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Edmond Malone [1780], Supplement to the edition of Shakspeare's plays published in 1778 By Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. In two volumes. Containing additional observations by several of the former commentators: to which are subjoined the genuine poems of the same author, and seven plays that have been ascribed to him; with notes By the editor and others (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10911].
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PERICLES.

-- 2 --

Introductory matter

Persons Represented. Antiochus, king of Antioch. Pericles, prince of Tyre. Helicanus, lord of Tyre. Escanes, lord of Tyre. Simonides, king of Pentapolis* note

. Cleon, governor of Tharsus. Lysimachus, governor of Mitylene. Cerimon, a lord of Ephesus. Thaliard, servant to Antiochus. Leonine, servant to Dionyza. Marshall. A pander and his wife. Boult, their servant. Gower as chorus. The daughter of Antiochus. Dionyza, wife to Cleon. Thaisa, daughter to Simonides. Marina, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. Lychorida, nurse to Marina. Diana. Lords, knights, sailors, pirates, fishermen, and messengers. [Tyrian Sailor], [Pirate 1], [Pirate 2], [Pirate 3], [Philemon], [Bawd], [Gentleman 1], [Servant], [Gentleman 2], [Lord 1], [Lord 2], [Lord], [Fisherman 1], [Fisherman 2], [Fisherman 3], [Lord 3], [Knight 1], [Knight 2], [Sailor 1], [Sailor 2]. SCENE dispersedly in various countries.

-- 3 --

1 note














.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE ACT I. Enter Gower. Before the Palace of Antioch.

Gower.
To sing a song that old was sung2 note


,
From ashes ancient Gower is come;

-- 4 --


Assuming man's infirmities,
To glad your ear, and please your eyes.

-- 5 --


It hath been sung, at festivals,
On ember-eves, and holy ales3 note


;

-- 6 --


And lords and ladies, of their lives* note
Have read it for restoratives.
The purpose is to make men glorious4 note






,
Et bonum, quo antiquius, eo melius.
If you, born in these latter times,
When wit's more ripe, accept my rhimes,
And that to hear an old man sing,
May to your wishes pleasure bring,
I life would wish, and that I might
Waste it for you, like taper-light.
This Antioch then, Antiochus the Great
Built up; this city, for his chiefest seat;
The fairest in all Syria;
(I tell you what mine authors say5 note:)

-- 7 --


This king unto him took a pheere6 note,
Who died and left a female heir,
So buxom, blithe, and full of face7 note






,
As Heaven had lent her all his grace:
With whom the father liking took,
And her to incest did provoke;
Bad child, worse father! to entice his own
To evil, should be done by none.
By custom, what they did begin8 note,
Was with long use, account no sin9 note






.
The beauty of this sinful dame,
Made many princes thither frame,
To seek her as a bed-fellow,
In marriage-pleasures play-fellow:

-- 8 --


Which to prevent, he made a law,
(To keep her still1 note, and men in awe,)
That whoso ask'd her for his wife,
His riddle told not, lost his life:
So for her many a wight did die,
As yon grim looks do testify2 note

















.
What ensues, to the judgment of your eye
I give, my cause who best can justify3 note


. [Exit.

-- 9 --

SCENE I. The Palace of Antioch. Enter Antiochus, Pericles, and Attendants.

Ant.
Young prince of Tyre4 note, you have at large receiv'd
The danger of the task you undertake.

Per.
I have, Antiochus, and with a soul
Embolden'd with the glory of her praise,
Think death no hazard, in this enterprize.
[Musick.

Ant.
Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride5 note


,
For the embracements, even of Jove himself;
At whose conception, (till Lucina reign'd)
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence6 note










;

-- 10 --


The senate-house of planets all did sit,
To knit in her their best perfections7 note



. Enter the daughter of Antiochus.

Per.
See where she comes, apparel'd like the spring,
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
Of every virtue gives renown to men!
Her face, the book of praises, where is read
Nothing but curious pleasures8 note





, as from thence

-- 11 --


Sorrow were ever ras'd9 note, and testy wrath
Could never be her mild companion.
Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love,
That have inflam'd desire in my breast1 note,
To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,
Or die in the adventure, be my helps,
As I am son and servant to your will,
To compass such a boundless happiness2 note!

Ant.
Prince Pericles—

Per.
That would be son to great Antiochus.

Ant.
Before thee stands this fair Hesperides3 note



,

-- 12 --


With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd;
For death-like dragons here affright thee hard:
Her face, like heav'n, enticeth thee to view
Her countless glory4 note, which desert must gain:
And which, without desert because thine eye
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die5 note






.
Yon sometime famous princes6 note, like thyself,
Drawn by report, advent'rous by desire,
Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance pale,

-- 13 --


That, without covering, save yon field of stars,
Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars;
And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist
From going on death's net7 note, whom none resist.

Per.
Antiochus, I thank thee, who hast taught
My frail mortality to know itself,
And by those fearful objects to prepare
This body, like to them, to what I must8 note:
For death remember'd should be like a mirrour,
Who tells us, life's but breath, to trust it error9 note.
I'll make my will then; and as sick men do,
Who know the world, see heav'n, but feeling woe1 note




,
Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did;
So I bequeath a happy peace to you
And all good men, as every prince should do;
My riches to the earth from whence they came;
But my unspotted fire of love to you. [To the daughter of Antiochus.
Thus ready for the way of life or death,
I wait the sharpest blow.

-- 14 --

Ant.
Scorning advice.—Read the conclusion then2 note;
Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed,
As these before, so thou thyself shalt bleed.

Daugh.
Of all said yet, may'st thou prove prosperous!
Of all said9Q1300 yet, I wish thee happiness3 note

!

Per.
Like a bold champion I assume the lists,
Nor ask advice of any other thought,
But faithfulness, and courage.
The Riddle note4 note









.

I am no viper, yet I feed
On mother's flesh which did me breed:

-- 15 --


I sought a husband, in which labour,
I found that kindness in a father.
He's father, son, and husband mild,
I mother, wife, and yet his child.
How they may be, and yet in two,
As you will live, resolve it you5 note
.
Sharp physick is the last9Q1301: but O ye powers!
That give heav'n countless eyes to view mens' acts6 note








,
Why cloud they not their sights perpetually7 note


,
If this be true, which makes me pale to read it?
Fair glass of light, I lov'd you, and could still, [Takes hold of the hand of the princess.
Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill:
But I must tell you,—now, my thoughts revolt;
For he's no man on whom perfections wait8 note,
That knowing sin within, will touch the gate.
You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings;

-- 16 --


Who, finger'd to make man his lawful musick9 note,
Would draw heav'n down, and all the gods to hearken,
But being play'd upon before your time,
Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime:
Good sooth I care not for you.

Ant.
Prince Pericles, touch not upon thy life1 note


,
For that's an article within our law,
As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expir'd;
Either expound now, or receive your sentence.

Per.
Great king,
Few love to hear the sins they love to act;
'Twould 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it.
Who hath a book of all that monarchs do,
He's more secure to keep it shut, than shewn:
For vice repeated, is like the wand'ring wind,
Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself3 note

;

-- 17 --


And yet the end of all is bought thus dear,
The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear;
To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts
Copp'd4 note hills toward heaven, to tell, the earth is throng'd
By man's oppression5 note
; and the poor worm doth die for't6 note


.
Kings are earth's gods: in vice their law's their will;
And if Jove stray, who dares say, Jove doth ill.
It is enough you know; and it is fit,
What being more known grows worse, to smother it.—
All love the womb that their first being bred7 note


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

Ant.
Heaven that I had thy head8 note! he has found the meaning!
But I will gloze with him9 note





. Young prince of Tyre,

-- 18 --


Though by the tenour of our strict edict,
Your exposition mis-interpreting1 note,
We might proceed to cancel of your days2 note


;
Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree
As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:
Forty days longer we do respite you3 note,
If by which time our secret be undone,
This mercy shews, we'll joy in such a son:
And until then, your entertain shall be,
As doth befit our honour, and your worth. [Exeunt Ant. and his daughter.

Per.
How courtesy would seem to cover sin!
When what is done is like an hypocrite,
The which is good in nothing but in sight.
If it be true that I interpret false,
Then were it certain, you were not so bad,
As with foul incest to abuse your soul;
Where now you're both a father and a son,
By your untimely claspings with your child,

-- 19 --


(Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father);
And she an eater of her mother's flesh,
By the defiling of her parent's bed;
And both like serpents are, who though they feed
On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.
Antioch farewel! for wisdom sees, those men
Blush not in actions blacker than the night,
Will shun no course to keep them from the light4 note



.
One sin, I know, another doth provoke;
Murder's as near to lust, as flame to smoke.
Poison and treason are the hands of sin,
Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame:
Then, lest my life be crop'd to keep you clear5 note





,
By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear. [Exit. Re-enter Antiochus.

Ant.
He hath found the meaning, for the which we mean
To have his head;

-- 20 --


He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,
Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin
In such a loathed manner:
And therefore instantly this prince must die;
For by his fall my honour must keep high.
Who attends us there? Enter Thaliard.

Thal.
Doth your highness call?

Ant.
Thaliard, you're of our chamber, and our mind
Partakes her private actions6 note

to your secresy;
And for your faithfulness we will advance you.
Thaliard, behold here's poison, and here's gold;
We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him;
It fits thee not to ask the reason why,
Because we bid it. Say, is it done?

Thal.
My lord, 'tis done.
Enter a Messenger.

Ant.
Enough.
Let your breath cool your self, telling your haste.

Mes.
My lord, prince Pericles is fled.

Ant.
As thou
Wilt live, fly after; and as an arrow, shot
From a well experienc'd archer, hits the mark
His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return,
Unless thou say'st, Prince Pericles is dead.

Thal.

My lord, if I can get him within my pistol's length, I'll make him sure enough: so farewel to your highness.

[Exit.

-- 21 --

Ant.
Thaliard adieu! till Pericles be dead,
My heart can lend no succour to my head7 note



.
[Exit. note SCENE II. Tyre.9Q1303 Enter Pericles, Helicanus, and other Lords.

Per.
Let none disturb us: why should this charge of thoughts8 note


?
The sad companion, dull-ey'd Melancholy9 note





,
By me's so us'd a guest, as not an hour,
In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night,
(The tomb where grief should sleep) can breed me quiet!
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,
And danger which I feared, is at Antioch,
Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here;
Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits,

-- 22 --


Nor yet the other's distance comfort me:
Then it is thus; the passions of the mind,
That have their first conception by mis-dread,
Have after-nourishment and life by care;
And what was first but fear what might be done1 note,
Grows elder now, and cares it be not done2 note.
And so with me;—the great Antiochus,
('Gainst whom I am too little to contend,
Since he's so great, can make his will his act,)
Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence;
Nor boots it me to say I honour him3 note,
If he suspect I may dishonour him:
And what may make him blush in being known,
He'll stop the course by which it might be known;
With hostile forces he'll o'er-spread the land,
And with th' ostent of war will look so huge4 note







,
Amazement shall drive courage from the state;
Our men be vanquish'd, e'er they do resist,
And subjects punish'd, that ne'er thought offence:

-- 23 --


Which care of them, not pity of myself,
(Who owe no more but as the tops of trees,
Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend them,)
Makes5 note


both my body pine, and soul to languish,
And punish that before, that he would punish.

1 Lord.
Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast!

2 Lord.
And keep your mind, till you return to us,
Peaceful and comfortable!

Hel.
Peace, peace, and give experience tongue:
They do abuse the king that flatter him,
For flattery is the bellows blows up sin;
The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark,
To which that spark gives heat and stronger glowing6 note



;

-- 24 --


Whereas reproof, obedient, and in order,
Fits kings as they are men, for they may err.
When signior Sooth7 note

here doth proclaim a peace,
He flatters you, makes war upon your life:
Prince, pardon me, or strike me if you please,
I cannot be much lower than my knees.

Per.
All leave us else; but let your cares o'er-look
What shipping, and what lading's in our haven,
And then return to us. Helicanus, thou9Q1305
Hast moved us: what seest thou in our looks?

Hel.
An angry brow, dread lord.

Per.
If there be such a dart in princes' frowns,
How durst thy tongue move anger to our face?

Hel.
How dare the plants look up to heaven, from whence
They have their nourishment8 note



?

Per.
Thou know'st I have power
To take thy life from thee.

Hel.
I have ground the axe
Myself; do you but strike the blow.

Per.
Rise, prithee rise; sit down, thou art no flatterer;
I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid,
That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid9 note



!

-- 25 --


Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince,
Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant,
What would'st thou have me do?

Hel.
To bear with patience such griefs,
As you yourself do lay upon yourself.

Per.
Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus;
That minister'st a potion unto me,
That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.
Attend me then; I went to Antioch,
Whereas, thou know'st1 note






, against the face of death,
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty,
From whence an issue I might propagate2 note







,
Are arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects.
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;

-- 26 --


The rest (hark in thine ear) as black as incest;
Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father,
Seem'd not to strike, but smooth3 note


: but thou know'st this,
'Tis time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss.
Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled,
Under the covering of a careful night,
Who seem'd my good protector: and being here,
Bethought me what was past, what might succeed;
I knew him tyrannous, and tyrants' fears
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years:
And should he doubt it, (as no doubt he doth4 note



),
That I should open to the listening air,
How many worthy princes' bloods were shed,
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,—
To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms,
And make pretence of wrong that I have done him;
When all, for mine, if I may call't offence,
Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence5 note
:

-- 27 --


Which love to all (of which thyself art one,
Who now reprov'st me for it)—

Hel.
Alas, sir!

Per.
Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,
Musings into my mind, with a thousand doubts
How I might stop this tempest e'er it came;
And finding little comfort to relieve them,
I thought it princely charity to grieve them6 note.

Hel.
Well, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak,
Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,
And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant,
Who either by publick war, or private treason,
Will take away your life.
Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while,
Till that his rage and anger be forgot;
Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life:
Your rule direct to any; if to me,
Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be.

Per.
I do not doubt thy faith;
But should he wrong my liberties in my absence—

Hel.
We'll mingle our bloods together in the earth,
From whence we had our being and our birth.

Per.
Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tharsus
Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee;
And by whose letters I'll dispose myself.
The care I had and have of subjects' good,
On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it7 note







.

-- 28 --


I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath;
Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both:
But in our orbs we'll live so round and safe8 note

,
That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince9 note




,
Thou shew'dst a subject's shine1 note




, I a true prince. [Exeunt.

-- 29 --

9Q1306 SCENE III. Enter Thaliard.

Thal.

So, this is Tyre, and this is the court. Here must I kill king Pericles; and if I do it not, I am sure to be hang'd at home: 'tis dangerous.—Well, I perceive, he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that being bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none of his secrets. Now do I see he had some reason for it: for if a king bid a man be a villain, he is bound by the indenture of his oath to be one.

Hush, here come the lords of Tyre.

Enter Helicanus, Escanes, and other Lords of Tyre.

Hel.
You shall not need, my fellow-peers of Tyre,
Further to question me of your king's departure.
His seal'd commission, left in trust with me,
Doth speak sufficiently, he's gone to travel.

Thal.
How! the king gone!
[Aside.

Hel.
If further yet you will be satisfied,
Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves,
He would depart, I'll give some light unto you.
Being at Antioch—

Thal.
What from Antioch?
[Aside.

Hel.
Royal Antiochus (on what cause I know not)
Took some displeasure at him, at least he judg'd so:
And doubting lest he had err'd or sinned,
To shew his sorrow, he would correct himself;
So puts himself unto the shipman's toil,
With whom each minute threatens life or death.

Thal.
Well, I perceive
I shall not be hang'd now, although I would2 note;

-- 30 --


But since he's gone, the king's seas must please3 note






:
He 'scap'd the land, to perish at the sea.—
I'll present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre.

Hel.
Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.

Thal.
From him I come
With message unto princely Pericles;
But since my landing I have understood,
Your lord hath betook himself to unknown travels;
My message must return from whence it came.

Hel.
We have no reason to desire it4 note


,
Commended to our master, not to us:
Yet ere you shall depart, this we desire,
As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. [Exeunt.

-- 31 --

SCENE IV. Tharsus.9Q1308 Enter Cleon, Dionyza, and others.

Cle.
My Dionyza, shall we rest us here,
And by relating tales of others' griefs,
See if 'twill teach us to forget our own?

Dio.
That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;
For who digs hills because they do aspire,
Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher.
O my distressed lord, ev'n such our griefs are;
Here they're but felt, unseen with mischief's eyes5 note











,
But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise.

-- 32 --

Cle.
O Dionyza,
Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it,
Or can conceal his hunger, till he famish?
Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep our woes
Into the air; our eyes do weep, till lungs6 note

Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder, that
If heaven slumber, while their creatures want,
They may awake their helps to comfort them7 note




.
I'll then discourse our woes felt several years,
And wanting breath to speak, help me with tears.

Dio.
I'll do my best, sir.

Cle.
This Tharsus, o'er which I have the government,
A city, on whom plenty held full hand,
For riches strew'd herself even in the streets8 note;

-- 33 --


Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the clouds9 note




,
And strangers ne'er beheld, but wonder'd at;
Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd1 note,
Like one another's glass to trim them by2 note









:
Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight,
And not so much to feed on, as delight;
All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great,
The name of help grew odious to repeat.

Dio.
Oh, 'tis too true.

Cle.
But see what heaven can do! By this our change,
These mouths, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air,
Were all too little to content and please,
Although they gave their creatures in abundance,
As houses are defil'd for want of use,
They are now starv'd for want of exercise;

-- 34 --


Those palates, who, not us'd to hunger's savour3 note



,
Must have inventions to delight the taste,
Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it;
Those mothers who, to nouzle up their babes4 note






,
Thought nought too curious, are ready now,
To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd;
So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife
Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life:
Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping;
Here many sink, yet those which see them fall,
Have scarce strength left to give them burial.
Is not this true?

-- 35 --

Dio.
Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.

Cle.
O let those cities that of Plenty's cup5 note




And her prosperities so largely taste,
With their superfluous riots, hear these tears!
The misery of Tharsus may be theirs.
Enter a Lord.

Lord.
Where's the lord governor?

Cle.
Here.
Speak out thy sorrows, which thou bring'st, in haste,
For comfort is too far for us to expect.

Lord.
We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore,
A portly sail of ships make hitherward.

