born in a tempest, when my mother died,

20This world to me is like a lasting storm,

21Whirring me from my friends.

22How now, Marina! why do you keep alone?

23How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not

24Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have

25A nurse of me. Lord, how your favour's changed

26With this unprofitable woe!

27Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.

28Walk with Leonine; the air is quick there,

29And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come,

30Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.

31No, I pray you;

32I'll not bereave you of your servant.

33Come, come;

34I love the king your father, and yourself,

35With more than foreign heart. We every day

36Expect him here: when he shall come and find

37Our paragon to all reports thus blasted,

38He will repent the breadth of his great voyage;

39Blame both my lord and me, that we have taken

40No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,

41Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve

42That excellent complexion, which did steal

43The eyes of young and old. Care not for me

44I can go home alone.

45Well, I will go;

46But yet I have no desire to it.

47Come, come, I know 'tis good for you.

48Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least:

49Remember what I have said.

50I warrant you, madam.

51I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while:

52Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood:

53What! I must have a care of you.

54My thanks, sweet madam.

55Is this wind westerly that blows?

56South-west.

57When I was born, the wind was north.

58Was't so?

59My father, as nurse said, did never fear,

60But cried 'Good seaman!' to the sailors, galling

61His kingly hands, haling ropes;

62And, clasping to the mast, endured a sea

63That almost burst the deck.

64When was this?

65When I was born:

66Never was waves nor wind more violent;

67And from the ladder-tackle washes off

68A canvas-climber. 'Ha!' says one, 'wilt out?'

69And with a dropping industry they skip

70From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and

71The master calls, and trebles their confusion.

72Come, say your prayers.

73What mean you?

74If you require a little space for prayer,

75I grant it: pray; but be not tedious,

76For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn

77To do my work with haste.

78Why will you kill me?

79To satisfy my lady.

80Why would she have me kill'd?

81Now, as I can remember, by my troth,

82I never did her hurt in all my life:

83I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn

84To any living creature: believe me, la,

85I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly:

86I trod upon a worm against my will,

87But I wept for it. How have I offended,

88Wherein my death might yield her any profit,

89Or my life imply her any danger?

90My commission

91Is not to reason of the deed, but do it.

92You will not do't for all the world, I hope.

93You are well favour'd, and your looks foreshow

94You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,

95When you caught hurt in parting two that fought:

96Good sooth, it show'd well in you: do so now:

97Your lady seeks my life; come you between,

98And save poor me, the weaker.

99I am sworn,

100And will dispatch.

101Hold, villain!

102A prize! a prize!

103Half-part, mates, half-part.

104Come, let's have her aboard suddenly.

105These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes;

106And they have seized Marina. Let her go:

107There's no hope she will return. I'll swear

108she's dead,

109And thrown into the sea. But I'll see further:

110Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her,

111Not carry her aboard. If she remain,

112Whom they have ravish'd must by me be slain.

1Boult!

2Sir?

3Search the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of

4gallants. We lost too much money this mart by being

5too wenchless.

6We were never so much out of creatures. We have but

7poor three, and they can do no more than they can

8do; and they with continual action are even as good as rotten.

9Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er we pay for

10them. If there be not a conscience to be used in

11every trade, we shall never prosper.

12Thou sayest true: 'tis not our bringing up of poor

13bastards,--as, I think, I have brought up some eleven--

14Ay, to eleven; and brought them down again. But

15shall I search the market?

16What else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind

17will blow it to pieces, they are so pitifully sodden.

18Thou sayest true; they're too unwholesome, o'

19conscience. The poor Transylvanian is dead, that

20lay with the little baggage.

21Ay, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat

22for worms. But I'll go search the market.

23Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a

24proportion to live quietly, and so give over.

25Why to give over, I pray you? is it a shame to get

26when we are old?

27O, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor

28the commodity wages not with the danger: therefore,

29if in our youths we could pick up some pretty

30estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatched.

31Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods

32will be strong with us for giving over.

33Come, other sorts offend as well as we.

34As well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse.

35Neither is our profession any trade; it's no

36calling. But here comes Boult.

37[To MARINA] Come your ways. My masters, you say

38she's a virgin?

39O, sir, we doubt it not.

40Master, I have gone through for this piece, you see:

41if you like her, so; if not, I have lost my earnest.

42Boult, has she any qualities?

43She has a good face, speaks well, and has excellent

44good clothes: there's no further necessity of

45qualities can make her be refused.

46What's her price, Boult?

47I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand pieces.

48Well, follow me, my masters, you shall have your

49money presently. Wife, take her in; instruct her

50what she has to do, that she may not be raw in her

51entertainment.

52Boult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her

53hair, complexion, height, age, with warrant of her

54virginity; and cry 'He that will give most shall

55have her first.' Such a maidenhead were no cheap

56thing, if men were as they have been. Get this done

57as I command you.

58Performance shall follow.

59Alack that Leonine was so slack, so slow!

60He should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates,

61Not enough barbarous, had not o'erboard thrown me

62For to seek my mother!

63Why lament you, pretty one?

64That I am pretty.

65Come, the gods have done their part in you.

66I accuse them not.

67You are light into my hands, where you are like to live.

68The more my fault

69To scape his hands where I was like to die.

70Ay, and you shall live in pleasure.

71No.

72Yes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all

73fashions: you shall fare well; you shall have the

74difference of all complexions. What! do you stop your ears?

75Are you a woman?

76What would you have me be, an I be not a woman?

77An honest woman, or not a woman.

78Marry, whip thee, gosling: I think I shall have

79something to do with you. Come, you're a young

80foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have

81you.

82The gods defend me!

83If it please the gods to defend you by men, then men

84must comfort you, men must feed you, men must stir

85you up. Boult's returned.

86Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?

87I have cried her almost to the number of her hairs;

88I have drawn her picture with my voice.

89And I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the

90inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort?

91'Faith, they listened to me as they would have

92hearkened to their father's testament. There was a

93Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went to bed to

94her very description.

95We shall have him here to-morrow with his best ruff on.

96To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you know the

97French knight that cowers i' the hams?

98Who, Monsieur Veroles?

99Ay, he: he offered to cut a caper at the

100proclamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore

101he would see her to-morrow.

102Well, well; as for him, he brought his disease

103hither: here he does but repair it. I know he will

104come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the

105sun.

106Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, we

107should lodge them with this sign.

108[To MARINA] Pray you, come hither awhile. You

109have fortunes coming upon you. Mark me: you must

110seem to do that fearfully which you commit

111willingly, despise profit where you have most gain.

112To weep that you live as ye do makes pity in your

113lovers: seldom but that pity begets you a good

114opinion, and that opinion a mere profit.

115I understand you not.

116O, take her home, mistress, take her home: these

117blushes of hers must be quenched with some present practise.

118Thou sayest true, i' faith, so they must; for your

119bride goes to that with shame which is her way to go

120with warrant.

121'Faith, some do, and some do not. But, mistress, if

122I have bargained for the joint,--

123Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.

124I may so.

125Who should deny it? Come, young one, I like the

126manner of your garments well.

127Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.

128Boult, spend thou that in the town: report what a

129sojourner we have; you'll lose nothing by custom.

130When nature flamed this piece, she meant thee a good

131turn; therefore say what a paragon she is, and thou

132hast the harvest out of thine own report.

133I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake

134the beds of eels as my giving out her beauty stir up

135the lewdly-inclined. I'll bring home some to-night.

136Come your ways; follow me.

137If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,

138Untied I still my virgin knot will keep.

139Diana, aid my purpose!

140What have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us?

1Why, are you foolish? Can it be undone?

2O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter

3The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon!

4I think

5You'll turn a child again.

