Gow.
By many a dearn and painful perch^{9 note}

Is made, with all due diligence,
That horse, and sail, and high expence,
Can stead the quest^{2 note}

. At last from Tyre
(Fame answering the most strong inquire^{3 note}

Will take the crown. The sum of this,
Brought hither to Pentapolis.
Y-ravished the regions round^{6 note}

Varies again; the grizzled north
Disgorges such a tempest forth
That, as a duck for life that dives
So up and down the poor ship drives,
The lady shrieks, and, well-a-near^{9 note}!
Doth fall in travail with her fear^{1 note}
:
And what ensues in this fell storm^{2 note},
Shall, for itself, itself perform.
I nill relate^{3 note}, action may
Conveniently the rest convey:
Which might not what by me is told^{4 note}.
In your imagination hold
This stage, the ship, upon whose deck
The sea-tost^{5 note}

Pericles^{6 note} appears to speak. [Exit.

SCENE I. Enter Pericles, on a Ship at Sea.

Per.
Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these surges^{7 note}

Upon the winds command, bind them in brass,
Having call'd them from the deep! O still^{8 note}

Unheard.—Lychorida!—Lucina, O
Divinest patroness, and midwife^{2 note}

Lyc.
Here is a thing
Too young for such a place, who if it had
Conceit^{3 note}


, would die as I am like to do.
Take in your arms this piece of your dead queen.

Per.
How! how, Lychorida!

Lyc.
Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm.^{4 note}

Here's all that is left living of your queen,—
A little daughter; for the sake of it,
Be manly, and take comfort.

Per.
O you gods!
Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,
And snatch them straight away? We, here below,
Recall not what we give, and therein may
Use honour with you^{5 note}

Lyc.
Patience, good sir,
Even for this charge.

Per.
Now, mild may be thy life!
For a more blust'rous birth had never babe:

Quiet and gentle thy conditions^{6 note}

With all thou canst find here.—Now the good gods
Throw their best eyes upon it! Enter Two Sailors.

1 Sail.
What courage, sir? God save you.

Per.
Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw^{2 note}

1 Sail.

Slack the bolins there^{5 note}

2 Sail.

But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not^{7 note}.

1 Sail.

Sir, your queen must overboard; the sea works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead^{8 note}

Per.

That's your superstition.

1 Sail.

Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it still hath been observed; and we are strong in earnest^{9 note}

Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard straight^{1 note}.

Per.
Be it as you think meet.—Most wretched queen!

Lyc.
Here she lies, sir.

Per.
A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dear;
No light, no fire: the unfriendly elements
Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time
To give thee hallow'd to thy grave^{2 note}
, but straight
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze^{3 note}

And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse^{6 note}

Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper^{7 note},
My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander
Bring me the sattin coffer^{8 note}

2 Sail.

Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulk'd and bitumed ready.

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

2 Sail.

We are near Tharsus.

Per.
Thither, gentle mariner,
Alter thy course for Tyre^{9 note}. When can'st thou reach it?

2 Sail.
By break of day, if the wind cease.

Per.
O make for Tharsus.
There will I visit Cleon, for the babe
Cannot hold out to Tyrus: there I'll leave it
At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner;
I'll bring the body presently. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's House. Enter Cerimon^{1 note}, a Servant, and some Persons who have been shipwrecked.

Cer.
Philemon, ho! Enter Philemon.

Phil.
Doth my lord call?

Cer.
Get fire and meat for these poor men;
It has been a turbulent and stormy night.

Serv.
I have been in many; but such a night as this,
Till now, I ne'er endur'd^{2 note}

Cer.
Your master will be dead ere you return;
There's nothing can be minister'd to nature,
That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary^{3 note}

1 Gent.
Good morrow, sir.

2 Gent.
Good morrow to your lordship.

Cer.
Gentlemen,
Why do you stir so early?

1 Gent.
Sir,
Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,
Shook, as the earth did quake^{4 note}

The very principals did seem to rend,
And all to topple^{5 note}

2 Gent.
That is the cause we trouble you so early;
'Tis not our husbandry^{6 note}

Cer.
O, you say well.

1 Gent.
But I much marvel that your lordship, having
Rich tire about you^{7 note}, should at these early hours

Shake off the golden slumber of repose^{8 note}
.
It is most strange,
Nature should be so conversant with pain,
Being thereto not compell'd.

Cer.
I held it ever,
Virtue and cunning^{9 note}

To please the fool and death^{3 note}

2 Gent.
Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth

Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd:

And not your knowledge, personal pain, but even
Your purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon
Such strong renown as time shall never— Enter Two Servants with a Chest.

Serv.
So; lift there.

Cer.
What is that?

Serv.
Sir, even now
Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest;
'Tis of some wreck.

Cer.
Set it down, let's look on it.

2 Gent.
'Tis like a coffin, sir.

Cer.
Whate'er it be,
'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight;
If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold^{4 note}
,
It is a good constraint of fortune, that
It belches upon us^{5 note}




.

2 Gent.
'Tis so, my lord.

Cer.
How close 'tis caulk'd and bitum'd^{6 note}

Serv.
I never saw so huge a billow, sir,
As toss'd it upon shore.

Cer.
Come, wrench it open;
Soft, soft!—it smells most sweetly in my sense.

2 Gent.
A delicate odour.

Cer.
As ever hit my nostril^{7 note}; so, up with it,
O you most potent god! what's here? a corse!

1 Gent.
Most strange!

Cer.
Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and entreasur'd
With bags of spices full! A passport too!
Apollo, perfect me i' the characters.^{8 note}! [Unfolds a Scroll.
[Reads.
Here I give to understand,
(If e'er this coffin drive a-land^{9 note},)
I, king Pericles, have lost
This queen, worth all our mundane cost.
Who finds her, give her burying,
She was the daughter of a king^{1 note}

If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart
That even cracks for woe^{2 note}

2 Gent.
Most likely, sir.

Cer.
Nay, certainly to-night;
For look, how fresh she looks!—They were too rough,
That threw her in the sea. Make fire within:
Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet.
Death may usurp on nature many hours,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The overpressed spirits. I have heard^{3 note}
Of an Egyptian, had nine hours lien dead^{4 note}

The vial once more;—How thou stirr'st, thou block?—
The musick there^{7 note}

Breathes out of her^{9 note}

1 Gent.
The heavens, sir,
Through you, increase our wonder, and set up
Your fame for ever.

Cer.
She is alive; behold,
Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels^{1 note}

Thai.
O dear Diana,
Where am I? Where's my lord? What world is this^{3 note}






?

2 Gent.
Is not this strange?

1 Gent.
Most rare.

Cer.
Hush, gentle neighbours;
Lend me your hands: to the next chamber bear her^{4 note}