Cle.
I thought as much.
One sorrow never comes but brings an heir,
That may succeed as his inheritor6 note





;
And so in our's: some neighbouring nation,
Taking advantage of our misery,
Hath stuff'd these hollow vessels with their pow'r7 note




,

-- 36 --


To beat us down, the which are down already;
And make a conquest of unhappy me,9Q1310
Whereas no glory's got to overcome8 note.

Lord.
That's the least fear; for, by the semblance9 note




Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace,
And come to us as favourers, not as foes.

Cle.
Thou speak'st like him's untutor'd to repeat1 note



,
Who makes the fairest shew, means most deceit.
But bring they what they will, and what they can,
What need we fear2 note


?
The ground's the lowest, and we are half way there:
Go tell their general, we attend him here,
To know for what he comes, and whence he comes,
And what he craves.

Lord.
I go, my lord.

-- 37 --

Cle.
Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist3 note;
If wars, we are unable to resist.
Enter Pericles with Attendants.

Per.
Lord governor, for so we hear you are,
Let not our ships and number of our men,
Be, like a beacon fir'd, to amaze your eyes.
We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre,
And seen the desolation of your streets:
Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears,
But to relieve them of their heavy load4 note;
And these our ships, note (you happily may think
Are, like the Trojan horse, war-stuff'd within,
With bloody views expecting overthrow5 note




,)
Are stor'd with corn to make your needy bread,9Q1311
And give them life, whom hunger starv'd half dead.

Omnes.
The gods of Greece protect you!
And we will pray for you.

Per.
Arise, I pray you, rise;
We do not look for reverence, but for love,
And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men.

Cle.
The which when any shall not gratify,
Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought6 note



,

-- 38 --


Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves,
The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!
Till when, (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen,)
Your grace is welcome to our town and us.

Per.
Which welcome we'll accept; feast here a while,
Until our stars that frown, lend us a smile.
[Exeunt. ACT II. Enter Gower.

Gow.
Here have you seen a mighty king
His child, I wis, to incest bring:
A better prince and benign lord,
That will prove awful both in deed and word.
Be quiet then, as men should be,
Till he hath past necessity.
I'll shew you those in trouble's reign,
Losing a mite, a mountain gain7 note,
The good, in conversation8 note


(To whom I give my benizon)

-- 39 --


Is still at Tharsus, where each man
Thinks all is writ he spoken can9 note


:
And, to remember what he does,
Gild his statue to make him glorious1 note





















:
But tidings to the contrary
Are brought to your eyes; what need speak I?

-- 40 --

Dumb shew. Enter at one door Pericles talking with Cleon; all the train with them. Enter at another door, a Gentleman, with a letter to Pericles; Pericles shews the letter to Cleon; then gives the Messenger a reward, and knights him. [Exit Pericles at one door, and Cleon at another.
Good Helicane hath staid at home2 note










,
Not to eat honey, like a drone,
From others' labours; for though he strive3 note





To killen bad, keeps good alive;
And, to fulfil his prince' desire,
Sends word of all that haps in Tyre:

-- 41 --


How Thaliard came full bent with sin,
And had intent to murder him4 note


;
And that in Tharsus 'twas not best,
Longer for him to make his rest:
He knowing so5 note, put forth to seas,
Where when men bin, there's seldom ease;
For now the wind begins to blow;
Thunder above, and deeps below,
Make such unquiet, that the ship
Should house him safe, is wreck'd and split;
And he, good prince, having all lost,
By waves, from coast to coast is tost:
All perishen of man, of pelf,
Ne ought escapen'd but himself;9Q1312
Till fortune, tir'd with doing bad,
Threw him ashore to give him glad:
And here he comes; what shall be next,
Pardon old Gower; thus long's the text. [Exit. SCENE I. Pentapolis. Enter Pericles wet.

Per.
Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven6 note










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

-- 42 --


Is but a substance, that must yield to you;
And I, as fits my nature, do obey you.
Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,
Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath7 note




,
Nothing to think on, but ensuing death:
Let it suffice the greatness of your powers,
To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;

-- 43 --


And having thrown him from your watry grave,
Here to have death in peace, is all he'll crave. Enter three Fishermen8 note


















.

1 Fish.

What, ho, Pilche9 note

!

2 Fish.

Ha, come, and bring away the nets.

1 Fish.

What, Patch-breech, I say!

3 Fish.

What say you, master?

-- 44 --

1 Fish.

Look how thou stirrest now: come away, or I'll fetch thee with a wannion1 note.

3 Fish.

'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us, even now.

1 Fish.

Alas, poor souls, it griev'd my heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us, to help them2 note, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves.

3 Fish.

Nay, master, said not I as much, when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled3 note? they say, they are half fish, half flesh; a plague on them, they ne'er come but I look to be wash'd. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

1 Fish.

Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; 'a plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him4 note

, and at
last devours them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on a'the land, who never leave gaping, till they've swallow'd the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and all.

Per.

A pretty moral.

-- 45 --

3 Fish.

But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry.

2 Fish.

Why, man?

3 Fish.

Because he should have swallow'd me too: and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and parish, up again. But if the good king Simonides were of my mind—

Per.

Simonides?

3 Fish.

We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.

Per.
How from the finny subject of the sea5 note



These fishers tell the infirmities of men;
And from their watry empire recollect
All that may men approve, or men detect!
Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen.

2 Fish.

Honest, good fellow, what's that, if it be a day fits you, search out of the kalendar, and no body look after it6 note







.9Q1313

-- 46 --

Per.

You may see, the sea hath cast me on your coast.

2 Fish.

What a drunken knave was the sea, to cast thee in our way7 note


!

Per.
A man whom both the waters and the wind,
In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball
For them to play upon, intreats you pity him;
He asks of you, that never us'd to beg.

1 Fish.

No, friend, cannot you beg? here's them in our country of Greece, gets more with begging, than we can do with working.

2 Fish.

Can'st thou catch any fishes then?

Per.

I never practis'd it.

2 Fish.

Nay, then thou wilt starve sure; for here's nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou can'st fish for't.

Per.
What I have been, I have forgot to know;
But what I am, want teaches me to think on;
A man throng'd up with cold8 note





; my veins are chill,

-- 47 --


And have no more of life, than may suffice
To give my tongue that heat to ask your help:
Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,
For that I am a man, pray see me buried.

1 Fish.

Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid! I have a gown here9 note; come put it on, keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and we'll have flesh for holydays1 note

, fish for fasting days, and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks2 note; and thou shalt be welcome.

Per.

I thank you, sir.

2 Fish.

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

Per.

I did but crave.

2 Fish.

But crave? then I'll turn craver too, and so I shall scape whipping.

Per.

Why, are all your beggars whip'd then?

2 Fish.

O not at all, my friend, not at all; for if all your beggars were whip'd, I would wish no better office, than to be a beadle. But, master, I'll go draw up the net.

[Exeunt two of the Fishermen.

Per.

How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!

1 Fish.

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

Per.

Not well.

1 Fish.

Why I'll tell you; this is called Pentapolis, and our king, the good Simonides.

Per.

The good king Simonides, do you call him?

1 Fish.

Ay, sir, and he deserves so to be call'd, for his peaceable reign, and good government.

-- 48 --

Per.

He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects, the name of good, by his government. How far is his court distant from this shore?

1 Fish.

Marry, sir, half a day's journey; and I'll tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is her birth-day; and there are princes and knights come from all parts of the world, to just and turney for her love.

Per.

Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there.

1 Fish.

O sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for— his wife's soul3 note



.

Re-enter the two Fishermen drawing up a net.

2 Fish.

Help, master, help; here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill

-- 49 --

hardly come out. Ha! bots on't4 note, 'tis come at last, and 'tis turn'd to a rusty armour.

Per.
An armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.
Thanks, Fortune, yet, that after all my crosses,
Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself;
And, though it was mine own5 note, part of mine heritage,
Which my dead father did bequeath to me,
With this strict charge, (even as he left his life)
“Keep it, my Pericles, it hath been a shield
'Twixt me and death; (and pointed to this brace6 note



)
For that it sav'd me, keep it; in like necessity,
The which the gods protect thee from! 't may defend thee7 note
.”
It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it;
'Till the rough seas, that spare not any man,
Took it in rage, though calm'd they've given it again:
I thank thee for it; my shipwreck now's no ill,
Since I have here my father's gift in his will.

1 Fish.
What mean you, sir?

Per.
To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth,
For it was some time target to a king;
I know it by this mark; he lov'd me dearly,

-- 50 --


And for his sake, I wish the having of it;
And that you'd guide me to your sovereign's court,
Where with it I may appear a gentleman;
And if that ever my low fortune's better,
I'll pay your bounties; till then, rest your debtor.

1 Fish.

Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady?

Per.
I'll shew the virtue I have borne in arms.

1 Fish.

Why di'e take it note8 note, and the gods give thee good on't!

2 Fish.

Ay, but hark you, my friend; 'twas we that made up this garment through the rough seams of the waters: there are certain condolements, certain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you'll remember from whence you had it.

Per.
Believe it, I will;
By your furtherance I am cloath'd in steel9 note
;
And spight of all the rapture of the sea1 note





,
This jewel holds his gilding on my arm2 note


;

-- 51 --


Unto thy value I will mount myself
Upon a courser, whose delightful steps
Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread.—
Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided
Of a pair of bases3 note


.

2 Fish.

We'll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to make thee a pair; and I'll bring thee to the court myself.

Per.
Then honour be but a goal to my will,
This day I'll rise, or else add ill to ill.
[Exeunt. SCENE II. A publick Way, or Platform, leading to the Lists. A Pavilion by the side of it, for the reception of the King and Princess. Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, and Attendants.

Sim.
Are the knights ready to begin the triumph4 note

?

-- 52 --

1 Lord.
They are, my liege;
And stay your coming, to present themselves.

Sim.
Return them, we are ready9Q1315; and our daughter,
In honour of whose birth these triumphs are,
Sits here, like beauty's child, whom Nature gat
For men to see, and seeing wonder at.
[Exit a Lord.

Thai.
It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express
My commendations great, whose merit's less.

Sim.
'Tis fit it should be so; for princes are
A model which heaven makes like to itself:
As jewels lose their glory, if neglected,
So princes their renown, if not respected.
'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain5 note


The labour of each knight, in his device.

Thai.
Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll perform.
[Enter a knight; he passes over the stage, and his squire presents his shield to the princess.

Sim.
Who is the first that doth prefer himself?

Thai.
A knight of Sparta, my renowned father;
And the device he bears upon his shield
Is a black Æthiop reaching at the sun;
The word, Lux tua vita mihi6 note.

-- 53 --

Sim.
He loves you well, that holds his life of you. [The second knight passes.
Who is the second, that presents himself?

Thai.
A prince of Macedon, my royal father;
And the device he bears upon his shield
Is an arm'd knight, that's conquer'd by a lady:
The motto thus, in Spanish, Piu per dulcura note que per fuerça7 note.
[The third knight passes.

Sim.
And what's the third?

Thai.
The third of Antioch; and his device,
A wreath of chivalry: the word, Me pompæ provexit apex8 note
.
[The fourth knight passes.

Sim.
What is the fourth9 note?

Thai.
A burning torch that's turned upside down;
The word, Quod me alit, me extinguit.

Sim.
Which shews that beauty hath his power and will,
Which can as well enflame, as it can kill.
[The fifth knight passes.

Thai.
The fifth, an hand environed with clouds,
Holding out gold, that's by the touch-stone try'd:
The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides.
[The sixth knight passes.

-- 54 --

Sim.
And what's the sixth and last, which the knight himself
With such a graceful courtesy delivered?

Thai.
He seems to be a stranger; but his present
Is a wither'd branch, that's only green at top;
The motto, In hac spe vivo.

Sim.
A pretty moral;
From the dejected state wherein he is,
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.

1 Lord.
He had need mean better than his outward shew
Can any way speak in his just commend:
For, by his rusty outside, he appears
To have practis'd more the whipstock, than the lance1 note.

2 Lord.
He well may be a stranger, for he comes
To an honour'd triumph, strangely furnished.

3 Lord.
And on set purpose let his armour rust
Until this day, to scour it in the dust.

Sim.
Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan
The outward habit by the inward man2 note


.
But stay, the knights are coming; we'll withdraw
Into the gallery. [Exeunt. [Great shouts, and all cry, The mean knight.

-- 55 --

SCENE III. A Hall of State.—A Banquet prepared. Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants, and the Knights from tilting.

Sim.
Knights,
To say you are welcome, were superfluous.
To place upon the volume of your deeds3 note,
As in a title-page, your worth in arms,
Were more than you expect, or more than's fit,
Since every worth in shew commends itself.
Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast4 note
:
You are princes, and my guests.

Thai.
But you, my knight and guest;
To whom this wreath of victory I give,
And crown you king of this day's happiness.

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

Sim.
Call it by what you will, the day is yours;
And here, I hope, is none that envies it.
In framing an artist* note
, art hath thus decreed,
To make some good, but others to exceed;
And you're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o'the feast5 note


,
(For, daughter, so you are,) here take your place:
Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.

Knights.
We are honour'd much by good Simonides.

-- 56 --

Sim.
Your presence glads our days; honour we love,
For who hates honour, hates the gods above.

Marsh.
Sir, yonder is your place.

Per.
Some other is more fit.

1 Knight.
Contend not, sir; for we are gentlemen,
That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes,
Envy the great, nor do the low despise6 note


.

Per.
You are right courteous knights.

Sim.
Sit, sir, sit.

Per.
By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts,
These cates resist me, she not thought upon7 note










.

-- 57 --

Thai.
By Juno, that is queen of marriage,
All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury,
Wishing him my meat8 note





: sure he's a gallant gentleman.

Sim.
He's but a country gentleman; he has
Done no more than other knights have done;
He has broken a staff, or so; so let it pass.

Thai.
To me he seems like diamond to glass.

Per.
Yon king's to me, like to my father's picture,
Which tells me, in that glory once he was;
Had princes sit like stars about his throne,
And he the sun, for them to reverence.
None that beheld him, but like lesser lights,
Did vail their crowns to his supremacy;
Where now his son's like a glow-worm in the night, note



-- 58 --


The which hath fire in darkness, none in light;
Whereby I see that Time's the king of men,
For he's their parent, and he is their grave1 note




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

Sim.
What, are you merry, knights?

1 Knight.
Who can be other in this royal presence?

Sim.
Here, with a cup that's stor'd unto the brim2 note





,
(As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,)9Q1317
We drink this health to you.

Knights.
We thank your grace.

Sim.
Yet pause a while;
Yon knight, methinks, doth sit too melancholy,
As if the entertainment in our court
Had not a shew might countervail his worth.
Note it not you, Thaisa?

Thai.
What is it
To me, my father?

Sim.
O, attend, my daughter;
Princes, in this, should live like gods above,

-- 59 --


Who freely give to every one that comes
To honour them: and princes, not doing so,
Are like to gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd
Are wonder'd at* note


.9Q1318
Therefore to make his entrance more sweet3 note


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

Thai.
Alas, my father, it befits not me
Unto a stranger knight to be so bold;
He may my proffer take for an offence,
Since men take womens' gifts for impudence.

Sim.
How! do as I bid you, or you'll move me else.

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

Sim.
And further tell him, we desire to know,
Of whence he is, his name and parentage4 note






.

Thai.
The king my father, sir, hath drunk to you.

Per.
I thank him.

-- 60 --

Thai.
Wishing it so much blood unto your life.

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

Thai.
And further he desires to know of you,
Of whence you are, your name and parentage.

Per.
A gentleman of Tyre—(my name Pericles;
My education has been in arts and arms;)
Who looking for adventures in the world,
Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men,
And, after shipwreck, driv'n upon this shore.

Thai.
He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles,
A gentleman of Tyre, who only by
Misfortune of the sea has been bereft
Of ships and men, and cast upon this shore.

Sim.
Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune,
And will awake him from his melancholy.
Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles,
And waste the time, which looks for other revels.
Even in your armours, as you are addrest5 note
,
Will very well become a soldier's dance:
I will not have excuse, with saying, this6 note




note
“Which warlike feats doth try,
“For men in armour gestures made,
“And leapt, that so they might
“When need requires, be more prompt
“In publique weale to fight.” Malone.

-- 61 --


Loud musick is too harsh for ladies' heads;
Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. [The Knights dance.
So, this was well ask'd; 'twas so well perform'd.
Come, sir; here's a lady that wants breathing too:
And I have often heard, you knights of Tyre
Are excellent in making ladies trip;
And that their measures are as excellent.

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

Sim.
Oh, that's as much, as you would be deny'd [The Knights and Ladies dance.
Of your fair courtesy.—Unclasp, unclasp;
Thanks, gentlemen, to all; all have done well,
But you the best. [To Pericles.] Pages and lights, to conduct
These knights unto their several lodgings: Yours, sir,
We have given order to be next our own7 note



.

Per.
I am at your grace's pleasure.

Sim.
Princes, it is too late to talk of love,
For that's the mark I know you level at:
Therefore each one betake him to his rest;
To morrow, all for speeding do their best.
[Exeunt. SCENE IV. Tyre.9Q1319 Enter Helicanus, and Escanes.

Hel.
No, Escanes, know this of me,
Antiochus from incest liv'd not free;

-- 62 --


For which, the most high gods not minding longer
To with-hold the vengeance that they had in store,
Due to this heinous capital offence;
Even in the height and pride of all his glory,
When he was seated in a chariot of
An inestimable value, and his daughter
With him, a fire from heaven came and shrivel'd up
Those bodies8 note







, even to loathing; for they so stunk,
That all those eyes ador'd them, ere their fall9 note
,
Scorn now their hand should give them burial.

Esca.
'Twas very strange.

Hel.
And yet but justice; for though
This king were great, his greatness was no guard
To bar heav'n's shaft, but sin had his reward1 note.

Esca.
'Tis very true.
Enter three Lords.

1 Lord.
See, not a man in private conference,
Or council, hath respect with him but he.

2 Lord.
It shall no longer grieve without reproof.

3 Lord.
And curst be he that will not second it.

1 Lord.
Follow me then: Lord Helicane a word.

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

-- 63 --

1 Lord.
Know that our griefs are risen to the top,
And now at length they overflow their banks.

Hel.
Your griefs, for what? wrong not your prince you love.