6Were I chief lord of all this spacious world,

7I'ld give it to undo the deed. O lady,

8Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess

9To equal any single crown o' the earth

10I' the justice of compare! O villain Leonine!

11Whom thou hast poison'd too:

12If thou hadst drunk to him, 't had been a kindness

13Becoming well thy fact: what canst thou say

14When noble Pericles shall demand his child?

15That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,

16To foster it, nor ever to preserve.

17She died at night; I'll say so. Who can cross it?

18Unless you play the pious innocent,

19And for an honest attribute cry out

20'She died by foul play.'

21O, go to. Well, well,

22Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods

23Do like this worst.

24Be one of those that think

25The petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence,

26And open this to Pericles. I do shame

27To think of what a noble strain you are,

28And of how coward a spirit.

29To such proceeding

30Who ever but his approbation added,

31Though not his prime consent, he did not flow

32From honourable sources.

33Be it so, then:

34Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead,

35Nor none can know, Leonine being gone.

36She did disdain my child, and stood between

37Her and her fortunes: none would look on her,

38But cast their gazes on Marina's face;

39Whilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin

40Not worth the time of day. It pierced me through;

41And though you call my course unnatural,

42You not your child well loving, yet I find

43It greets me as an enterprise of kindness

44Perform'd to your sole daughter.

45Heavens forgive it!

46And as for Pericles,

47What should he say? We wept after her hearse,

48And yet we mourn: her monument

49Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs

50In glittering golden characters express

51A general praise to her, and care in us

52At whose expense 'tis done.

53Thou art like the harpy,

54Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face,

55Seize with thine eagle's talons.

56You are like one that superstitiously

57Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies:

58But yet I know you'll do as I advise.

59SCENE IV:

60Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short;

61Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for't;

62Making, to take your imagination,

63From bourn to bourn, region to region.

64By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime

65To use one language in each several clime

66Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you

67To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach you,

68The stages of our story. Pericles

69Is now again thwarting the wayward seas,

70Attended on by many a lord and knight.

71To see his daughter, all his life's delight.

72Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late

73Advanced in time to great and high estate,

74Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind,

75Old Helicanus goes along behind.

76Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought

77This king to Tarsus,--think his pilot thought;

78So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,--

79To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.

80Like motes and shadows see them move awhile;

81Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile.

82DUMB SHOW.

83See how belief may suffer by foul show!

84This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe;

85And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd,

86With sighs shot through, and biggest tears

87o'ershower'd,

88Leaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears

89Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs:

90He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears

91A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,

92And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit.

93The epitaph is for Marina writ

94By wicked Dionyza.

95'The fairest, sweet'st, and best lies here,

96Who wither'd in her spring of year.

97She was of Tyrus the king's daughter,

98On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;

99Marina was she call'd; and at her birth,

100Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o' the earth:

101Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd,

102Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd:

103Wherefore she does, and swears she'll never stint,

104Make raging battery upon shores of flint.'

105No visor does become black villany

106So well as soft and tender flattery.

107Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead,

108And bear his courses to be ordered

109By Lady Fortune; while our scene must play

110His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day

111In her unholy service. Patience, then,

112And think you now are all in Mytilene.

1Thus time we waste, and long leagues make short;

2Sail seas in cockles, have and wish but for’t;

3Making, to take your imagination,

4From bourn to bourn, region to region.

5By you being pardon’d, we commit no crime

6To use one language in each several clime

7Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you

8To learn of me, who stand i’the gaps to teach you,

9The stages of our story. Pericles

10Is now again thwarting the wayward seas

11Attended on by many a lord and knight,

12To see his daughter, all his life’s delight.

13Old Helicanus goes along. Behind

14Is left to govern, if you bear in mind,

15Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late

16Advanced in time to great and high estate.

17Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought

18This king to Tarsus,—think his pilot thought;

19So with his steerage shall your thoughts go on,—

20To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.

