Cer.
Philemon ^note, ho! ^note Enter Philemon. ^note

Phil.
Doth my lord call?

Cer.
Get fire and meat for these poor men:
'T has ^note been a turbulent and stormy night.

Serv.
I have been in many; but such a night as this,
Till now, I ne'er ^note endured.

Cer.
Your master will be dead ere you return;
There's nothing can be minister'd to nature
That can recover him. [To Philemon ^note] Give this to the 'pothecary,
And tell me how it works. [Exeunt ^note all but Cerimon. Enter two Gentlemen.

First Gent.
Good morrow. ^note

Sec. Gent.
Good morrow to your lordship.

Cer.
Gentlemen,
Why do you stir so early? ^note

First Gent.
Sir,
Our lodgings ^note, standing bleak upon the sea ^note
Shook as ^note the earth did quake;
The very principals ^note did seem to rend
And all-to topple ^note: pure surprise and fear
Made me to quit ^note the house. ^note

Sec. Gent.
That is the cause we trouble you so early;
'Tis not our husbandry.

Cer.
O, you say well.

First Gent.
But I much marvel that your lordship, having
Rich tire ^{note note} about you, should at these early hours
Shake off the golden slumber of repose.
'Tis ^note most strange, ^note
Nature should be so conversant with pain,
Being thereto not compell'd ^note.

Cer.
I hold ^note it ever,
Virtue and cunning were ^note endowments ^note greater
Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs
May the two latter darken and expend,

But immortality attends the former,
Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever
Have studied physic, through which secret art,
By turning o'er authorities ^note, I have,
Together with my practice, made familiar
To me and to my aid the blest ^note infusions
That dwell ^note in vegetives, in metals, stones;
And I can ^note speak of the disturbances
That nature ^note works, and of her cures; which doth give ^note me
A more content in course of true delight ^note
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,
Or ^note tie my treasure ^note up in silken bags,
To please the fool and death.

Sec. Gent.
Your honour has ^note through Ephesus pour'd ^note forth
Your charity, and hundreds ^note call themselves ^note
Your creatures, who by you have been restored:
And not your knowledge, your personal ^note pain, but even
Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon ^note
Such strong renown as time shall never... ^{note note}

Enter ^note two or three Servants with a chest.

First Serv. ^note
So; lift there.

Cer.
What's ^note that?

First Serv. ^note
Sir,
Even now did the sea toss up ^note upon our shore ^note
This chest: 'tis of some wreck. ^note

Cer.
Set't down, let's ^note look upon 't ^note.

Sec. Gent.
'Tis like a coffin, sir.

Cer.
Whate'er it be,
'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight: ^note
If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold,
'Tis ^note a good constraint of fortune it ^note belches ^note upon us.

Sec. Gent.

'Tis so, my lord.

Cer.

How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed ^note! Did the sea cast it up?

First Serv. ^note

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

Cer.

Wrench ^note it open: soft! ^note it smells most sweetly in my sense. ^note

Sec. Gent.
A delicate odour.

Cer.
As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it.
O you most potent gods! what's here? a corse!

First Gent.

Most strange!

Cer.

Shrouded in cloth of state; balmed and entreasured

with full bags of spices ^note! A passport too! Apollo, ^note perfect me in the ^note characters! ^note

'Here I give to understand,
If e'er this coffin drive ^note a-land ^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:
Besides this treasure for a fee,
The gods requite ^note his charity!’
If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart
That even ^note cracks for woe! This chanced to-night.

Sec. Gent.
Most likely, sir.

Cer.
Nay, certainly to-night;
For look how fresh she looks! They were too rough ^note
That ^note threw her in the sea. Make a fire ^note within:
Fetch hither all my boxes ^note in my closet. [Exit ^note a servant.
Death may usurp on nature many hours,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The o'erpress'd ^note spirits. I heard ^note of an Egyptian
That had ^note nine hours lien ^note dead,

Who was by good appliance ^note recovered ^note. ^note Re-enter ^note a Servant, with boxes, napkins, and fire.
Well said, well said; the fire and cloths ^note.
The rough ^note and woful music that we have,
Cause it to sound, beseech ^note you.
The viol ^note once more: how thou stirr'st ^note, thou block!
The music there ^note! I pray you, give her air. ^note
Gentlemen,
This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth
Breathes ^note out of her: she hath not been entranced ^note
Above five hours: see how she 'gins to blow
Into life's flower again! ^note

First Gent.
The heavens, ^note
Through you, increase our wonder, and set ^note up
Your fame for ever. ^note

Cer.
She is alive; behold,
Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels
Which Pericles hath lost, begin to part

Their fringes of bright gold: the diamonds
Of a most praised water do ^note appear
To make the world twice rich. Live ^note,
And make us weep ^note to hear your fate, fair creature,
Rare as you seem to be. ^note [She moves.

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

Sec. Gent.
Is not tis strange?

First Gent.
Most rare.

Cer.
Hush, my gentle neighbours ^note!
Lend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.
Get linen: now this matter must be look'd to,
For her ^note relapse is mortal. Come, come; ^note
And Æsculapius ^note guide us! ^note [Exeunt ^note, carrying her away. ^note

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