1 Lord.
Wrong not yourself then, noble Helicane;
But if the prince do live, let us salute him,
Or know what ground's made happy by his breath.
If in the world he live, we'll seek him out;
If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there;
And be resolv'd, he lives to govern us2 note
,
Or dead, gives cause to mourn his funeral,
And leaves us to our free election.

2 Lord.
Whose death's, indeed, the strongest in our censure3 note
:
And knowing this kingdom, if without a head4 note,
(Like goodly buildings left without a roof5 note


)
Soon will fall to ruin, your noble self,

-- 64 --


That best know'st how to rule, and how to reign,
We thus submit unto,—our sovereign.

Omn.
Live, noble Helicane.

Hel.
Try honour's cause; forbear your suffrages:
If that you love prince Pericles, forbear.
Take I your wish, I leap into the seas,
Where's hourly trouble, for a minute's ease.9Q1320
A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you
To forbear the absence of your king;
If in which time expir'd, he not return,
I shall with aged patience bear your yoke.
But if I cannot win you to this love,
Go search like nobles, like noble subjects,
And in your search, spend your adventurous worth;
Whom if you find, and win unto return,
You shall like diamonds sit about his crown.

1 Lord.
To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield;
And since lord Helicane enjoineth us,
We with our travels will endeavour it6 note


.

Hel.
Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp hands;
When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.
[Exeunt. SCENE V. Pentapolis. Enter Simonides reading a Letter7 note; the Knights meet him.

1 Knight.
Good morrow to the good Simonides.

Sim.
Knights, from my daughter this I let you know,

-- 65 --


That for this twelve month, she will not undertake
A married life: her reason to herself
Is only known, which from her by no means
Can I get.

2 Knight.
May we not get access to her, my lord?

Sim.
'Faith, by no means; she hath so strictly ty'd her
To her chamber, that it is impossible.
One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery;
This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd1 note,
And on her virgin honour will not break.

3 Knight.
Loth to bid farewel, we take our leaves.
[Exeunt.

Sim.
So,
They're well dispatch'd; now to my daughter's letter:
She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight,
Or never more to view nor day nor light.
'Tis well, mistress, your choice agrees with mine;
I like that well:—nay, how absolute she's in't,
Not minding whether I dislike or no.
Well, I commend her choice, and will no longer
Have it be delay'd: soft, here he comes;—I
Must dissemble it.
Enter Pericles.

Per.
All fortune to the good Simonides!

Sim.
To you as much! Sir, I am beholden to you,

-- 66 --


For your sweet musick this last night2 note





















: I do
Protest, my ears were never better fed
With such delightful pleasing harmony.

Per.
It is your grace's pleasure to commend;
Not my desert.

Sim.
Sir, you are musick's master.

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

Sim.
Let me ask you one thing. What do you think
Of my daughter, sir?

Per.
A most virtuous princess.

Sim.
And she is fair too, is she not?

Per.
As a fair day in summer; wond'rous fair.

Sim.
My daughter, sir, thinks very well of you;
Ay, so well, that you must be her master,
And she'll be your scholar; therefore look to it.

Per.
I am unworthy to be her school-master.

Sim.
She thinks not so; peruse this writing else.

-- 67 --

Per.
What's here!
A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre?
'Tis the king's subtilty to have my life. [Aside.
Oh seek not to intrap, my gracious lord,
A stranger and distressed gentleman,
That never aim'd so high to love your daughter,
But bent all offices to honour her.

Sim.
Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and thou art
A villain.

Per.
By the gods I have not;
Never did thought of mine levy offence;
Nor never did my actions yet commence
A deed might gain her love, or your displeasure.

Sim.
Traitor, thou liest.

Per.
Traitor!

Sim.
Ay, traitor.

Per.
Even in his throat, (unless it be a king)
That calls me traitor, I return the lie.

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

Per.
My actions are as noble as my thoughts,
That never relish'd of a base descent3 note




.
I came unto your court, for honour's cause,
And not to be a rebel to her state;
And he that otherwise accounts of me,
This sword shall prove, he's honour's enemy.

Sim.
No!—
Here comes my daughter, she can witness it4 note
.

-- 68 --

Enter Thaisa.

Per.
Then, as you are as virtuous as fair,
Resolve your angry father, if my tongue
Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe
To any syllable that made love to you?

Thai.
Why, sir, say if you had,
Who takes offence at that would make me glad?

Sim.
Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory?
I am glad of it with all my heart.[Aside.] I'll tame you;
I'll bring you in subjection. Will you,
Not having my consent, bestow your love
And your affections on a stranger? (who
For ought I know, may be, nor can I think
The contrary, as great in blood as I myself). [Aside.
Therefore, hear you, mistress; either frame your will
To mine—and you, sir, hear you, either be
Rul'd by me, or I'll make you—man and wife;
Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it too:
And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy;—
And for a further grief,—God give you joy!—
What, are you both pleas'd?

Thai.
Yes, if you love me, sir.

Per.
Even as my life, my blood that fosters it5 note
.

Sim.
What, are you both agreed?

Both.
Yes, if it please your majesty.

Sim.
It pleaseth me so well, that I'll see you wed;
Then, with what haste you can, get you to bed.
[Exeunt.

-- 69 --

ACT III.

Enter Gower.

Gow.
Now sleep yslaked hath the rout6 note






;
No din but snores, the house about,
Made louder by the o'er-fed breast7 note





Of this most pompous marriage feast.
The cat with eyne of burning coal,
Now couches from the mouse's hole8 note;
And crickets sing at the oven's mouth,
As the blither for their drouth9 note
.

-- 70 --


Hymen hath brought the bride to bed,
Where, by the loss of maidenhead,
A babe is moulded:—Be attent,
And time that is so briefly spent,
With your fine fancies quaintly eche1 note





;
What's dumb in shew, I'll plain with speech. Dumb shew. Enter Pericles and Simonides at one door with Attendants; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter. Pericles shews it to Simonides; the Lords kneel to the former2 note



. Then enter Thaisa with child, and Lychorida. Simonides shews his daughter the letter; she rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart.

Gow.
By many a derne and painful perch3 note

,
Of Pericles the careful search

-- 71 --


By the four opposing coignes4 note





,
Which the world together joins,
Is made, with all due diligence,
That horse and sail, and high expence,
Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre
(Fame answering the most strange enquire5 note,)
To the court of king Simonides
Are letters brought; the tenour these:
Antiochus and his daughter's dead;
The men of Tyrus, on the head
Of Helicanus would set on
The crown of Tyre, but he will none:
The mutiny he there hastes t'oppress;
Says to them, if king Pericles
Come not home in twice six moons,
He, obedient to their dooms,
Will take the crown. The sum of this,
Brought hither to Pentapolis,

-- 72 --


Yravished the regions round6 note











,
And every one with claps 'gan sound,
“Our heir apparent is a king:
Who dream'd, who thought of such a thing?”
Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre;
His queen with child, makes her desire
(Which who shall cross) along to go;
(Omit we all their dole and woe:)
Lychorida her nurse she takes,
And so to sea. Their vessel shakes
On Neptune's billow; half the flood
Hath their keel cut7 note





; but fortune's mood8 note





-- 73 --


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
Doth fall in travail with her fear:
And what ensues in this fell storm9 note,
Shall for itself, itself perform;
I nill relate1 note; action may
Conveniently the rest convey:
Which might not what by me is told2 note.—
In your imagination hold
This stage, the ship, upon whose deck
The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak3 note

. [Exit.

-- 74 --

SCENE I. Enter Pericles on a ship at sea.

Per.
Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these surges4 note















,
Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast
Upon the winds command, bind them in brass,
Having call'd them from the deep! O still thy deafning note,
Dreadful, thunders; gently quench thy nimble,
Sulphurous, flashes!—O how, Lychorida,
How does my queen?—Thou storm, venomously5 note





,

-- 75 --


Wilt thou spit all thyself?—The seaman's whistle
Is as a whisper in the ear of death6 note




,
Unheard.—Lychorida!—Lucina, O
Divinest patroness, and midwife7 note






, gentle
To those that cry by night, convey thy deity
Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs
Of my queen's travails!—Now, Lychorida— Enter Lychorida.

Lyc.
Here is a thing too young for such a place,

-- 76 --


Who, if it had conceit8 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 storm9 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.
Oh ye gods!
Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,
And snatch them straight away? We, here below,
Recal not what we give, and therein may
Use honour with you1 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 conditions2 note


!

-- 77 --


For thou art the rudeliest welcom'd to this world,
That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows!
Thou hast as chiding a nativity3 note



,
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,
To herald thee from the womb4 note






:
Even at the first, thy loss is more than can
Thy portage quit5 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 flaw6 note




;

-- 78 --


It hath done to me the worst7 note






. Yet for the love
Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer8 note
,
I would it would be quiet.

1 Sail.

Slack the bolins there9 note

; thou wilt not, wilt
thou? Blow and split thyself1 note

.

2 Sail.

But sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not2 note.

1 Sail.

Sir, your queen must over-board; the sea works high, the wind is loud, and will not lye till the ship be clear'd of the dead.

Per.

That's your superstition.

1 Sail.

Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it still hath been observ'd; and we are strong in eastern3 note






. Therefore

-- 79 --

briefly yield her; for she must over-board straight4 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 grave5 note
, but straight
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze6 note




;
Where, for a monument upon thy bones,
The air-remaining lamps7 note






, the belching whale,

-- 80 --


And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse,
Lying with simple shells. O, Lychorida,
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper8 note,
My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander
Bring me the sattin coffer9 note



: lay the babe
Upon the pillow; hie thee, whiles I say
A priestly farewel to her: suddenly, woman.

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?

-- 81 --

2 Sail.

We are near Tharsus.

Per.
Thither, gentle mariner,9Q1322
Alter thy course for Tyre1 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, 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 hath been a turbulent and stormy night.

Ser.
I have been in many; but such a night as this,
Till now, I ne'er endur'd2 note









.

Cer.
Your master will be dead ere you return;
There's nothing can be minister'd to nature,

-- 82 --


That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary3 note,
And tell me how it works. [To Philemon. Enter two Gentlemen.

1 Gent.
Good morrow.

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 quake4 note


;
The very principals did seem to rend,
And all to topple5 note




: pure surprise and fear
Made me to leave the house.

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

Cer.
O you say well.

1 Gent.
But I much marvel that your lordship, having

-- 83 --


Rich tire about you6 note, should at these early hours
Shake off the golden slumber of repose:
It is most strange,
Nature should be so conversant with pain,
Being thereto not compell'd.

Cer.
I held it ever,
Virtue and cunning7 note were endowments 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 physick, through which secret art,
By turning o'er authorities, I have
(Together with my practice) made familiar
To me and to my aid, the blest infusions
That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones8 note


;
And I can speak of the disturbances
That nature works, and of her cures; which gives me
A more content in course of true delight

-- 84 --


Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,
Or tie my pleasure up in silken bags,
To please the fool and death9 note


.

2 Gent.
Your honour hath through Ephesus pour'd forth
Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd:
And not your knowledge, your 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.

Ser.
So; lift there.

Cer.
What's that?

Ser.
Sir,
Even now did the sea toss upon our shore
This chest; 'tis of some wreck.

Cer.
Set it down, let us
Look upon 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'er-charg'd with gold,
It is a good constraint of Fortune, it
Belches upon us.

2 Gent.
It is so, my lord.

Cer.
How close 'tis caulk'd and bittum'd1 note! Did the sea
Cast it up?

-- 85 --

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

Cer.
Wrench it open;
Soft, soft—it smells most sweetly in my sense.

2 Gent.
A delicate odour.

Cer.
As ever hit my nostril; so,—up with it.
Oh you most potent gods! what's here? a corse!

1 Gent.
Most strange!

Cer.
Shrowded in cloth of state!
Balm'd and entreasur'd with full bags of spices!
A passport too! Apollo, perfect me
In the characters2 note
!

Here I give to understand, [He reads out of a scrowl.
(If e'er this coffin drive a-land)
I king Pericles have lost
This queen, worth all our mundane cost3 note.
Who finds her, give her burying,
She was the daughter of a king4 note
:
Besides this treasure for a fee,
The gods requite his charity!
If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart
That even cracks for woe5 note


! This chanc'd to-night.

-- 86 --

2 Gent.
Most likely, sir.

Cer.
Nay, certainly to-night;
For look how fresh she looks!—They were too rough* note
That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within;
Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet.
Death may usurp on nature many hours,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The o'er-prest spirits. I have heard of an
Egyptian that had nine hours lien dead6 note
,
Who was by good appliance recovered. Enter a Servant with napkins and fire.
Well said, well said; the fire and the cloths.—
The rough and woeful musick that we have,
Cause it to sound, 'beseech you7 note
.
The vial once more;—How thou stir'st, thou block?—
The musick there8 note


















.—I pray you give her air;—

-- 87 --


Gentlemen, this queen will live: Nature awakes;
A warmth breathes out of her9 note



; she hath not been
Entranc'd above five hours. See how she 'gins
To blow into life's flower again!

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

Cer.
She is alive; behold,
Her eye-lids, cases to those heavenly jewels1 note


Which Pericles hath lost,
Begin to part their fringes of bright gold2 note

;

-- 88 --


The diamonds of a most praised water
Do appear, to make the world twice rich. O live,
And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature,
Rare as you seem to be! [She moves.

Thai.
O dear Diana,
Where am I? Where's my lord? What world is this3 note






?

2 Gent.
Is not this strange?

1 Gent.
Most rare.

Cer.
Hush, my gentle neighbours;
Lend me your hands: to the next chamber bear her.
Get linen; now this matter must be look'd to,
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come, come,
And Esculapius guide us!
[Exeunt, carrying her away. SCENE III. Tharsus. A room in Cleon's house. Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, Lychorida, and Marina.

Per.
Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone;
My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands
In a litigious peace. You and your lady
Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods
Make up the rest upon you!

Cle.
Your shakes of fortune, though they haunt you mortally4 note






,
Yet glance full wond'ringly on us.

-- 89 --

Dion.
O your sweet queen!
That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought her hither,
To have blest mine eyes with her!

Per.
We cannot but
Obey the powers above us. Could I rage
And roar as doth the sea she lies in, yet
The end must be as 'tis. My gentle babe,
Marina, (whom, for she was born at sea,
I have nam'd so here) I charge your charity
Withal, leaving her the infant of your care;
Beseeching you to give her princely training,
That she may be manner'd as she is born.9Q1323

Cle.
Fear not, my lord; but think,
Your grace5 note



, that fed my country with your corn,
(For which the people's prayers still fall upon you)

-- 90 --


Must in your child be thought on. If neglection
Should therein make me vile6 note


, the common body,
By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty:
But if to that my nature need a spur7 note

,
The gods revenge it upon me and mine,
To the end of generation!

Per.
I believe you;
Your honour and your goodness teach me to it8 note





,
Without your vows. Till she be married, madam,
By bright Diana, whom we honour all,
Unsister'd shall this heir of mine remain,
Though I shew will in't9 note


. So I take my leave:
Good madam, make me blessed in your care
In bringing up my child.

-- 91 --

Dion.
I have one myself,
Who shall not be more dear to my respect,
Than yours, my lord.

Per.
Madam, my thanks and prayers.

Cle.
We'll bring your grace even to the edge o' the shore;
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune1 note
, and
The gentlest winds of heaven.

Per.
I will embrace
Your offer. Come, dearest madam.—O, no tears,
Lychorida, no tears:
Look to your little mistress, on whose grace
You may depend hereafter.—Come, my lord.
[Exeunt. SCENE IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon's house. Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.

Cer.
Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,
Lay with you in your coffer; which are now
At your command. Know you the character?

Thai.
It is my lord's. That I was ship'd at sea,
I well remember, even on my yearning time2 note



;

-- 92 --


But whether there delivered or no,
By the holy gods, I cannot rightly say;
But since king Pericles, my wedded lord,
I ne'er shall see again, a vestal livery
Will I take me to, and never more have joy.

Cer.
Madam, if this you purpose as you speak,
Diana's temple is not distant far,
Where you may 'bide until your date expire3 note
:
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine
Shall there attend you.

Thai.
My recompence is thanks, that's all;
Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.
[Exeunt. ACT IV.

Enter Gower4 note.

Gow.
Imagine Pericles arriv'd at Tyre,
Welcom'd and settled to his own desire.
His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,
Unto Diana there a votaress5 note
.

-- 93 --


Now to Marina bend your mind,
Whom our fast-growing scene must find6 note



At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd
In musick, letters7 note













; who hath gain'd
Of education all the grace,
Which makes her both the heart and place
Of general wonder8 note



. But alack!
That monster Envy, oft the wreck

-- 94 --


Of earned praise9 note




, Marina's life
Seeks to take off by treason's knife.
And in this kind hath our Cleon
One daughter, and a wench full grown1 note
,
Even ripe for marriage fight2 note



; this maid
Hight Philoten: and it is said
For certain in our story, she
Would ever with Marina be.
Be't when she weav'd the sleded silk3 note





With fingers, long, small, white as milk;

-- 95 --


Or when she would with sharp neeld wound4 note





The cambrick, which she made more sound
By hurting it; or when to the lute
She sung, and made the night-bird mute
That still records with mone note5 note
















; or when
She would with rich and constant pen

-- 96 --


Vail to her mistress Dian6 note


; still
This Philoten contends in skill
With absolute Marina7 note




: so
The dove of Paphos might with the crow
Vie feathers white8 note. Marina gets
All praises, which are paid as debts,
And not as given. This so darks
In Philoten all graceful marks,
That Cleon's wife, with envy rare9 note,
A present murderer does prepare

-- 97 --


For good Marina, that her daughter
Might stand peerless by this slaughter.
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
Lychorida, our nurse, is dead,
And cursed Dionyza hath
The pregnant instrument of wrath
Prest for this blow1 note



. The unborn event
I do commend to your content:
Only I carried winged time2 note






Post on the lame feet of my rhime;
Which never could I so convey,
Unless your thoughts went on my way.—
Dionyza doth appear,
With Leonine a murderer. [Exit. SCENE I. Tharsus. An open place near the sea-shore. Enter Dionyza and Leonine.

Dion.
Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do it3 note





:

-- 98 --


'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.
Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,
Which is but cold, inflame love in thy bosom4 note



,
Enflame note too nicely; nor let pity, which
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be
A soldier to thy purpose.