21Like motes and shadows see them move awhile;

22Your ears unto your eyes I’ll reconcile.

23See how belief may suffer by foul show;

24This borrow’d passion stands for true old woe;

25And Pericles, in sorrow all devour’d,

26With sighs shot through; and biggest tears o’ershower’d,

27Leaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears

28Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs:

29He puts on sackcloth, and to sea he bears

30A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,

31And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit

32The epitaph is for Marina writ

33By wicked Dionyza.

34The fairest, sweet’st, and best lies here,

35Who wither’d in her spring of year.

36She was of Tyrus the King’s daughter,

37On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;

38Marina was she call’d; and at her birth,

39Thetis, being proud, swallow’d some part o’ the earth:

40Therefore the earth, fearing to be o’erflow’d,

41Hath Thetis’ birth-child on the heavens bestow’d:

42Wherefore she does, and swears she’ll never stint,

43Make raging battery upon shores of flint.

44No visor does become black villany

45So well as soft and tender flattery.

46Let Pericles believe his daughter’s dead,

47And bear his courses to be ordered

48By Lady Fortune; while our scene must play

49His daughter’s woe and heavy well-a-day

50In her unholy service. Patience, then,

51And think you now are all in Mytilene.

1Did you ever hear the like?

2No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she

3being once gone.

4But to have divinity preached there! did you ever

5dream of such a thing?

6No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy-houses:

7shall's go hear the vestals sing?

8I'll do any thing now that is virtuous; but I

9am out of the road of rutting for ever.

1Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her she

2had ne'er come here.

3Fie, fie upon her! she's able to freeze the god

4Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We must

5either get her ravished, or be rid of her. When she

6should do for clients her fitment, and do me the

7kindness of our profession, she has me her quirks,

8her reasons, her master reasons, her prayers, her

9knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil,

10if he should cheapen a kiss of her.

11'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll disfurnish us

12of all our cavaliers, and make our swearers priests.

13Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for me!

14'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't but by the

15way to the pox. Here comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.

16We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish

17baggage would but give way to customers.

18How now! How a dozen of virginities?

19Now, the gods to-bless your honour!

20I am glad to see your honour in good health.

21You may so; 'tis the better for you that your

22resorters stand upon sound legs. How now!

23wholesome iniquity have you that a man may deal

24withal, and defy the surgeon?

25We have here one, sir, if she would--but there never

26came her like in Mytilene.

27If she'ld do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say.

28Your honour knows what 'tis to say well enough.

29Well, call forth, call forth.

30For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall

31see a rose; and she were a rose indeed, if she had but--

32What, prithee?

33O, sir, I can be modest.

34That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less than it

35gives a good report to a number to be chaste.

36Here comes that which grows to the stalk; never

37plucked yet, I can assure you.

38Is she not a fair creature?

39'Faith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea.

40Well, there's for you: leave us.

41I beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and

42I'll have done presently.

43I beseech you, do.

44[To MARINA] First, I would have you note, this is

45an honourable man.

46I desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him.

47Next, he's the governor of this country, and a man

48whom I am bound to.

49If he govern the country, you are bound to him

50indeed; but how honourable he is in that, I know not.

51Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will

52you use him kindly? He will line your apron with gold.

53What he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.

54Ha' you done?

55My lord, she's not paced yet: you must take some

56pains to work her to your manage. Come, we will

57leave his honour and her together. Go thy ways.

58Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?

59What trade, sir?

60Why, I cannot name't but I shall offend.

61I cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.

62How long have you been of this profession?

63E'er since I can remember.

64Did you go to 't so young? Were you a gamester at

65five or at seven?

66Earlier too, sir, if now I be one.

67Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a

68creature of sale.

69Do you know this house to be a place of such resort,

70and will come into 't? I hear say you are of

71honourable parts, and are the governor of this place.

72Why, hath your principal made known unto you who I am?