Leon.
I'll do't; but yet she is a goodly creature.

Dion.
The fitter then the gods above should have her5 note


.
Here she comes weeping for her only mistress.

-- 99 --


Death—thou art resolv'd6 note











?

Leon.
I am resolv'd.
Enter Marina, with a basket of flowers.

Mar.
No, no, I will rob Tellus of her weed,
To strew thy grave with flowers7 note





: the yellows, blues,

-- 100 --


The purple violets, and marigolds,
Shall as a chaplet hang upon thy grave,
While summer days do last8 note








. Ah me! poor maid,
Born in a tempest, when my mother dy'd,
This world to me is like a lasting storm9Q1329* note,
Whirring me from my friends9 note








.

Dion.
How now, Marina! why do you keep alone1 note



?

-- 101 --


How chance my daughter is not with you2 note? Do not
Consume your blood with sorrowing3 note; you have
A nurse of me. Lord! how your favour's chang'd
With this unprofitable woe! Come, come,
Give me your wreath of flowers, ere the sea
Mar it* note
. Walk with Leonine; the air's quick there,
And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come,
Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.

Mar.
No, I pray you;
I'll not bereave you of your servant.

Dion.
Come, come;
I love the king your father, and yourself,
With more than foreign heart4 note. We every day
Expect him here: when he shall come, and find
Our paragon to all reports5 note

, thus blasted,
He will repent the breadth of his great voyage;
Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en
No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,
Walk, and be chearful once again; reserve
That excellent complexion6 note






which did steal

-- 102 --


The eyes of young and old.9Q1330 Care not for me;
I can go home alone.

Mar.
Well, I will go;
But yet I have no desire to it7 note


.

Dion.
Come, come, I know 'tis good for you.
Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least;
Remember what I have said.

Leon.
I warrant you, madam.

Dion.
I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while;
Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood:
What! I must have a care of you.

Mar.
My thanks, sweet madam. [Exit Dionyza.
Is this wind westerly that blows?

Leon.
South-west.

Mar.
When I was born, the wind was north.

Leon.
Was't so?

Mar.
My father, as nurse said, did never fear,
But cry'd, good seamen, to the sailors, galling
His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes;
And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea
That almost burst the deck8 note.

Leon.
When was this?

Mar.
When I was born.
Never was waves nor wind more violent;

-- 103 --


And from the ladder-tackle washes off9 note




A canvas-climber: ha, says one, wilt out?
And with a dropping industry they skip
From stem to stern1 note



: the boat-swain whistles, and
The master calls, and trebles their confusion2 note

.

Leon.
Come, say your prayers.

Mar.
What mean you?

Leon.
If you require a little space for prayer,
I grant it: pray; but be not tedious,
For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn
To do my work with haste.

Mar.
Why, will you kill me3 note










?

-- 104 --

Leon.
To satisfy my lady.

Mar.
Why would she have me kill'd?
Now, as I can remember, by my troth,
I never did her hurt in all my life;
I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn
To any living creature: believe me, la,
I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly:
I trod upon a worm against my will,
But I wept for it4 note



. How have I offended,
Wherein my death might yield her any profit,
Or my life imply her any danger?

Leon.
My commission
Is not to reason of the deed, but do it.

Mar.
You will not do't for all the world, I hope.
You are well-favour'd, and your looks fore-shew
You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,
When you caught hurt in parting two that fought:
Good sooth, it shew'd well in you; do so now:
Your lady seeks my life;—come you between,
And save poor me, the weaker.

Leon.
I am sworn,
And will dispatch.
Enter Pirates, whilst she is struggling.

1 Pirate.

Hold, villain!

[Leonine runs away.

2 Pirate.

A prize! a prize!

3 Pirate.

Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, let's have her aboard suddenly.

[Exeunt Pirates with Marina.

-- 105 --

SCENE II. The same. Re-enter Leonine.

Leon.
These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes5 note;
And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go;
There's no hope she'll return. I'll swear she's dead,
And thrown into the sea.—But I'll see further;
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her,
Not carry her aboard. If she remain,
Whom they have ravish'd, must by me be slain.
[Exit. SCENE III. Mitylene. A room in a brothel. Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult.

Pand.

Boult.

Boult.

Sir.

Pand.

Search the market narrowly; Mitylene is full of gallants. We lost too much money this mart by being too wenchless.

Bawd.

We were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three, and they can do no more than they can do; and with continual action are even as good as rotten.

Pand.

Therefore let's have fresh ones whate'er we pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be us'd in every trade, we shall never prosper6 note
.

-- 106 --

Bawd.

Thou say'st true: 'tis not our bringing up of poor bastards7 note, as I think, I have brought up some eleven—

Boult.

Ay, to eleven, and brought them down again8 note

. But shall I search the market?

Bawd.

What else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so pitifully sodden.

Pand.

Thou say'st true; they're too unwholesome o' conscience. The poor Transilvanian is dead that lay with the little baggage9 note.

Boult.

Ay, she quickly poop'd him1 note

; she made
him roast-meat for worms:—but I'll go search the market.

[Exit Boult.

Pand.

Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over.

-- 107 --

Bawd.

Why, to give over, I pray you? Is it a shame to get when we are old?

Pand.

O, our credit comes not in like the commodity; nor the commodity wages not with the danger2 note

: therefore, if in our youths we could pick
up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatch'd3 note. Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods, will be strong with us for giving over.

Bawd.

Come, other sorts offend as well as we4 note.

Pand.

As well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse. Neither is our profession any trade; it's no calling: but here comes Boult.

Enter the Pirates, and Boult dragging in Marina.

Boult.

Come your ways. [To Marina.] My masters, you say she's a virgin?

1 Pirat.

O sir, we doubt it not.

Boult.

Master, I have gone thorough5 note for this piece, you see: if you like her, so; if not, I have lost my earnest.

Bawd.

Boult, has she any qualities?

Boult.

She has a good face, speaks well, and hath excellent good cloaths; there's no farther necessity of qualities can make her be refused.

-- 108 --

Bawd.

What's her price, Boult?

Boult.

I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand pieces6 note.

Pand.

Well, follow me, my masters; you shall have your money presently. Wife, take her in; instruct her what she has to do, that she may not be raw in her entertainment7 note.

[Exeunt Pander and Pirates.

Bawd.

Boult, take you the marks of her; the colour of her hair, complexion, height, age, with warrant of her virginity; and cry, He that will give most, shall have her first8 note. Such a maiden-head were no cheap thing, if men were as they have been. Get this done as I command you.

Boult.

Performance shall follow.

[Exit Boult.

Mar.
Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow!
(He should have struck, not spoke;) or that these pirates,
Not enough barbarous, had but over-board
Thrown me9 note
, to seek my mother!

Bawd.

Why lament you, pretty one?

Mar.

That I am pretty.

Bawd.

Come, the gods have done their part in you.

-- 109 --

Mar.

I accuse them not.

Bawd.

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

Mar.
The more my fault, to 'scape his hands, where I
Was like to die.

Bawd.

Ay, and you shall live in pleasure.

Mar.

No.

Bawd.

Yes indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all fashions. You shall fare well; you shall have the difference of all complexions. What! do you stop your ears?

Mar.

Are you a woman?

Bawd.

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

Mar.

An honest woman, or not a woman.

Bawd.

Marry, whip thee, gosling: I think I shall have something to do with you. Come, you are a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have you.

Mar.

The gods defend me!

Bawd.

If it please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you, men must feed you, men must stir you up.—Boult's return'd.

Enter Boult.

Now, sir, hast thou cry'd her through the market?

Boult.

I have cry'd her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn her picture with my voice.

Bawd.

And I pr'ythee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort?

Boult.

'Faith they listen'd to me, as they would have hearken'd to their father's testament. There was a Spaniard's mouth so water'd, that he went to bed to her very description.

Bawd.

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

-- 110 --

Boult.

To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that cowers i'the hams1 note


?

Bawd.

Who? monsieur Veroles?

Boult.

Ay; he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore he would see her to-morrow2 note
.

Bawd.

Well, well; as for him, he brought his disease hither: here he doth but repair it* note

. I know
he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the sun3 note





.

Boult.

Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, we should lodge them with this sign4 note


.

-- 111 --

Bawd.

Pray you, come hither a while. You have fortunes coming upon you. Mark me; you must seem to do that fearfully, which you commit willingly; to despise profit, where you have most gain. To weep that you live as you do, makes pity in your lovers: Seldom, but that pity begets you a good opinion, and that opinion a meer profit5 note




.

Mar.

I understand you not.

Boult.

O take her home, mistress, take her home: these blushes of her's must be quench'd with some present practice.

Bawd.

Thou say'st true i'faith, so they must; for your bride goes to that with shame, which is her way to go with warrant6 note.

Boult.

'Faith some do, and some do not. But, mistress, if I have bargain'd for the joint,—

Bawd.

Thou may'st cut a morsel off the spit.

Boult.

I may so.

Bawd.

Who should deny it? Come young one, I like the manner of your garments well.

-- 112 --

Boult.

Ay, by my faith, they shall not be chang'd yet.

Bawd.

Boult, spend thou that in the town: report what a sojourner we have; you'll lose nothing by custom. When Nature fram'd this piece, she meant thee a good turn7 note

; therefore say what a paragon
she is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own report.

Boult.

I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels8 note, as my giving out of her beauty stir up the lewdly-inclined. I'll bring home some to night.

Bawd.

Come your ways; follow me.

Mar.
If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep9 note

,
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep.9Q1332
Diana, aid my purpose!

Bawd.

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

[Exeunt. SCENE IV. A room in Cleon's house at Tharsus. Enter Cleon and Dionyza.

Dion.
Why, are you foolish? Can it be undone?

Cle.
O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter
The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon!

Dion.
I think you'll turn a child again.

-- 113 --

Cle.
Were I chief lord of all this spacious world,
I'd give it to undo the deed. O lady,
Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess
To equal any single crown o' the earth,
I' the justice of compare! O villain Leonine,
Whom thou hast poison'd too!
If thou hadst drunk to him, it had been a kindness
Becoming well thy face1 note
: what canst thou say,
When noble Pericles shall demand his child2 note

?

Dion.
That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,
To foster it, nor ever to preserve3 note




.
She died at night4 note

; I'll say so. Who can cross it5 note






?

-- 114 --


Unless you play the impious innocent6 note

,
And for an honest attribute, cry out,
She died by foul play.

Cle.
O, go to. Well, well,
Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods
Do like this worst.

Dion.
Be one of those that think
The pretty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence,9Q1333
And open this to Pericles. I do shame
To think of what a noble strain you are,
And of how coward a spirit7 note










.

Cle.
To such proceeding
Who ever but his approbation added,

-- 115 --


Though not his pre-consent8 note




, he did not flow
From honourable courses.

Dion.
Be it so then:
Yet none doth know, but you, how she came dead,
Nor none can know, Leonine being gone.
She did disdain my child, and stood between
Her and her fortunes: none would look on her,
But cast their gazes on Marina's face;
Whilst ours was blurted at9 note







, and held a malkin
Not worth the time of day1 note
. It pierc'd me thorough;
And though you call my course unnatural2 note

,

-- 116 --


You not your child well loving, yet I find,
It greets me, as an enterprize of kindness,
Perform'd to your sole daughter3 note
.

Cle.
Heavens forgive it!

Dion.
And as for Pericles,
What should he say? We wept after her hearse,
And even yet we mourn: her monument
Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs
In glittering golden characters express
A general praise to her, and care in us
At whose expence 'tis done.

Cle.
Thou art like the harpy,
Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face,
Seize with thine eagle's talons4 note








.

Dion.
You are like one, that superstitiously

-- 117 --


Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies5 note;
But yet I know you'll do as I advise. [Exeunt. Enter Gower, before the Monument of Marina at Tharsus.

Gow.
Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short,
Sail seas in cockles6 note, have and wish but for't;
Making, (to take your imagination)
From bourn to bourn7 note


, region to region.
By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime
To use one language, in each several clime,
Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you,
To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach you,

-- 118 --


The stages of our story8 note




















. Pericles
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas9 note


,
(Attended on by many a lord and knight)
To see his daughter, all his life's delight.
Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late1 note








Advanc'd in time to great and high estate,

-- 119 --


Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind,
Old Helicanus goes along behind.
Well-sailing ships, and bounteous winds have brought
This king to Tharsus, (think his pilot thought2 note






;
So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on)
To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone3 note.
Like motes and shadows see them move a while;
Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile. Dumb show. Enter at one door, Pericles with his train; Cleon and Dionyza at the other. Cleon shews Pericles the tomb of Marina; whereat Pericles makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a mighty passion departs.

-- 120 --

Gow.
See how belief may suffer by foul show!
This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe4 note



;
And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd,
With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er-show'r'd,
Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears
Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs;
He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears
A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,
And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit5 note





The epitaph is for Marina writ
By wicked Dionyza. [Reads the inscription on Marina's monument.

The fairest, sweetest, best, lies here,
Who wither'd in her spring of year.
She was of Tyrus, the king's daughter,
On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;
Marina was she call'd; and at her birth,
Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o' the earth6 note




:

-- 121 --


Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd,
Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd:
Wherefore she does, and swears she'll never stint,
Make raging battery upon shores of flint7 note
.
No vizor does become black villainy,
So well as soft and tender flattery.
Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead,
And bear his courses to be ordered
By lady Fortune; while our tears must play8 note






His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day,
In her unholy service. Patience then,
And think you now are all in Mitylene. [Exit. SCENE V. Mitylene. A Street before the Brothel. Enter, from the Brothel, two Gentlemen.

1 Gent.

Did you ever hear the like?

2 Gent.

No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone.

-- 122 --

1 Gent.

But to have divinity preach'd there! did you ever dream of such a thing?

2 Gent.

No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy-houses: shall we go hear the vestals sing?

1 Gent.

I'll do any thing now that is virtuous, but I am out of the road of rutting, for ever.

[Exeunt. SCENE VI. The same. A room in the Brothel. Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult.

Pand.

Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her, she had ne'er come here.

Bawd.

Fie, fie upon her; she is able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We must either get her ravish'd, or be rid of her. When she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of our profession, she has me her quirks, her reasons, her master-reasons, her prayers, her knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her.

Boult.

'Faith I must ravish her, or she'll disfurnish us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swearers priests.

Pand.

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

Bawd.

'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't, but by the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Lysimachus, disguis'd9 note

.

-- 123 --

Boult.

We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but give way to customers.

Enter Lysimachus.

Lys.

How now? How a dozen of virginities1 note
?

Bawd.

Now, the gods to-bless your honour2 note!

Boult.

I am glad to see your honour in good health.

Lys.

You may so; 'tis the better for you that your resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, wholesome iniquity3 note? Have you that a man may deal withal and defy the surgeon?

Bawd.

We have here one, sir, if she would— but there never came her like in Mitylene.

Lys.

If she'd do the deed of darkness, thou would'st say.

Bawd.

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

Lys.

Well; call forth, call forth.

Boult.

For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose; and she were a rose indeed, if she had but—

Lys.

What, pr'ythee?

Boult.
O, sir, I can be modest.

-- 124 --

Lys.

That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste4 note

.

Enter Marina.

Bawd.

Here comes that which grows to the stalk; —never pluck'd yet, I can assure you. Is she not a fair creature?

Lys.

'Faith she would serve after a long voyage at sea. Well, there's for you;—leave us.

Bawd.

I beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and I'll have done presently.

Lys.

I beseech you, do.

Bawd.

First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man.

[To Marina, whom she takes aside.

Mar.

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

Bawd.

Next, he's the governor of this country, and a man whom I am bound to.

Mar.

If he govern the country, you are bound to him indeed; but how honourable he is in that, I know not.

Bawd.

Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him kindly?9Q1334 He will line your apron with gold.

Mar.

What he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.

-- 125 --

Lys.

Have you done?

Bawd.

My lord, she's not pac'd yet5 note; you must take some pains to work her to your manage. Come, we will leave his honour and her together6 note.

[Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and Boult.

Lys.

Go thy ways.—Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?

Mar.

What trade, sir?

Lys.

What I cannot name but I shall offend7 note
.

Mar.

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

Lys.

How long have you been of this profession?

Mar.

Ever since I can remember.

Lys.

Did you go to it so young? Were you a gamester at five, or at seven8 note

?

Mar.

Earlier too, sir, if now I be one.

Lys.

Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of sale.

Mar.

Do you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will come into it? I hear say, you are of honourable parts, and are the governor of this place.

Lys.

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

-- 126 --

Mar.

Who is my principal?

Lys.

Why your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots of shame and iniquity. O, you have heard something of my power, and so stand aloof for more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my authority shall not see thee, or else, look friendly upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place. Come, come.

Mar.
If you were born to honour, shew it now9 note

;
If put upon you, make the judgment good
That thought you worthy of it.

Lys,

How's this? how's this?—Some more;—be sage1 note.

Mar.
For me, that am a maid, though most ungentle
Fortune have plac'd me in this lothsome stie,
Where since I came, diseases have been sold
Dearer than physick,—O that the good gods
Would set me free from this unhallow'd place,
Though they did change me to the meanest bird
That flies i'the purer air!

Lys.
I did not think
Thou could'st have spoke so well; ne'er dream'd thou could'st.
Had I brought hither a corrupted mind,

-- 127 --


Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold for thee:
Persever in that clear way thou goest2 note






, and
The gods strengthen thee!

Mar
The good gods preserve you!

Lys.
For me, be you thoughten
That I came with no ill intent; for to me
The very doors and windows savour vilely.
Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue3 note

, and
I doubt not but thy training hath been noble.
Hold; here's more gold for thee.
A curse upon him, die he like a thief,
That robs thee of thy goodness! If thou hear'st
From me, it shall be for thy good.
[As Lysimachus is putting up his purse, Boult enters.

Boult.
I beseech your honour, one piece for me.

Lys.
Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper!
Your house, but for this virgin that doth prop it,
Would sink and overwhelm you. Away.
[Exit.

Boult.

How's this? We must take another course with you. If your peevish chastity, which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under the cope4 note, shall undo a whole houshold, let me be gelded like a spaniel. Come your ways.

Mar.

Whither would you have me?

-- 128 --

Boult.

I must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common hangman shall execute it. Come your way. We'll have no more gentlemen driven away. Come your ways, I say.

Re-enter Bawd.

Bawd.

How now! what's the matter?

Boult.

Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the lord Lysimachus.

Bawd.

O abominable!

Boult.

She makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of the gods5 note


.

Bawd.

Marry, hang her up for ever!

Boult.

The nobleman would have dealt with her like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a snow-ball; saying his prayers too.

Bawd.

Boult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure: crack the glass of her virginity, and make the rest malleable6 note.

Boult.

An if she were a thornier piece of ground than she is, she shall be ploughed.

Mar.

Hark, hark, ye gods!

Bawd.

She conjures: away with her. Would she had never come within my doors! Marry hang you! She's born to undo us. Will you not go the way of

-- 129 --

women-kind? Marry come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays7 note!

[Exit Bawd.

Boult.

Come, mistress; come your way with me.

Mar.

Whither would you have me?

Boult.

To take from you the jewel you hold so dear.

Mar.

Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first.

Boult.

Come now, your one thing* note


?

Mar.

What canst thou wish thine enemy to be?

Boult.

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

Mar.
Neither of these are yet so bad as thou art,
Since they do better thee in their command.
Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend
Of hell would not in reputation change:
Thou art the damned door-keeper to every
Coyst'rel that comes enquiring for his tib8 note
;
To the cholerick fisting of every rogue
Thy ear is liable; thy food is such
As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.

Boult.

What would you have me do? go to the wars, would you? where a man may serve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in the end to buy him a wooden one?

-- 130 --

Mar.
Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty
Old receptacles, or common sewers of filth;
Serve by indenture to the common hangman;
Any of these ways are better yet than this:
For what thou professest, a baboon, could he
Speak, would own a name too dear9 note
. That the gods
Would safely from this place deliver me!
Here, here's gold for thee.
If that thy master would gain aught by me,
Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance,
With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast;
And I will undertake all these to teach.
I doubt not but this populous city will
Yield many scholars1 note
.

Boult.
But can you teach all this you speak of?

Mar.
Prove that I cannot, take me home again,
And prostitute me to the basest groom
That doth frequent your house.

Boult.

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

Mar.

But amongst honest women?

Boult.

'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them. But since my master and mistress have bought you, there's no going but by their consent: therefore I will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I doubt not but I shall find them tractable enough. Come, I'll do for thee what I can; come your ways.

[Exeunt.

-- 131 --

ACT V. Enter Gower.

Gow.
Marina thus the brothel scapes, and chances
Into an honest house, our story says.
She sings like one immortal, and she dances
As goddess-like to her admired lays2 note



:
Deep clerks she dumbs3 note








; and with her neeld composes4 note

Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry;
That even her art sisters the natural roses5 note

;
Her incle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry6 note






:

-- 132 --


That pupils lacks she none of noble race,
Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain
She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place7 note;
And to her father turn our thoughts again,
Where we left him on the sea. We there him lost8 note


:
Where driven before the winds he is arriv'd
Here where his daughter dwells; and on this coast
Suppose him now at anchor. The city striv'd9 note

God Neptune's annual feast to keep: from whence
Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies,
His banners sable, trim'd with rich expence;
And to him in his barge with fervour hies1 note
.

-- 133 --


In your supposing once more put your sight;
Of heavy Pericles think this the bark2 note












:
Where, what is done in action, more, if might3 note,
Shall be discover'd; please you sit and hark. [Exit.

-- 134 --

SCENE I. On board Pericles' ship, off Mitylene. A close Pavilion on deck, with a curtain before it; Pericles within it, reclined on a couch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel. Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, the other to the barge; to them Helicanus.

Tyr. Sail.

Where is the lord Helicanus? He can resolve you. [To the Sailor of Mitylene]—O, here he is. Sir, there is a barge put off from Mitylene, and in it is Lysimachus the governor, who craves to come aboard. What is your will?

Hell.

That he have his. Call up some gentlemen.

Tyr. Sail.

Ho, gentlemen! my lord calls.

Enter two Gentlemen.

1 Gent.

Doth your lordship call?

Hel.

Gentlemen, there is some one of worth would come aboard; I pray, greet him fairly.

[The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, and go on board the barge. Enter, from thence, Lysimachus attended; the Tyrian Gentlemen, and the two Sailors.

Tyr. Sail.

Sir, this is the man that can, in aught you would, resolve you.

Lys.
Hail, reverend sir! The gods preserve you!

Hel.
And you, to out-live the age I am, and
Die as I would do.

Lys.
You wish me well.
Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs,
Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us,
I made to it, to know of whence you are.

Hel.
First, what is your place?

Lys.
I am
The governor of this place you lie before.

Hel.
Sir, our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;

-- 135 --


A man, who for this three months hath not spoken
To any one, nor taken sustenance,
But to prorogue his grief4 note




.

Lys.
Upon what ground is his distemperature?

Hel.
Sir, it would be too tedious to repeat;
But the main grief of all springs from the loss
Of a beloved daughter and a wife.

Lys.
May we not see him?

Hel.
You may, but bootless
Is your sight; he will not speak to any.

Lys.
Yet let me obtain my wish.

Hel.
Behold him, sir: [Pericles discovered5 note




.] this was a goodly person,
'Till the disaster that, one mortal night,
Drove him to this6 note





.

-- 136 --

Lys.

Sir, king, all hail! the gods preserve you! Hail, Royal sir!

Hel.

It is in vain; he will not speak to you.

Lord.

Sir, we have a maid7 note in Mitylene, I durst wager would win some words of him.

Lys.
'Tis well bethought.
She, questionless, with her sweet harmony
And other chosen attractions would allure,
And make a battery through his deafen'd parts8 note

,
Which now are mid-way stopp'd:
She is all happy as the fairest of all,
And, with her fellow-maids, is now upon
The leafy shelter that abuts against
The island's side9 note














. [Whispers one of the attendant Lords.—Exit Lord in the barge of Lysimachus1 note.

-- 137 --

Hel.
Sure all's effectless; yet nothing we'll omit
That bears recovery's name. But since your kindness

-- 138 --


We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you,
That for our gold we may provision have,
Wherein we are not destitute for want,
But weary for the staleness.

Lys.
O, sir, a courtesy,
Which if we should deny, the most just God
For every graff would send a caterpillar,
And so inflict our province2 note.—Yet once more
Let me entreat to know at large the cause
Of your king's sorrow.

Hel.
Sit, sir3 note, I will recount it to you;—but see,
I am prevented.
Enter, from the barge, Lord, Marina, and a young lady.

Lys.
O, here's the lady
That I sent for. Welcome, fair one! Is't not
A goodly presence4 note



?

Hel.
She's a gallant lady.

Lys.
She's such a one, that were I well assur'd
Came of a gentle kind, and noble stock,
I'd wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed.
Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty
Expect even here5 note

, where is a kingly patient:

-- 139 --


If that thy prosperous and artificial fate6 note











Can draw him but to answer thee in aught,9Q1335
Thy sacred physick shall receive such pay
As thy desires can wish.

Mar.
Sir, I will use
My utmost skill in his recovery, provided
That none but I and my companion maid
Be suffer'd to come near him.

-- 140 --

Lys.

Come, let us leave her, and the gods make her prosperous!

[Marina sings7 note











.

Lys.
Mark'd he your musick?

Mar.
No, nor look'd on us.

Lys.
See, she will speak to him.

Mar.
Hail, sir! my lord, lend ear.

Per.
Hum, ha!

Mar.
I am a maid,
My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes,
But have been gaz'd on like a comet9Q1336: she speaks,
My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief
Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd.
Though wayward fortune did malign my state,
My derivation was from ancestors
Who stood equivalent with mighty kings:
But time hath rooted out my parentage,
And to the world and aukward casualties8 note


Bound me in servitude.—I will desist;
But there is something glows upon my cheek,
And whispers in mine ear, Go not till he speak.
[Aside.

-- 141 --

Per.
My fortunes—parentage—good parentage—
To equal mine!—was it not thus? what say you?

Mar.
I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage,
You would not do me violence.

Per.
I do
Think so.—Pray you turn your eyes upon me.
You are like something, that—What country-woman?
Here of these shores9 note


?

Mar.
No, nor of any shores:
Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am
No other than I appear.

Per.
I am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping.
My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one
My daughter might have been: my queen's square brows;
Her stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;
As silver-voic'd; her eyes as jewel-like,
And cas'd as richly1 note





: in pace another Juno2 note

;

-- 142 --


Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry,
The more she gives them speech3 note






.—Where do you live?

Mar.
Where I am but a stranger: from the deck
You may discern the place.

Per.
Where were you bred?
And how atchiev'd you these endowments, which
You make more rich to owe4 note




?

Mar.
If I should tell my history, it would seem
Like lies disdain'd in the reporting.

Per.
Pr'ythee speak;
Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st
Modest as Iustice, and thou seem'st a palace
For the crown'd Truth to dwell in: I'll believe thee,
And make my senses credit thy relation,
To points that seem impossible; for thou look'st
Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends?
Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back5 note,

-- 143 --


(Which was when I perceiv'd thee) that thou cam'st
From good descending?

Mar.
So indeed I did.

Per.
Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st
Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury,
And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mine,
If both were open'd.

Mar.
Some such thing indeed I said, and said no more
But what my thoughts did warrant me was likely.

Per.
Tell thy story;
If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part
Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I
Have suffer'd like a girl6 note


: yet thou dost look
Like Patience, gazing on kings' graves7 note





, and smiling
Extremity out of act8 note



. What were thy friends?
How lost thou them?—Thy name, my most kind virgin?
Recount, I do beseech thee; come, sit by me9 note
.

-- 144 --

Mar.
My name is Marina.

Per.
O I am mock'd,
And thou by some incensed god sent hither
To make the world to laugh at me.

Mar.
Patience, good sir, or here I'll cease.

Per.
Nay, I'll be patient; thou little knowest
How thou dost startle me, to call thyself
Marina.

Mar.
The name was given me by one
That had some power; my father and a king.

Per.
How! a king's daughter, and call'd Marina?

Mar.
You said you would believe me;
But, not to be a troubler1 note of your peace,
I will end here.

Per.
But are you flesh and blood?
Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy?
Motion?—Well; speak on. Where were you born2 note




?
And wherefore call'd Marina?

-- 145 --

Mar.
Call'd Marina,
For I was born at sea.

Per
At sea? who was thy mother?

Mar.
My mother was the daughter of a king3 note
;
Who died the very minute I was born,
As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft
Deliver'd weeping.

Per.
O, stop there a little!
This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep
Did mock sad fools withal: this cannot be
My daughter buried. [Aside] Well;—where were you bred?
I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story,
And never interrupt you.

Mar.
You'll scarce believe me; 'twere best I did give o'er4 note





.

Per.
I will believe you by the syllable5 note



-- 146 --


Of what you shall deliver. Yet give me leave—
How came you in these parts? where were you bred?

Mar.
The king, my father, did in Tharsus leave me;
Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife,
Did seek to murther me: and having woo'd
A villain to attempt it, who being drawn to do't6 note



,
A crew of pyrates came and rescued me;
Brought me to Mitylene. But, good sir, whither
Will you have me? Why do you weep? It may be
You think me an impostor; no, good faith;
I am the daughter to king Pericles,
If good king Pericles be.

Per.
Ho, Helicanus!

Hel.
Calls my lord?

Per.
Thou art a grave and noble counsellor,
Most wise in general; tell me, if thou canst,
What this maid is, or what is like to be,
That thus hath made me weep?

Hel.
I know not; but
Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene
Speaks nobly of her.

Lys.
She never would tell
Her parentage; being demanded that,
She would sit still and weep.9Q1337

Per.
O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir;
Give me a gash, put me to present pain;

-- 147 --


Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me,
O'er-bear the shores of my mortality,
And drown me with their sweetness7 note



. O come hither,
Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget;
Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus,
And found at sea again!—O Helicanus,
Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud
As thunder threatens us: This is Marina.—
What was thy mother's name? tell me but that,
For truth can never be confirm'd enough,
Though doubts did ever sleep8 note.

Mar.
First, sir, I pray, what is your title?

Per.
I
Am Pericles of Tyre; but tell me now
My drown'd queen's name: as in the rest you said,
Thou hast been god-like-perfect9 note










, the heir of kingdoms,
And another like to Pericles thy father.

Mar.
Is it no more to be your daughter, than

-- 148 --


To say, my mother's name was Thaisa?
Thaisa was my mother, who did end
The minute I began1 note



.

Per.
Now, blessing on thee, rise; thou art my child.
Give me fresh garments. Mine own Helicanus,
She is not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been,
By savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all;
When thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge,
She is thy very princess.—Who is this?

Hel.
Sir, 'tis the governor of Mitylene,
Who, hearing of your melancholy state2 note


,
Did come to see you.

Per.
I embrace you. Give me
My robes; I am wild in my beholding.
O heavens bless my girl! But hark, what musick's this?
Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him3 note



O'er, point by point4 note



, for yet he seems to doubt5 note,
How sure you are my daughter.—But what musick?

-- 149 --

Hel.
My lord, I hear none.

Per.
None?
The musick of the spheres: list, my Marina.

Lys.
It is not good to cross him; give him way.

Per.
Rarest sounds!
Do ye not hear?

Lys.
Musick? My lord, I hear—

Per.
Most heavenly musick:
It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber
Hangs on mine eyes; let me rest6 note


. [He sleeps.

Lys.
A pillow for his head;—so leave him all.
Well, my companion-friends, if this but answer to
My just belief, I'll well remember you7 note






. [Exeunt Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina, and attendant Lady.

-- 150 --

SCENE II. The same. Pericles on deck asleep; Diana appearing to him as in a vision.

Dia.
My temple stands in Ephesus8 note











; hie thee thither,
And do upon mine altar sacrifice.
There, when my maiden priests are met together,
Before the people all
Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:
To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call,
And give them repetition to the like9 note
.
Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe:
Do't, and be happy: by my silver bow
Awake, and tell thy dream. [Diana disappears.

Per.
Celestial Dian, goddess argentine1 note,
I will obey thee!—Helicanus!

-- 151 --

Enter Lysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina.
My purpose was for Tharsus, there to strike
Th' inhospitable Cleon; but I am
For other service first: toward Ephesus
Turn our blown sails; eftsoons I'll tell thee why. [To Helicanus.
Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,
And give you gold for such provision
As our intents will need?

Lys.
Sir,
With all my heart; and when you come ashore,
I have another suit2 note

.

Per.
You shall prevail,
Were it to woo my daughter; for it seems
You have been noble towards her.

Lys.
Sir, lend me your arm.

Per.
Come, my Marina.
[Exeunt. Enter Gower, before the Temple of Diana at Ephesus.

Gow.
Now our sands are almost run;
More a little, and then dumb3 note.
This, as my last boon, give me4 note,
(For such kindness must relieve me)

-- 152 --


That you aptly will suppose
What pageantry, what feats, what shows,
What minstrelsy, what pretty din,
The regent made in Mitylin,
To greet the king. So he has thriv'd,
That he is promis'd to be wiv'd
To fair Marina; but in no wise,
Till he had done his sacrifice5 note,
As Dian bade: whereto being bound,
The interim, pray you, all confound6 note







.
In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd,
And wishes fall out as they're will'd.
At Ephesus, the temple see,
Our king, and all his company.
That he can hither come so soon,
Is by your fancy's thankful doom7 note







. [Exit.

-- 153 --

SCENE III. The Temple of Diana at Ephesus; Thaisa standing near the altar, as high priestess; a number of virgins on each side; Cerimon and other inhabitants of Ephesus attending. Enter Pericles with his train; Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina, and a Lady.

Per.
Hail Dian! to perform thy just command,
I here confess myself the king of Tyre;
Who, frighted from my country, did wed8 note
The fair Thaisa, at Pentapolis.
At sea in child-bed died she, but brought forth
A maid-child called Marina; who, O goddess,
Wears yet thy silver livery.9Q1339 She, at Tharsus
Was nurs'd with Cleon; whom at fourteen years
He sought to murder: but her better stars
Brought her to Mitylene; against whose shore
Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,
Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she
Made known herself my daughter.

Thai.
Voice and favour!—
You are, you are—O royal Pericles9 note!—
[She faints.

Per.

What means the woman? she dies! help, gentlemen!

Cer.
Noble sir,
If you have told Diana's altar true,
This is your wife.

Per.
Reverend appearer, no;
I threw her o'er-board with these very arms.

Cer.
Upon this coast, I warrant you.

Per.
'Tis most certain.

-- 154 --

Cer.
Look to the lady1 note;—O, she's but o'erjoy'd.
Early in blust'ring morn2 note
this lady was
Thrown on this shore. I op'd the coffin, and
Found there rich jewels3 note; recover'd her, and plac'd her
Here in Diana's temple4 note.

Per.
May we see them?

Cer.
Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house,
Whither I invite you5 note
. Look, Thaisa is
Recovered.

Thai.
O, let me look upon him!
If he be none of mine, my sanctity
Will to my sense bend no licentious ear,
But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord,
Are you not Pericles? Like him you speak,
Like him you are: Did you not name a tempest,
A birth, and death?

Per.
The voice of dead Thaisa!

Thai.
That Thaisa am I, supposed drown'd
And dead.

-- 155 --

Per.
Immortal Dian!

Thai.
Now I know you better.—
When we with tears parted Pentapolis,
The king, my father, gave you such a ring.
[Shews a ring.

Per.
This, this; no more you gods! your present kindness
Makes my past miseries sport6 note


: You shall do well,
That on the touching of her lips I may
Melt, and no more be seen7 note





. O come, be buried
A second time within these arms8 note


.

Mar.
My heart
Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom.
[Kneels to Thaisa.

Per.
Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa;
Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina,
For she was yielded there.

Thai.
Blest, and mine own9 note


!

-- 156 --

Hel.
Hail, madam, and my queen!

Thai.
I know you not.

Per.
You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre,
I left behind an ancient substitute.
Can you remember what I call'd the man?
I have nam'd him oft.

Thai.
'Twas Helicanus then.

Per.
Still confirmation:
Embrace him dear Thaisa; this is he.
Now do I long to hear how you were found;
How possibly preserv'd; and whom to thank,
Besides the gods, for this great miracle.

Thai.
Lord Cerimon, my lord; this man, through whom
The gods have shewn their power; that can from first
To last resolve you.

Per.
Reverend sir, the gods
Can have no mortal officer more like
A god than you. Will you deliver how
This dead queen re-lives?

Cer.
I will, my lord.
Beseech you, first go with me to my house,
Where shall be shewn you all was found with her;
How she came placed here within the temple;
No needful thing omitted.

Per.
Pure Diana!
I bless thee for thy vision, and will offer
Night-oblations to thee. Thaisa, this prince,
The fair-betrothed of your daughter1 note, shall
Marry her at Pentapolis. And now,
This ornament that makes me look so dismal,
Will I, my lov'd Marina, clip to form;
And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd,
To grace thy marriage-day, I'll beautify.9Q1340

-- 157 --

Thai.
Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit,
Sir, that my father's dead.

Per.
Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen,
We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves
Will in that kingdom spend our following days;
Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.
Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay,
To hear the rest untold.—Sir, lead the way.
[Exeunt omnes. Enter Gower.

Gow.
In Antioch and his daughter2 note, you have heard
Of monstrous lust the due and just reward:
In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen
(Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen,)
Virtue preserv'd from fell Destruction's blast,
Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last3 note


.
In Helicanus may you well descry
A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty:
In reverend Cerimon there well appears,
The worth that learned charity aye wears.
For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame
Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd name4 note

-- 158 --


Of Pericles, to rage the city turn;
That him and his they in his palace burn.
The gods for murder seemed so content
To punish them; although not done, but meant5 note.
So, on your patience ever more attending,
New joy wait on you! Here our play hath ending. [Exit Gower.

The fragment of the Ms. Poem, mentioned in the preliminary observations, has suffered so much by time, as to be scarcely legible. The parchment on which it is written having been converted into the cover of a book, for which purpose its edges were cut off, some words are entirely lost. However from the following concluding lines the reader may be enabled to form a judgment with respect to the age of this piece:


......thys was translatyd almost at englondes ende
......to the makers stat tak sich a mynde
....have y take hys bedys on hond and sayd hys patr. nostr. and crede
Thomas* note vicary y understonde at wymborne mynstre in that stede
.....y thouzte zou have wryte hit is nouzt worth to be knowe
..that wole the sothe ywyte go thider and me wol the schewe.

In a former disquisition concerning this play, I mentioned, that the dumb shows, which are found in it, induced me to doubt whether it came from the pen of Shakspeare. The sentiments that I then expressed, were suggested by a very hasty and transient survey of the piece. I am still, however, of opinion, that this consideration (our author having expressly ridiculed such exhibitions) might in a very doubtful question have some weight. But weaker proofs must yield to stronger. It is idle to lay any great stress upon such a slight circumstance, when the piece itself furnishes internal and irresistible evidence of its authenticity. The congenial sentiments, the numerous expressions bearing a striking similitude to passages in his undisputed plays, the incidents, the

-- 159 --

situations of the persons, the colour of the style, at least through the greater part of the play, all, in my apprehension, conspire to set the seal of Shakspeare on this performance. What then shall we say to these dumb shows? Either, that the poet's practice was not always conformable to his opinions, (of which there are abundant proofs) or, (what I rather believe to be the case) that this was one of his earliest dramas, written at a time when these exhibitions were much admired, and before he had seen the absurdity of such ridiculous pageants: probably, in the year 1590, or 1591.

Mr. Rowe in his first edition of Shakspeare says “it is owned that some part of Pericles certainly was written by him, particularly the last act.” Dr. Farmer, whose opinion in every thing that relates to our author has deservedly the greatest weight, thinks the hand of Shakspeare may be sometimes seen in the latter part of the play, and there only. The scene, in the last act, in which Pericles discovers his daughter, is indeed eminently beautiful; but the whole piece appears to me to furnish abundant proofs of the hand of Shakspeare. The inequalities in different parts of it are not greater than may be found in some of his other dramas. It should be remembered also, that Dryden, who lived near enough the time to be well informed, has pronounced this play to be our author's first performance:


“Shakspeare's own Muse his Pericles first bore;
The Prince of Tyre was elder than the Moor.”

Let me add, that the contemptuous manner in which Ben Jonson has mentioned it, is, in my apprehension, another proof of its authenticity. In his memorable Ode, written soon after his New Inn had been damned, when he was comparing his own unsuccessful pieces with the applauded dramas of his contemporaries, he naturally chose to point at what he esteemed a weak performance of a rival, whom he appears to have envied and hated merely because the splendor of his genius had eclipsed his own, and had rendered the reception of those tame and disgusting imitations of antiquity, which he boastingly called the only legitimate English dramas, as cold as the performances themselves.

On this play Lillo formed a tragedy of three acts, entitled Marina; which was first represented in the year 1738.

As the subject is of some curiosity, I shall make no apology for laying before the reader a more minute investigation of it. It is proper, however, to inform him, that one of the following dissertations on the genuineness of this play precedes the other only for a reason assigned by Dogberry, that where two men ride on a horse, one must ride behind. That we might catch hints from the strictures of each other, and collect what we could mutually advance into a point, Mr. Steevens and I set forward with an

-- 160 --

agreement to maintain the propriety of our respective suppositions relative to this piece, as far as we were able; to submit our remarks, as they gradually increased, alternately to each other, and to dispute the opposite hypothesis, till one of us should acquiesce in the opinion of his opponent, or each remain confirmed in his own. The reader is therefore requested to bear in mind, that if the last series of arguments be considered as an answer to the first, the first was equally written in reply to the last:


&lblank; unus sese armat utroque,
Unaque mens animat non dissociabilis ambos. Malone.

That this tragedy has some merit, it were vain to deny; but that it is the entire composition of Shakspeare, is more than can be hastily granted. I shall not venture, with Dr. Farmer, to determine that the hand of our great poet is only visible in the last act, for I think it appears in several passages dispersed over each of these divisions. I find it difficult however to persuade myself that he was the original fabricator of the plot, or the author of every dialogue, chorus, &c. and this opinion is founded on a concurrence of circumstances which I shall attempt to enumerate, that the reader may have the benefit of all the lights I am able to throw on so obscure a subject.

Be it first observed, that most of the choruses in Pericles are written in a measure which Shakspeare has not employed on the same occasion, either in the Winter's Tale, Romeo and Juliet, or King Henry the Fifth. If it be urged, that throughout these recitations Gower was his model, I can safely affirm that their language, and sometimes their versification, by no means resembles that of Chaucer's contemporary. One of these monologues is composed in hexameters, and another in alternate rhimes; neither of which are ever found in his printed works, or those which yet remain in manuscript; nor does he, like the author of Pericles, introduce four and five feet metre note in the same series of lines. If Shakspeare therefore be allowed to have copied not only the general outline, but even the peculiarities of nature with ease and accuracy, we may surely suppose that, at the expence of some unprofitable labour, he would not have failed so egregiously in his imitation of antiquated style or numbers.—That he could assume with nicety the terms of affectation and pedantry, he has shewn in the characters of Osrick and Armado, Holofernes and Nathaniel. That he could successfully counterfeit provincial dialects, we may learn from Edgar and Sir Hugh Evans; and that he was no stranger to the peculiarities of foreign pronunciation, is likewise evident from several scenes of English tinctured with French, in the Merry Wives and King Henry the Fifth* note.

-- 161 --

But it is here urged by Mr. Malone, that an exact imitation of Gower would have proved unintelligible to any audience during the reign of Elizabeth. If it were, (which I am slow to admit) our author's judgment would scarce have permitted him to choose an agent so inadequate to the purpose of an interpreter; one whose years and phraseology must be set at variance before he could be understood; one who was to assume the form, office, and habit of an ancient, and was yet to speak the language of a modern.

I am ready to allow my opponent that the authors who introduced Machiavel, Guicciardine, and the Monk of Chester, on the stage, have never yet been blamed because they avoided to make the two former speak in their native tongue, and the latter in the English dialect of his age The proper language of the Italian statesman and historian, could not have been understood by our common audiences; and as to Rainulph, he is known to have composed his chronicle in Latin. Besides, these three personages were writers in prose. They are alike called up to superintend the relations which were originally found in their respective books; and the magick that converted them into poets, might claim an equal power over their modes of declamation. The case is otherwise, when ancient bards, whose compositions were in English, are summoned from the grave to instruct their countrymen; for these apparitions may be expected to speak in the style and language that distinguishes their real age, and their known productions, when there is no sufficient reason why they should depart from them

If the inequalities of measure which I have pointed out, be also visible in the lyrick parts of Macbeth, &c. I must observe that throughout these plays our author has not professed to imitate the

-- 162 --

style or manner of any acknowledged character or age; and therefore was tied down to the observation of no particular rules. Most of the irregular lines, however, in the Midsummer Night's Dream, &c. I suspect of having been prolonged by casual monosyllables, which stole into them through the inattention of the copyist, or the impertinence of the speaker.—If indeed the choruses in Pericles contain many such marked expressions as are discoverable in Shakspeare's other dramas, I must confess that they have hitherto escaped my notice; unless they may be said to occur in particulars which of necessity must be common to all soliloquies of a similar kind. Such interlocutions cannot fail occasionally to contain the same modes of address, and the same persuasive arguments to solicit indulgence and secure applause.

To these observations I may add, that though Shakspeare seems to have been well versed in the writings of Chaucer, his plays contain no marks of his acquaintance with the works of Gower, from whose fund of stories not one of his plots is adopted. When I quoted the Confessio Amantis to illustrate “Florentius' love” in the Taming of a Shrew, it was only because I had then met with no other book in which that tale was related.—I ought not to quit the subject of these choruses without remarking that Gower interposes no less than six times in the course of our play, exclusive of his introduction and peroration. Indeed he enters as often as any chasm in the story requires to be supplied. I do not recollect the same practice in other tragedies, to which the chorus usually serves as a prologue, and then appears only between the acts. Shakspeare's legitimate pieces in which these mediators are found, might still be represented without their aid; but the omission of Gower in Pericles would render it so perfectly confused, that the audience might justly exclaim with OthelloChaos is come again.

Very little that can tend with certainty to establish or oppose our author's exclusive right in this dramatick performance, is to be collected from the dumb shows; for he has no such in his other plays as will serve to direct our judgment. These in Pericles are not introduced (in compliance with two ancient customs) at stated periods, or for the sake of adventitious splendor. They do not appear before every act, like those in Ferrex and Porrex; they are not, like those in Jocasta, merely ostentatious. Such deviations from common practice incline me to believe that originally there were no mute exhibitions at all throughout the piece; but that when Shakspeare undertook to reform it, finding some parts peculiarly long or uninteresting, he now and then struck out the dialogue, and only left the action in its room; advising the author to add a few lines to his choruses, as auxiliaries on the occasion. Those whose fate it is to be engaged in the repairs of an old mansion house, must submit to many aukward expedients which they would have escaped in a fabrick constructed on their

-- 163 --

own plan: or it might be observed, that though Shakspeare has expressed his contempt of such dumb shows as were inexplicable, there is no reason to believe he would have pointed the same ridicule at others which were more easily understood. I do not readily perceive that the aid of a dumb show is much more reprehensible than that of a chorus:


Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem
Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus.

If it be observed that the latter will admit of sentiment and poetical imagery, it may be also urged that the former will serve to furnish out such spectacles of magnificence as should by no means appear despicable in a kingdom which has ever encouraged the pomp of lord mayors' feasts, installments, and coronations.—I should extend these remarks to an unwarrantable length, or might be tempted to prove that many of Shakspeare's plays exhibit traces of these solemn pantomimes* note; though they are too adroitly managed by him to have need of verbal interpretation.

Next it may be remarked, that the valuable parts of Pericles are more distinguished by their poetical turn, than by variety of character, or command over the passions. Partial graces are indeed almost the only improvements that the mender of a play already written can easily introduce; for an error in the first concoction can be redeemed by no future process of chemistry. A few flowery lines may here and there be strewn on the surface of a dramatick piece; but these have little power to impregnate its general mass. Character, on the contrary, must be designed at the author's outset, and proceed with gradual congeniality through the whole. In genuine Shakspeare, it insinuates itself every where, with an address like that of Virgil's snake—


&lblank; fit tortile collo
Aurum ingens coluber; fit longæ tænia vittæ,
Innectitque comas, et membris lubricus errat.

But the drama before us contains no discrimination of manners† note (except in the comick dialogues), very few traces of original

-- 164 --

thought, and is evidently destitute of that intelligence and useful knowledge that pervade even the meanest of Shakspeare's undisputed performances. To speak more plainly, it is neither enriched by the gems that sparkle through the rubbish of Love's Labour's Lost, nor the good sense which so often fertilizes the barren fable of the Two Gentlemen of Verona.—Pericles, in short, is little more than a string of adventures so numerous, so inartificially crowded together, and so far removed from probability, that in my private judgment, I must acquit even the irregular and lawless Shakspeare of having constructed the fabrick of the drama, though he has certainly bestowed some decoration on its parts. Yet even this decoration, like embroidery on a blanket, only serves by contrast to expose the meanness of the original materials. That the plays of Shakspeare have their inequalities likewise, is sufficiently understood; but they are still the inequalities of Shakspeare. He may occasionally be absurd, but is seldom foolish; he may be censured, but can rarely be despised.

I do not recollect a single plot of Shakspeare's formation (or even adoption from preceding plays or novels), in which the majority of the characters are not so well connected, and so necessary in respect of each other, that they proceed in combination to the end of the story; unless that story (as in the cases of Antigonus and Mercutio) requires the interposition of death. In Pericles this continuity is wanting;


&lblank; disjectas moles, avulsaque saxis
Saxa vides; &lblank;

and even with the aid of Gower the scenes are rather loosely tacked together, than closely interwoven. We see no more of Antiochus after his first appearance. His anonymous daughter utters but one unintelligible couplet, and then vanishes. Simonides likewise is lost as soon as the marriage of Thaisa is over; and the punishment of Cleon and his wife, which poetick justice demanded, makes no part of the action, but is related in a kind of epilogue by Gower. This is at least a practice which in no instance has received the sanction of Shakspeare. From such deficiency of mutual interest, and liaison among the personages of the drama, I am farther strengthened in my belief that our great poet had no share in constructing it* note

. Dr. Johnson long ago observed that

-- 165 --

his real power is not seen in the splendor of particular passages, but in the progress of his fable, and the tenour of his dialogue:

-- 166 --

and when it becomes necessary for me to quote a decision founded on comprehensive views, I can appeal to none in which I should more implicitly confide.—Gower relates the story of Pericles in a manner not quite so desultory; and yet such a tale as that of Prince Appolyn, in its most perfect state, would hardly have attracted the notice of any playwright, except one who was quite a novice in the rules of his art. Mr. Malone indeed observes that our author has pursued the legend exactly as he found it in the Confessio Amantis, or elsewhere. I can only add, that this is by no means his practice in any other dramas, except such as are merely historical, or founded on facts from which he could not venture to deviate, because they were universally believed. Shakspeare has deserted his originals in As You Like It, Hamlet, King Lear, &c. The curious reader may easily convince himself of the truth of these assertions.

That Shakspeare has repeated in his later plays any material circumstances which he had adopted in his more early ones, I am by no means ready to allow. Some smaller coincidences with himself may perhaps be discovered. Though it be not usual for one architect to build two fabricks exactly alike, he may yet be found to have distributed many ornaments in common over both, and to have fitted up more than one apartment with the same cornice and mouldings. If Pericles should be supposed to bear any general and striking resemblance to the Winter's Tale, let me enquire in what part of the former we are to search for the slightest traces of Leontes' jealousy (the hinge on which the fable turns) the noble fortitude of Hermione, the gallantry of Florizel, the spirit of Paulina, or the humour of Autolycus? Two stories cannot be said to have much correspondence, when the chief features that distinguish the one, are entirely wanting in the other.

Mr. Malone is likewise willing to suppose that Shakspeare contracted his dialogue in the last act of the Winter's Tale, because he had before exhausted himself on the same subject in Pericles. But it is easy to justify this distinction in our poet's conduct, on other principles. Neither the king or queen of Tyre feels the smallest degree of self-reproach. They meet with repeated expressions of rapture, for they were parted only by unprovoked misfortune. They speak without reserve, because there is nothing in their

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story which the one or the other can wish to be suppressed.— Leontes, on the contrary, seems content to welcome his return of happiness without expatiating on the means by which he had formerly lost it; nor does Hermione recapitulate her sufferings, through fear to revive the memory of particulars which might be construed into a reflection on her husband's jealousy. The discovery of Marina would likewise admit of clamorous transport, for similar reasons; but whatever could be said on the restoration of Perdita to her mother, would only tend to prolong the remorse of her father. Throughout the notes which I have contributed to the play of Pericles, I have not been backward to point out many of the particulars on which the opinion of Mr. Malone is built; for as truth, not victory, is the object of us both, I am sure we cannot wish to keep any part of the evidence that may seem to affect our reciprocal opinions, out of sight.

Mr. Malone is likewise solicitous to prove, from the wildness and irregularity of the fable, &c. that this was either our author's first, or one of his earliest dramas. It might have been so; and yet I am sorry to observe that the same qualities predominate in his more mature performances; but there these defects are instrumental in producing beauties. If we travel in Antony and Cleopatra from Alexandria to Rome—to Messina—into Syria—to Athens—to Actium, we are still relieved in the course of our peregrinations by variety of objects, and importance of events. But are we rewarded in the same manner for our journeys from Antioch to Tyre, from Tyre to Pentapolis, from Pentapolis to Tharsus, from Tharsus to Tyre, from Tyre to Mitylene, and from Mitylene to Ephesus?— In one light, indeed, I am ready to allow Pericles was our poet's first attempt. Before he was satisfied with his own strength, and trusted himself to the publick, he might have tried his hand with a partner, and entered the theatre in disguise. Before he ventured to face an audience on the stage, it was natural that he should peep at them through the curtain.

What Mr. Malone has called the inequalities of the poetry, I should rather term the patchwork of the style, in which the general flow of Shakspeare is not often visible. An unwearied blaze of words, like that which burns throughout Phædra and Hippolitus, and Mariamne, is never attempted by our author; for such uniformity could be maintained but by keeping nature at a distance. Inequality and wildness, therefore, cannot be received as criterions by which we are to distinguish the early pieces of Shakspeare from those which were written at a later period.