73Who is my principal?

74Why, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots

75of shame and iniquity. O, you have heard something

76of my power, and so stand aloof for more serious

77wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my

78authority shall not see thee, or else look friendly

79upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place:

80come, come.

81If you were born to honour, show it now;

82If put upon you, make the judgment good

83That thought you worthy of it.

84How's this? how's this? Some more; be sage.

85For me,

86That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune

87Have placed me in this sty, where, since I came,

88Diseases have been sold dearer than physic,

89O, that the gods

90Would set me free from this unhallow'd place,

91Though they did change me to the meanest bird

92That flies i' the purer air!

93I did not think

94Thou couldst have spoke so well; ne'er dream'd thou couldst.

95Had I brought hither a corrupted mind,

96Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold for thee:

97Persever in that clear way thou goest,

98And the gods strengthen thee!

99The good gods preserve you!

100For me, be you thoughten

101That I came with no ill intent; for to me

102The very doors and windows savour vilely.

103Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and

104I doubt not but thy training hath been noble.

105Hold, here's more gold for thee.

106A curse upon him, die he like a thief,

107That robs thee of thy goodness! If thou dost

108Hear from me, it shall be for thy good.

109I beseech your honour, one piece for me.

110Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper!

111Your house, but for this virgin that doth prop it,

112Would sink and overwhelm you. Away!

113How's this? We must take another course with you.

114If your peevish chastity, which is not worth a

115breakfast in the cheapest country under the cope,

116shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like

117a spaniel. Come your ways.

118Whither would you have me?

119I must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common

120hangman shall execute it. Come your ways. We'll

121have no more gentlemen driven away. Come your ways, I say.

122How now! what's the matter?

123Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy

124words to the Lord Lysimachus.

125O abominable!

126She makes our profession as it were to stink afore

127the face of the gods.

128Marry, hang her up for ever!

129The nobleman would have dealt with her like a

130nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a

131snowball; saying his prayers too.

132Boult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure:

133crack the glass of her virginity, and make the rest malleable.

134An if she were a thornier piece of ground than she

135is, she shall be ploughed.

136Hark, hark, you gods!

137She conjures: away with her! Would she had never

138come within my doors! Marry, hang you! She's born

139to undo us. Will you not go the way of women-kind?

140Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays!

141Come, mistress; come your ways with me.

142Whither wilt thou have me?

143To take from you the jewel you hold so dear.

144Prithee, tell me one thing first.

145Come now, your one thing.

146What canst thou wish thine enemy to be?

147Why, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress.

148Neither of these are so bad as thou art,

149Since they do better thee in their command.

150Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend

151Of hell would not in reputation change:

152Thou art the damned doorkeeper to every

153Coistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib;

154To the choleric fisting of every rogue

155Thy ear is liable; thy food is such

156As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.

157What would you have me do? go to the wars, would

158you? where a man may serve seven years for the loss

159of a leg, and have not money enough in the end to

160buy him a wooden one?

161Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty

162OLD receptacles, or common shores, of filth;

163Serve by indenture to the common hangman:

164Any of these ways are yet better than this;

165For what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak,

166Would own a name too dear. O, that the gods

167Would safely deliver me from this place!

168Here, here's gold for thee.

169If that thy master would gain by thee,

170Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance,

171With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast:

172And I will undertake all these to teach.

173I doubt not but this populous city will

174Yield many scholars.

175But can you teach all this you speak of?

176Prove that I cannot, take me home again,

177And prostitute me to the basest groom

178That doth frequent your house.

179Well, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can

180place thee, I will.

181But amongst honest women.

182'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them.

183But since my master and mistress have bought you,

184there's no going but by their consent: therefore I

185will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I

186doubt not but I shall find them tractable enough.

187Come, I'll do for thee what I can; come your ways.

188Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and chances

189Into an honest house, our story says.