But one peculiarity relative to the complete genuineness of this play, has hitherto been disregarded, though in my opinion it is absolutely decisive. I shall not hesitate to affirm, that through different parts of Pericles, there are more frequent and more aukward ellipses than occur in all the other dramas attributed to the same author; and that these figures of speech appear only in such

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worthless portions of the dialogue as cannot with justice be imputed to him. Were the play the work of any single hand, it is natural to suppose that this clipt jargon would have been scattered over it with equality. Had it been the composition of our great poet, he would be found to have availed himself of the same licence in his other tragedies; nor perhaps, would an individual writer have called the same characters and places alternately Per&ishort;cles and Per&ibar;cles, Tha&ishort;sa and Tha&ibar;sa, Pentap&oshort;lis and Pentap&obar;lis. Shakspeare never varies the quantity of his proper names in the compass of one play. In Cymbeline we always meet with Posth&ubar;mus, not Posth&ushort;mus, Arvir&abar;gus, and not Arvir&ashort;gus.

It may appear singular that I have hitherto laid no stress on such parallels between the acknowledged plays of Shakspeare and Pericles, as are produced in the course of our preceding illustrations. But perhaps any argument that could be derived from so few of these, ought not to be decisive; for the same reasoning might tend to prove that every little coincidence of thought and expression, is in reality one of the petty larcenies of literature; and thus we might in the end impeach the original merit of those whom we ought not to suspect of having need to borrow from their predecessors* note. I can only add on this subject, (like Dr. Farmer) that the world is already possessed of the Marks of Imitation; and that there is scarce one English tragedy but bears some slight internal resemblance to another. I therefore attempt no deduction from premises occasionally fallacious, nor pretend to discover in the piece before us the draughts of scenes which were afterwards more happily wrought, or the slender and crude principles of ideas which on other occasions were dilated into consequence, or polished into lustre† note

note connection with B. and Fletcher, has not been proved by evidence of any kind. There are no verses written by either in his commendation; but they both stand convicted of having aimed their ridicule at passages in several of his plays. His imputed intimacy with one of them, is therefore unaccountable. Neither are the names of our great confederates enrolled with those of other wits who frequented the literary symposia held at the Devil Tavern in Fleet-street. As they were gentlemen of family and fortune, it is probable that they aspired to company of a higher rank than that of needy poets, or mercenary players. Their dialogue bears abundant testimony to this supposition; while Shakspeare's attempts to exhibit such sprightly conversations as pass between young men of elegance and fashion, are very rare, and almost confined (as Dr. Johnson remarks) to the characters of Mercutio and his associates. Our author could not easily copy what he had few opportunities of observing.—So much for the unlikeliness of Fletcher's having united with Shakspeare in the same composition.

But here it may be asked—why was the name of our poet joined with that of Beaumont's coadjutor in the Two Noble Kinsmen, rather than in any other play of the same author that so long remained in manuscript? I answer,—that this event might have taken its rise from the play-house tradition mentioned by Pope, and founded, as I conceive, on a singular occurrence, which it is my present office to point out and illustrate to my readers.

The language and images of this piece coincide perpetually with those in the dramas of Shakspeare. The same frequency of coincidence occurs in no other individual of Fletcher's works; and how is so material a distinction to be accounted for? Did Shakspeare assist the survivor of Beaumont in this tragedy? Surely no; for if he had, he would not (to borrow a conceit from Moth in Love's Labour's Lost) have written as if he had been at a great feast of tragedies, and stolen the scraps. It was natural that he should more studiously have abstained from the use of marked expressions in this than in any other of his pieces written without assistance. He cannot be suspected of so pitiful an ambition as that of setting his seal on the portions he wrote, to distinguish them from those of his colleague. It was his business to coalesce with Fletcher, and not to withdraw from him. But, were our author convicted of this jealous artifice, let me ask where we are to look for any single dialogue in which these lines of separation are not drawn. If they are to be regarded as land-marks to ascertain our author's property, they stand so constantly in our way, that we must, on their evidence, adjudge the whole literary estate to him. I hope no one will be found who supposes our duumvirate sat down to correct what each other wrote. To such an indignity Fletcher could not well have submitted; and such a drudgery Shakspeare would as hardly have endured. In Pericles it is no difficult task to discriminate the scenes in which the hand of the latter is evident. I say again, let the critick try if the same undertaking is as easy in the Two Noble Kinsmen. The style of Fletcher on other occasions is sufficiently distinct from Shakspeare's, though it may mix more intimately with that of Beaumont:


&grora;&grst; &grt;&grap; &gras;&grp;&gro;&grk;&gri;&grd;&grn;&graa;&grm;&gre;&grn;&gro;&grst; &grp;&gro;&grt;&gra;&grm;&gro;&gruc; &grk;&gre;&grl;&gra;&grd;&gro;&grn;&grt;&gro;&grst; &GRAs;&grr;&graa;&grc;&gre;&grw;
&grF;&graa;&grs;&gri;&grd;&gri; &grs;&gru;&grm;&grf;&grea;&grr;&gre;&grt;&gra;&gri; &grir;&gred;&grog;&grn; &grrr;&groa;&gro;&grn;. Apol. Rhod.
From loud Araxes Lycus' streams divide,
But roll with Phasis in a blended tide.

But, that my assertions relative to coincidence may not appear without some support, I proceed to insert a few of many instances that might be brought in aid of an opinion which I am ready to subjoin.—The first passage hereafter quoted is always from the Two Noble Kinsmen, edit. 1750; the second from the Plays of Shakspeare, edit. 1778.


1&lblank; Dear glass of ladies.
2&lblank; he was indeed the glass p. 9. Vol. X.
Wherein the noble youths did dress themselves. K. Hen. IV. P. II. Vol. V. p. 487.
1&lblank; blood-siz'd field—
2&lblank; o'er-sized with coagulate gore. p. 9. Hamlet, Vol. X. p. 264.
1. &lblank; as ospreys do the fish,
Subdue before they touch.—
2. &lblank; as is the osprey to the fish, who takes it
By sovereignty of nature. p. 11. Coriolanus, Vol. VII. p. 467
1. His ocean needs not my poor drops.
2. &lblank; as petty to his ends
As is the morn-dew on a myrtle leaf
To his grand sea. p. 20. Ant. and Cleop. Vol. VIII. p. 230.
1. Their intertangled roots of love.
2. &lblank; Grief and patience, rooted in him both,
Mingle their spurs together. p. 22. Cymbeline, Vol. IX. p. 278.
1. Lord, lord, the difference of men!
2. O, the difference of man and man! p. 30. K. Lear, Vol. IX. p. 502.
1. Like lazy clouds
2. &lblank; the lazy-pacing cloudsp. 30. R. and Juliet, Vol. X. p. 55.
1. &lblank; the angry swine
Flies like a Parthian.
2. Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight. p. 31. Cymbeline, Vol. IX. p. 202.

Mr. Seward observes that this comparison occurs no where in Shakspeare.


1. Banish'd the kingdom, &c.—
2. See the speech of Romeo on the same occasion.— p. 41. R. and Juliet, Vol. X. p. 101, &c.
1. &lblank; he has a tongue will tame
Tempests.—
2. &lblank; she would sing the savageness out of a bear.— p. 42. Othello, Vol. X. p. 574.
1. Theseus.] Tomorrow, by the sun, to do observance
To flowery May.
2. Theseus.]—they rose up early to observe
The rite of May. p. 47. Mid. Night's Dream. Vol. III. p. 97.
1. Let all the dukes and all the devils roar,
He is at liberty,—
2. And if the devil come and roar for them,
He shall not have them, p. 48. K. Hen. IV. Vol. V. p. 282.
1. Dear cousin Palamon—
Pal. Cozener Arcite.
2. &lblank; Gentle Harry Percy, and kind cousin,—
The devil take such cozeners. p. 51. K. Hen. IV. P. I. Vol. V. p. 289.
1. &lblank; this question, sick between us,
By bleeding must be cur'd.
2. Let's purge this choler without letting blood.— p. 54. K. Rich. II. Vol. V. p. 137.
1. &lblank; swim with your body,
And carry it sweetly—
2. Bear your body more seemly, Audrey. p. 61. As You Like It. Vol. III. p. 380.
1. And dainty duke whose doughty dismal fame.
2. Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade. p. 64. M. N. Dr. Vol. III. p. 111.
1. &lblank; And then she sung
Nothing but willow, willow
2. &lblank; sing willow, willowp. 79. Othello. Vol. X. p. 592.
1. Oh who can find the bent of woman's fancy!
2. Oh undistinguish'd space of woman's will! p. 84. K. Lear, Vol. IX. p. 533.
1. &lblank; like the great-ey'd Juno's, but far sweeter.
2. &lblank; sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. p. 84. Winter's T. Vol. IV. p. 380.
1. &lblank; better, o' my conscience,
Was never soldier's friend.
2. A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh. p. 86. Othello, Vol. X. p. 618.
1. &lblank; his tongue
Sounds like a trumpet.
2. Would plead like angels trumpet-tongued. p. 87. Macbeth, Vol. IV. p. 486.
&lblank; this would shew bravely,
Fighting about the titles of two kingdoms,
2. &lblank; such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shews much amiss. p. 89. Hamlet, Vol. X. p. 415.
1. Look where she comes! you shall perceive her behaviour,
2. Lo you where she comes! This is her very guise. p. 89. Macbeth, Vol. IV. p. 587.
1. &lblank; the burden on't was down-a down-a.
2. You must sing down-a down-a: oh how the wheel becomes it! p. 90. Hamlet, Vol. X. p. 355.
1. How her brain coins!—
2. This is the very coinage of your brain. p. 90. Hamlet, Vol. X. p. 327.
1. Doctor.]—not an engrafted madness, but a most thick and profound melancholy—
2. &lblank; Doctor.]—not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies— p. 91. Macbeth, Vol. IV. p. 596.
1. Doctor. I think she has a perturbed mind which I cannot minister to.
2. &lblank; perturbed spirit! p. 91. Hamlet, Vol. X. p. 228.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd?
Doctor.—therein the patient
Must minister to himself. Macbeth, Vol. IV. p. 596.
1. &lblank; to him that makes the camp a cistern
Brim'd with the blood of men.
2. The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit
Up to the ears in blood. p. 94. K. Hen. IV. P. I. Vol. V. p. 338.
1. &lblank; hast turn'd
Green Neptune into purple.
2. &lblank; the multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red. p. 94. Macbeth, Vol. IV. p. 505.
1. &lblank; lover, never yet
Made truer sigh
2. &lblank; never man
Sigh'd truer breath. p. 98. Coriolanus, Vol. VII. p. 453.
1. &lblank; arms in assurance
My body to this business.
2. &lblank; bends up
Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. p. 99. Macbeth. Vol. IV. p. 491.
1. &lblank; thy female knights
2. &lblank; thy virgin knight. p. 99. Much Ado, &c. Vol. II. p. 367.
1. &lblank; with that thy rare green eye—
2. Hath not so quick, so green, so fair an eye. p. 99. R. and Juliet, Vol. X. p. 119.
His eyes were green as leeks. M. N. Dr. Vol. III. p. 120.
1. His costliness of spirit look'd through him.
2. Your spirits shine through you. p. 110. Macbeth, Vol. IV. p. 529.
1. &lblank; to dis-seat his lord,
2. &lblank; or dis-seat me now. p. 114. Macbeth Vol. IV. p. 544.

N. B. I have met with no other instances of the use of this word.


1. Disroot his rider whence he grew.
2. This gallant grew unto his seat. p. 115. hi Hamlet, Vol. X. p. 365.
1. And bear us like the time.
2. &lblank; to beguile the time,
Look like the time. p. 117. Macbeth, Vol. IV. p. 480.

It will happen, on familiar occasions, that diversity of expression is neither worth seeking, or easy to be found; as in the following instances:


Cer. Look to the lady. Pericles.
Macd. Look to the lady. Macbeth.
Cap. Look to the bak'd meats. Rom. and Jul.
Pal. Look to thy life well, Arcite! Two Noble Kinsmen.
Dion. How chance my daughter is not with you?— Pericles.
K. Hen. How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother? K. Hen. IV. P. II.
Dion. How now, Marina? why do you keep alone? Pericles.
Lady Macb. How now, my lord? why do you keep alone?— Macbeth.
Coun. &lblank; have with you, boys! Two Noble Kinsmen.
Bel. Have with you, boys! Cymbeline.
Daugh. Yours to command, i' th' way of honesty. Two N. Kinsmen.
Faulc. For I was got i' th' way of honesty. King John.
Thal.—if I can get him within my pistol's length. Pericles.
Phang. &lblank; an he come but within my vice. K. Henry IV. P. II.

All such examples I have abstained from producing; but the peculiar coincidence of many among those already given, suffers much by their not being viewed in their natural situations.

Let the criticks who can fix on any particular scenes which they conceive to have been written by Shakspeare, or let those who suppose him to have been so poor in language as well as ideas, that he was constrained to borrow in the compass of half the Noble Kinsmen from above a dozen entire plays of his own composition, advance some hypothesis more plausible than the following; and yet I flatter myself that readers may be found who will concur with me in believing this tragedy to have been written by Fletcher in silent imitation of our author's manner. No other circumstance could well have occasioned such a frequent occurrence of corresponding phrases, &c; nor, in my opinion, could any particular, but this, have induced the players to propagate the report, that our author was Fletcher's coadjutor in the piece.—There is nothing unusual in these attempts at imitation. Dryden, in his preface to All for Love, professes to copy the style of Shakspeare. Rowe, in his Jane Shore, arrogates to himself the merit of having pursued the same plan. How far these poets have succeeded, it is not my present business to examine; but Fletcher's imitation, like that of many others, is chiefly verbal; and yet (when joined with other circumstances) was perfect enough to have misled the judgment of the players. Those people, who in the course of their profession must have had much of Shakspeare's language recent in their memories, could easily discover traces of it in this performance. They could likewise observe that the drama opens with the same characters as first enter in the Midsummer Night's Dream; that Clowns exert themselves for the entertainment of Theseus in both; that a pedagogue likewise directs the sports in Love's Labour's Lost; that a character of female frenzy, copied from Ophelia, is notorious in the Jailor's Daughter; and that this girl, like Lady Macbeth, is attended by a physician who describes the difficulties of her case, and comments on it, in almost similar terms. They might therefore conclude that the play before us was in part a production of the same writer. Over this line, the criticks behind the scenes were unable to proceed. Their sagacity was insufficient to observe that the general current of the style was even throughout the whole, and bore no marks of a divided hand. Hence perhaps the sol geminus and duplices Thebæ of these very incompetent judges, who, like staunch match-makers, were desirous that the widow'd muse of Fletcher should not long remain without a bed-fellow.

Lest it should be urged that one of my arguments against Shakspeare's co-operation in the Two Noble Kinsmen, would equally militate against his share in Pericles, it becomes necessary for me to ward off any objection to that purpose, by remarking that the circumstances attendant on these two dramas are by no means exactly parallel. Shakspeare probably furnished his share in the latter at an early period of his authorship, and afterwards (having never owned it, or supposing it to be forgotten) was willing to profit by the most valuable lines and ideas it contained. But he would scarce have been considered himself as an object of imitation, before he had reached his meridian fame; and in my opinion, the Noble Kinsmen could not have been composed till after 1611, nor perhaps antecedent to the deaths of Beaumont and our author, when assistance and competition ceased, and the poet who resembled the latter most, had the fairest prospect of success. During the life of Beaumont, which concluded in 1615, it cannot well be supposed that Fletcher would have deserted him, to write in concert with any other dramatist. Shakspeare survived Beaumont only by one year, and, during that time, is known to have lived in Warwickshire, beyond the reach of Fletcher, who continued to reside in London till he fell a sacrifice to the plague in 1625; so that there was no opportunity for them to have joined in personal conference relative to the Two Noble Kinsmen; and without frequent interviews between confederate writers, a consistent tragedy can hardly be produced. But, at whatever time of Shakspeare's life Pericles was brought forth, it will not be found on examination to comprize a fifth part of the coincidence which may be detected in its successor; neither will a tenth division of the same relations be discovered in any one of his thirty-five dramas which have hitherto been published together.

To conclude, it is peculiarly apparent that this tragedy of the Two Noble Kinsmen was printed from a prompter's copy, as it exhibits such stage directions as I do not remember to have seen in any other drama of the same period. We may likewise take notice that there are fewer hemistichs in it than in any of Shakspeare's acknowledged productions. If one speech concludes with an imperfect verse, the next in general completes it. This is some indication of a writer more studious of neatness in composition than the pretended associate of Fletcher.

In the course of my investigation I am pleased to find I differ but on one occasion from Mr. Colman; and that is, in my disbelief that Beaumont had any share in this tragedy. The utmost beauties it contains, were within the reach of Fletcher, who has a right to wear


“Without corrival all his dignities:
“But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!”

because there is no just reason for supposing any poet but Chaucer has a right to dispute with him the reputation which the tale of Palamon and Arcite has so long and so indisputably maintained.

. Not that such a kind of evidence, however

-- 169 --

strong, or however skilfully applied, would divest my former arguments of their weight; for I admit without reserve that Shakspeare,

-- 170 --


“&lblank; whose hopeful colours
“Advance a half-fac'd sun striving to shine,”

-- 171 --

is visible in many scenes throughout the play. But it follows not from thence that he is answerable for its worst parts, though the

-- 172 --

best it contains may be, not dishonourably, imputed to him. Both weeds and flowers appear in the same parterre, yet we do

-- 173 --

not infer from their being found together, that they were planted by the same hand.

-- 174 --

Were I disposed, with controversial wantonness, to reason against conviction, I might add, that as Shakspeare is known to have

-- 175 --

borrowed whole speeches from the authors of Darius, King John, the Taming of a Shrew, &c. as well as from novelists and historians without number, so he might be suspected of having taken

-- 176 --

lines, and hints for future situations, from the play of Pericles, supposing it were the work of a writer somewhat more early than himself. Such splendid passages occur in the scenes of his contemporaries, as have not disgraced his own: and be it remembered, that many things which we at present are content to reckon only among the adoptions of our great poet, had been long regarded as his own proper effusions, and were as constantly enumerated among his distinguished beauties. No verses have been more frequently quoted, or more loudly applauded, than those beginning with The cloud-capt towers in the Tempest; but if our positions relative to the date of that play are well founded, Shakspeare's share in this celebrated account of nature's dissolution, is very inconsiderable.