190She sings like one immortal, and she dances

191As goddess-like to her admired lays;

192Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her needle composes

193Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry,

194That even her art sisters the natural roses;

195Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry:

196That pupils lacks she none of noble race,

197Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain

198She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place;

199And to her father turn our thoughts again,

200Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost;

201Whence, driven before the winds, he is arrived

202Here where his daughter dwells; and on this coast

203Suppose him now at anchor. The city strived

204God Neptune's annual feast to keep: from whence

205Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies,

206His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense;

207And to him in his barge with fervor hies.

208In your supposing once more put your sight

209Of heavy Pericles; think this his bark:

210Where what is done in action, more, if might,

211Shall be discover'd; please you, sit and hark.

1Young prince of Tyre, you have at large received

2The danger of the task you undertake.

3I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul

4Embolden'd with the glory of her praise,

5Think death no hazard in this enterprise.

6Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,

7For the embracements even of Jove himself;

8At whose conception, till Lucina reign'd,

9Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,

10The senate-house of planets all did sit,

11To knit in her their best perfections.

12See where she comes, apparell'd like the spring,

13Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king

14Of every virtue gives renown to men!

15Her face the book of praises, where is read

16Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence

17Sorrow were ever razed and testy wrath

18Could never be her mild companion.

19You gods that made me man, and sway in love,

20That have inflamed desire in my breast

21To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,

22Or die in the adventure, be my helps,

23As I am son and servant to your will,

24To compass such a boundless happiness!

25Prince Pericles,--

26That would be son to great Antiochus.

27Before thee stands this fair Hesperides,

28With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd;

29For death-like dragons here affright thee hard:

30Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view

31Her countless glory, which desert must gain;

32And which, without desert, because thine eye

33Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die.

34Yon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,

35Drawn by report, adventurous by desire,

36Tell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,

37That without covering, save yon field of stars,

38Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars;

39And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist

40For going on death's net, whom none resist.

41Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught

42My frail mortality to know itself,

43And by those fearful objects to prepare

44This body, like to them, to what I must;

45For death remember'd should be like a mirror,

46Who tells us life's but breath, to trust it error.

47I'll make my will then, and, as sick men do

48Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,

49Gripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;

50So I bequeath a happy peace to you

51And all good men, as every prince should do;

52My riches to the earth from whence they came;

53But my unspotted fire of love to you.

54Thus ready for the way of life or death,

55I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.

56Scorning advice, read the conclusion then:

57Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed,

58As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.

59Of all say'd yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!

60Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness!

61Like a bold champion, I assume the lists,

62Nor ask advice of any other thought

63But faithfulness and courage.

64I am no viper, yet I feed

65On mother's flesh which did me breed.

66I sought a husband, in which labour

67I found that kindness in a father:

68He's father, son, and husband mild;

69I mother, wife, and yet his child.

70How they may be, and yet in two,

71As you will live, resolve it you.

72Sharp physic is the last: but, O you powers

73That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts,

74Why cloud they not their sights perpetually,

75If this be true, which makes me pale to read it?

76Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,

77Were not this glorious casket stored with ill:

78But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt

79For he's no man on whom perfections wait

80That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate.

81You are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;

82Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music,

83Would draw heaven down, and all the gods, to hearken:

84But being play'd upon before your time,

85Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime.

86Good sooth, I care not for you.

87Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life.

88For that's an article within our law,

89As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expired:

90Either expound now, or receive your sentence.

91Great king,

92Few love to hear the sins they love to act;

93'Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.

94Who has a book of all that monarchs do,

95He's more secure to keep it shut than shown:

96For vice repeated is like the wandering wind.

97Blows dust in other's eyes, to spread itself;

98And yet the end of all is bought thus dear,

99The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear:

100To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts

101Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng'd

102By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die for't.

103Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's

104their will;

105And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?

106It is enough you know; and it is fit,

107What being more known grows worse, to smother it.

108All love the womb that their first being bred,

109Then give my tongue like leave to love my head.

110[Aside] Heaven, that I had thy head! he has found

111the meaning:

112But I will gloze with him.--Young prince of Tyre,

113Though by the tenor of our strict edict,

114Your exposition misinterpreting,

115We might proceed to cancel of your days;

116Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree

117As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:

118Forty days longer we do respite you;

119If by which time our secret be undone,

120This mercy shows we'll joy in such a son:

121And until then your entertain shall be

122As doth befit our honour and your worth.

123How courtesy would seem to cover sin,

124When what is done is like an hypocrite,

125The which is good in nothing but in sight!

126If it be true that I interpret false,

127Then were it certain you were not so bad

128As with foul incest to abuse your soul;

129Where now you're both a father and a son,

130By your untimely claspings with your child,

131Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father;

132And she an eater of her mother's flesh,

133By the defiling of her parent's bed;

134And both like serpents are, who though they feed

135On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.

136Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men

137Blush not in actions blacker than the night,

138Will shun no course to keep them from the light.

139One sin, I know, another doth provoke;

140Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke:

141Poison and treason are the hands of sin,

142Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame:

143Then, lest my lie be cropp'd to keep you clear,

144By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear.

145He hath found the meaning, for which we mean

146To have his head.

147He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,

148Nor tell the world Antiochus doth sin

149In such a loathed manner;

150And therefore instantly this prince must die:

151For by his fall my honour must keep high.

152Who attends us there?

153Doth your highness call?

154Thaliard,

155You are of our chamber, and our mind partakes

156Her private actions to your secrecy;

157And for your faithfulness we will advance you.

158Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold;

159We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:

160It fits thee not to ask the reason why,

161Because we bid it. Say, is it done?

162My lord,

163'Tis done.

164Enough.

165Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.

166My lord, prince Pericles is fled.

167As thou

168Wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot

169From a well-experienced archer hits the mark

170His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return

171Unless thou say 'Prince Pericles is dead.'

172My lord,

173If I can get him within my pistol's length,

174I'll make him sure enough: so, farewell to your highness.

175Thaliard, adieu!

176Till Pericles be dead,

177My heart can lend no succor to my head.

1[To Lords without] Let none disturb us.--Why should

2this change of thoughts,

3The sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy,

4Be my so used a guest as not an hour,

5In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night,

6The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet?

7Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,

8And danger, which I fear'd, is at Antioch,

9Whose aim seems far too short to hit me here:

10Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits,

11Nor yet the other's distance comfort me.

12Then it is thus: the passions of the mind,

13That have their first conception by mis-dread,

14Have after-nourishment and life by care;

15And what was first but fear what might be done,

16Grows elder now and cares it be not done.

17And so with me: the great Antiochus,

18'Gainst whom I am too little to contend,

19Since he's so great can make his will his act,

20Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence;

21Nor boots it me to say I honour him.

22If he suspect I may dishonour him:

23And what may make him blush in being known,

24He'll stop the course by which it might be known;

25With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land,

26And with the ostent of war will look so huge,

27Amazement shall drive courage from the state;

28Our men be vanquish'd ere they do resist,

29And subjects punish'd that ne'er thought offence:

30Which care of them, not pity of myself,

31Who am no more but as the tops of trees,

32Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them,

33Makes both my body pine and soul to languish,

34And punish that before that he would punish.

35Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast!

36And keep your mind, till you return to us,

37Peaceful and comfortable!

38Peace, peace, and give experience tongue.

39They do abuse the king that flatter him:

40For flattery is the bellows blows up sin;

41The thing which is flatter'd, but a spark,

42To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing;

43Whereas reproof, obedient and in order,

44Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err.

45When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace,

46He flatters you, makes war upon your life.

47Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;

48I cannot be much lower than my knees.

49All leave us else; but let your cares o'erlook

50What shipping and what lading's in our haven,

51And then return to us.