To conclude, the play of Pericles was in all probability the composition of some friend whose interest the “gentle Shakspeare” was industrious to promote. He therefore improved his dialogue in many places; and knowing by experience that the strength of a dramatick piece should be augmented towards its catastrophe, was most liberal of his aid in the last act. We cannot be surprised to find that what he has supplied is of a different colour from the rest:


Scinditur in partes, geminoque cacumine surgit,
Thebanos imitata rogos;

for like Beaumont he was not writing in conjunction with a Fletcher.

Mr. Malone has asked how it happens that no memorial of an earlier drama on the subject of Pericles remains. I shall only answer by another question—Why is it the fate of still-born infants to be soon forgotten? In the rummage of some mass of ancient pamphlets and papers, the first of these two productions may hereafter make its appearance. The chance that preserved The Witch of Middleton, may at some distant period establish my general opinion concerning the authenticity of Pericles, which is already strengthened by those of Rowe and Dr. Farmer, and countenanced in some degree by the omission of Heminge and Condell. I was once disposed to entertain very different sentiments concerning the authority of title-pages; but on my mended judgment (if I offend not to say it is mended) I have found sufficient reason to change my creed, and confess the folly of advancing much on a question which I had not more than cursorily considered. —To this I must subjoin, that perhaps our author produced the Winter's Tale at the distance of several years from the time at which he corrected Pericles; and, for reasons hinted at in a preceding page, or through a forgetfulness common to all writers, repeated a few of the identical phrases and ideas which he had already used in that and other dramas. I have formerly observed in a note in King Lear, last edit. vol. ix. p. 561, that Shakspeare has appropriated the same sentiment, in nearly the

-- 177 --

same words, to Justice Shallow, King Lear, and Othello; and may now add that I find another allusion as nearly expressed in five different places:


“I'd strip myself to death, as for a bed
“That longing I'd been sick for.” Measure for Measure.
“I will encounter darkness like a bride,
“And hug it in my arms.” Ibidem.
“I will be
“A bridegroom in my death, and run unto't
“As to a lover's bed.” Antony and Cleopatra.
“I will die bravely like a bridegroom.” King Lear.
“&lblank; in terms like bride and bridegroom
“Divesting them for bed.” Othello.

The degree of credit due to the title-page of this tragedy is but very inconsiderable. It is not mentioned by Meres in 1598; but that Shakspeare was known to have had some and in it, was sufficient reason the whole should be fathered on him. The name of the original writer could have promoted a bookseller's purpose in but an inferior degree. In the year 1611, one of the same fraternity attempted to obtrude on the publick the old King John (in Dr. Farmer's opinion written by Rowley) as the work of our celebrated author.

But we are told with confidence, that


“Shakspeare's own muse his Pericles first bore,
“The Prince of Tyre was elder than the Moor.”

To the testimony of Dryden respect is always due, when he speaks of things within the compass of his own knowledge. But on the present occasion he could only take report, or a title page, for his guide; and seems to have preferr'd smoothness of versification to preciseness of expression. His meaning is completely given in the second line of his couplet. In both, he designs to say no more than that Shakspeare himself did not rise to excellence in his first plays; but that Pericles, one of the weakest imputed to him, was written before Othello, which has been always regarded as the most vigorous of his productions;—that of these two pieces, Pericles was the first. Dryden in all probability met with it in the folio edition, 1664, and enquired no farther concerning its authenticity. The birth of his friend Sir William Davenant happened in 1605, at least ten years below the date of this contested drama* note

.

-- 178 --

The abuse of J. Tatham would have deserved no reply, had it not been raised into consequence by its place in Mr. Malone's Preliminary Observations. I think it therefore but justice to observe, that this obscure wretch who calls our author a “plebeian driller,” (droller I suppose he meant to say) has thereby bestowed on him a portion of involuntary applause. Because Horace has pronounced that he who pleases the great is not entitled to the lowest of encomiums, are we therefore to infer that the man who has given delight to the vulgar, has no claim also to his dividend of praise?—interdum vulgus rectum putat. It is the peculiar merit of Shakspeare's scenes, that they are generally felt and understood. The tumid conceits of modern tragedy communicate no sensations to the highest or the meanest rank. Sentimental comedy is not much more fortunate in its efforts. But can the period be pointed out in which King Lear and the Merry Wives of Windsor did not equally entertain those who fill the boxes and the gallery, primores populi, populumque tributim?

Before I close this enquiry, which has swelled into an unexpected bulk, let me ask, whose opinion confers most honour on Shakspeare, my opponent's or mine. Mr. Malone is desirous that his favourite poet should be regarded as the sole author of a drama which, collectively taken, is unworthy of him. I only wish the reader to adopt a more moderate creed, that the purpurei panni are Shakspeare's, and the rest the production of some inglorious and forgotten playwright.

If consistently with my real belief I could have supported instead of controverting the sentiments of this gentleman, whom I have the honour to call my friend, I should have been as happy in doing so as I now am in confessing my literary obligations to him, and acknowledging how often in the course of the preceding volume he has supplied my deficiencies, and rectified my errors.

On the whole, were the intrinsick merits of Pericles yet less than they are, it would be entitled to respect among the curious

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in dramatick literature. As the engravings of Mark Antonio are valuable not only on account of their beauty, but because they are supposed to have been executed under the eye of Raffaelle, so Pericles will continue to owe some part of its reputation to the touches it is said to have received from the hand of Shakspeare.

To the popularity of the Prince of Tyre (which is sufficiently evident from the testimonies referred to by Mr. Malone) we may impute the unprecedented corruptions in its text. What was acted frequently, must have been frequently transcribed for the use of prompters and players; and through the medium of such faithless copies it should seem that most of our early theatrical pieces were transmitted to the publick. There are certainly more gross mistakes in this than in any other tragedy attributed to Shakspeare. Indeed so much of it, as hitherto printed, was absolutely unintelligible, that the reader had no power to judge of the rank it ought to hold among our ancient dramatick performances. Steevens.

Mr. Steevens's intimate acquaintance with the writings of Shakspeare renders him so well qualified to decide upon this question, that it is not without some distrust of my own judgment that I express my dissent from his decision; but as all the positions that he has endeavoured to establish in his ingenious disquisition on the merits and authenticity of Pericles do not appear to me to have equal weight, I shall shortly state the reasons why I cannot subscribe to his opinion with regard to this long-contested piece.

The imperfect imitation of the language and numbers of Gower, which is found in the Choruses of this play, is not in my apprehension a proof that they were not written by Shakspeare. To summon a person from the grave, and to introduce him by way of Chorus to the drama, appears to have been no uncommon practice with our author's contemporaries. Marlowe, before the time of Shakspeare, had in this way introduced Machiavel in his Jew of Malta; and his countryman Guicciardine is brought upon the stage in an ancient tragedy called The Devil's Charter. In the same manner Rainulph, the monk of Chester, appears in The Mayor of Quinborough, written by Thomas Middleton. Yet it never has been objected to the authors of the two former pieces, as a breach of decorum, that the Italians whom they have brought into the scene do not speak the language of their own country; or to the writer of the latter, that the monk whom he has introduced does not use the English dialect of the age in which he lived.—But it may be said, “nothing of this kind is attempted by these poets; the author of Pericles, on the other hand, has endeavoured to copy the versification of Gower, and has failed in the attempt: had this piece been the composition of Shakspeare, he would have succeeded.”

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I shall very readily acknowledge, that Shakspeare, if he had thought fit, could have exhibited a tolerably accurate imitation of the language of Gower; for there can be little doubt, that what has been effected by much inferior writers, he with no great difficulty could have accomplished. But that, because these Choruses do not exhibit such an imitation, they were therefore not his performance, does not appear to me a necessary conclusion; for he might not think such an imitation proper for a popular audience. Gower, like the persons above mentioned, would probably have been suffered to speak the same language as the other characters in this piece, had he not written a poem containing the very story on which the play is formed. Like Guicciardine and the monk of Chester, he is called up to superintend a relation found in one of his own performances. Hence Shakspeare seems to have thought it proper (not, to copy his versification, for that does not appear to have been at all in his thoughts, but) to throw a certain air of antiquity over the monologues which he has attributed to the venerable bard. Had he imitated the diction of the Confessio Amantis with accuracy, he well knew that it would have been as unintelligible to the greater part of his audience as the Italian of Guicciardine or the Latin of Rainulph; for, I suppose, there can be no doubt, that the language of Gower (which is almost as far removed from that of Hooker and Fairfax, as it is from the prose of Addison or the poetry of Pope,) was understood by none but scholars* note, even in the time of queen Elizabeth. Having determined to introduce the contemporary of Chaucer in the scene, it was not his business to exhibit so perfect an imitation of his diction as perhaps with assiduity and study he might have accomplished, but such an antiquated style as might be understood by the people before whom his play was to be represented† note.

As the language of these Choruses is, in my opinion, insufficient to prove that they were not the production of Shakspeare, so also is the inequality of metre which may be observed in different parts of them; for the same inequality is found in the lyrical parts of Macbeth and The Midsummer Night's Dreamnote. It may

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likewise be remarked, that as in Pericles, so in many other of our author's early performances, alternate rhimes frequently occur; a practice which I have not observed in any other dramatick performances of that age, intended for publick representation.* note.

Before I quit the subject of the Choruses introduced in this piece, let me add, that, like many other parts of this play, they contain some marked expressions, certain ardentia verba, that are also found in the undisputed works of our great poet; which any one who will take the trouble to compare them with the Choruses in King Henry V. and The Winter's Tale, will readily perceive. If, in order to account for the similitude, it shall be said, that though Shakspeare did not compose these declamations of Gower, he might have retouched them, as that is a point which never can be ascertained, so no answer can be given to it.

That the play of Pericles was originally written by another poet, and afterwards improved by Shakspeare, I do not see sufficient reason to believe. It may be true, that all which the improver of a dramatick piece originally ill-constructed can do, is, to polish the language, and to add a few splendid passages; but that this play was the work of another, which Shakspeare from his friendship for the author revised and corrected, is the very point in question, and therefore cannot be adduced as a medium to prove that point. It appears to me equally improbable that Pericles was formed on an unsuccessful drama of a preceding period; and that all the weaker scenes are taken from thence. We know indeed that it was a frequent practice of our author to avail himself of the labours of others, and to construct a new drama upon an old foundation; but the pieces that he has thus imitated are yet extant. We have an original Taming of a Shrew, a King John, a Promos and Cassandra, a King Leir, &c. but where is this old play of Periclesnote? or how comes it to pass that no memorial of such a drama remains? Even if it could be proved that such a piece once existed, it would not warrant us in supposing that the less vigorous parts of the performance in question were taken from thence; for though Shakspeare borrowed the fables of the ancient dramas just now enumerated, he does not appear to have transcribed a single scene from any one of them.

Still however it may be urged, if Shakspeare was the original author of this play, and this was one of his earliest productions, he would scarcely, in a subsequent period, have introduced in his Winter's Tale some incidents and expressions which bear a strong resemblance to the latter part of Pericles: on the other hand, he might not scruple to copy the performance of a preceding poet.

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Before we acquiesce in the justice of this reasoning, let us examine what has been his practice in those dramas concerning the authenticity of which there is no doubt. Is it true that Shakspeare has rigidly abstained from introducing incidents or characters similar to those which he had before brought upon the stage? Or rather, is not the contrary notorious? In Much Ado about Nothing the two principal persons of the drama frequently remind us of two other characters that had been exhibited in an early production,—Love's Labour's Lost. In All's Well that Ends Well and Measure for Measure we find the same artifice twice employed; and in many other of his plays the action is embarrassed, and the denouement effected, by contrivances that bear a striking similitude to each other.

The conduct of Pericles and The Winter's Tale, which have several events common to both, gives additional weight to the supposition that the two pieces proceeded from the same hand. In the latter our author has thrown the discovery of Perdita into narration, as if through consciousness of having already exhausted, in the business of Marina, all that could render such an incident affecting on the stage. Leontes too says but little to Hermione, when he finds her; their mutual situations having been likewise anticipated by the Prince of Tyre and Thaisa, who had before amply expressed the transports natural to unexpected meeting after long and painful separation.

All the objections which are founded on the want of liaison between the different parts of this piece, on the numerous characters introduced in it, not sufficiently connected with each other, on the various and distant countries in which the scene is laid,— may, I think, be answered, by saying that the author pursued the story exactly as he found it either in the Confessio Amantis* note

or some prose translation of the Gesta Romanorum; a practice which Shakspeare is known to have followed in many plays, and to which most of the faults that have been urged against his dramas may be imputed† note.—If while we travel in Antony and Cleopatra* note

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from one country to another with no less rapidity than in the present piece, the objects presented to us are more beautiful, and the prospect more diversified, let it be remembered at the same time, that between the composition of these two plays there was probably an interval of at least fifteen years; that even Shakspeare himself must have gradually acquired information like other mortals, and in that period must have gained a knowledge of many characters and various modes of life, with which in his earlier years he was unacquainted.

If this play had come down to us in the state in which the poet left it, its numerous ellipses might fairly be urged to invalidate Shakspeare's claim to the whole or to any part of it. But the argument that is founded in these irregularities of the style loses much of its weight, when it is considered, that the earliest printed copy appears in so imperfect a form, that there is scarcely a single page of it undisfigured by the grossest corruptions. As many words have been inserted, inconsistent not only with the author's meaning, but with any meaning whatsoever, as many verses appear to have been transposed, and some passages are appropriated to characters to whom manifestly they do not belong, so there is great reason to believe that many words and even lines were omitted at the press; and it is highly probable that the printer is answerable for more of these ellipses than the poet. The same observation may be extended to the metre, which might have been originally sufficiently smooth and harmonious, though now, notwithstanding the editor's best care, it is feared it will be found in many places rugged and defective.

On the appearance of Shakspeare's name in the title-page of the original edition of Pericles, it is acknowledged no great stress can be laid; for by the knavery of printers or booksellers it has been likewise affixed to two pieces, of which it may be doubted

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whether a single line was written by our author. However, though the name of Shakspeare may not alone authenticate this play, it is not in the scale of evidence entirely insignificant; nor is it a fair conclusion, that, because we are not to confide in the title-pages of two dramas which are proved by the whole colour of the style and many other considerations not to have been the composition of Shakspeare, we are therefore to give no credit to the title of a piece, which we are led by very strong internal proof, and by many corroborating circumstances, to attribute to him. Though the title-pages of The London Prodigal and Sir John Oldcastle should clearly appear to be forgeries, those of Henry IV. and Othello will still remain unimpeached.

The non-enumeration of Pericles in Meres's Catalogue of our author's plays, printed in 1598, is undecisive with respect to the authenticity of this piece; for neither are the three parts of King Henry VI. nor Hamlet mentioned in that list; though it is certain they were written, and had been publickly performed, before his book was published.

Why this drama was omitted in the first edition of Shakspeare's works, it is impossible now to ascertain. But if we shall allow the omission to be a decisive proof that it was not the composition of our author, we must likewise exclude Troilus and Cressida from the list of his performances: for it is certain, this was likewise omitted by the editors of the first folio, nor did they see their error till the whole work and even the table of contents was printed; as appears from its not being paged, or enumerated in that table with his other plays. I do not, however, suppose that the editors, Heminge and Condell, did not know who was the writer of Troilus and Cressida, but that the piece, though printed some years before, for a time escaped their memory. The same may be said of Pericles. Why this also was not recovered, as well as the other, we can now only conjecture. Perhaps they thought their volume had already swelled to a sufficient size, and they did not chuse to run the risk of retarding the sale of it by encreasing its bulk and price; perhaps they did not recollect the Prince of Tyre till their book had been issued out; or perhaps they considered it more for their friend's credit to omit this juvenile performance. Ben. Jonson, when he collected his pieces into a volume, in the year 1616, in like manner omitted a comedy called The Case is Altered, which had been printed with his name some years before, and appears to have been one of his earliest productions; having been exhibited before the year 1599.

After all, perhaps, the internal evidence which this drama itself affords of the hand of Shakspeare is of more weight than any other argument that can be adduced. If we are to form our judgment by those unerring criterions which have been established by the learned author of the Discourse on Poetical Imitation,

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the question will be quickly decided; for who can point out two writers, that without any communication or knowledge of each other ever produced so many passages, coinciding both in sentiment and expression, as are found in this piece and the undisputed plays of Shakspeare* note? Should it be said, that he did not scruple to borrow both fables and sentiments from other writers, and that therefore this circumstance will not prove this tragedy to be his, it may be answered, that had Pericles been an anonymous production, this coincidence might not perhaps ascertain Shakspeare's title to the play; and he might with sufficient probability be supposed to have only borrowed from another; but when, in addition to all the circumstances already stated, we recollect the constant tradition that has accompanied this piece, and that it was printed with his name, in his life-time, as acted at his own theatre, the parallel passages which are so abundantly scattered throughout every part of Pericles and his undisputed performances, afford no slight proof, that in the several instances enumerated in the course of the preceding observations, he borrowed, as was his frequent practice, from himself; and that this contested play was his own composition.

The testimony of Dryden to this point does not appear to me so inconsiderable as it has been represented. If he had only meant to say, that Pericles was produced before Othello, the second line of the couplet which has been already quoted, would have sufficiently expressed his meaning; nor, in order to convey this idea, was it necessary to call the former the first dramatick performance of Shakspeare; a particular, which he lived near enough the time to have learned from stage-tradition, or the more certain information of his friend sir William D'Avenant† note.

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If he had only taken the folio edition of our author's works for his guide, without any other authority, he would have named the Tempest as his earliest production; because it happens to stand first in the volume. But however this may be, and whether, when Dryden entitled Pericles our author's first composition, he meant to be understood literally or not, let it be remembered, that he calls it his Pericles; that he speaks of it as the legitimate, not the spurious or adopted, offspring of our poet's muse; as the sole, not the partial, property of Shakspeare.

I am yet therefore unconvinced, that this drama was not written by our author. The wildness and irregularity of the fable, the artless conduct of the piece, and the inequalities of the poetry, may, I think, be all accounted for, by supposing it either his first or one of his earliest essays in dramatick composition. Malone.

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Edmond Malone [1780], Supplement to the edition of Shakspeare's plays published in 1778 By Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. In two volumes. Containing additional observations by several of the former commentators: to which are subjoined the genuine poems of the same author, and seven plays that have been ascribed to him; with notes By the editor and others (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10911].
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