Enter Gower.

Gow.
Now sleep yslaked hath the rout^{6 note}

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 eche^{1 note}

Gow.
By many a derne and painful perch^{3 note}

By the four opposing coignes^{4 note}

Yravished the regions round^{6 note}

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

. [Exit.

SCENE I. Enter Pericles on a ship at sea.

Per.
Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these surges^{4 note}

Wilt thou spit all thyself?—The seaman's whistle
Is as a whisper in the ear of death^{6 note}




,
Unheard.—Lychorida!—Lucina, O
Divinest patroness, and midwife^{7 note}

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

Who, if it had conceit^{8 note}

, would die, as I
Am like to do: take in your arms this piece
Of your dead queen.

Per.
How! how, Lychorida!

Lyc.
Patience, good sir, do not assist the storm^{9 note}

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 you^{1 note}

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

Per.
Now, mild may be thy life!
For a more blust'rous birth had never babe:
Quiet and gentle thy conditions^{2 note}

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 nativity^{3 note}

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

Per.
Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw^{6 note}

It hath done to me the worst^{7 note}






. Yet for the love
Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer^{8 note}
,
I would it would be quiet.

1 Sail.

Slack the bolins there^{9 note}

; thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow and split thyself^{1 note}

.

2 Sail.

But sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not^{2 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 eastern^{3 note}

briefly yield her; for she must over-board straight^{4 note}.

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

Lyc.
Here she lies, sir.

Per.
A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dear;
No light, no fire: the unfriendly elements
Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time
To give thee hallow'd to thy grave^{5 note}
, but straight
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze^{6 note}

And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse,
Lying with simple shells. O, Lychorida,
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper^{8 note},
My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander
Bring me the sattin coffer^{9 note}

2 Sail.

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

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

2 Sail.

We are near Tharsus.

Per.
Thither, gentle mariner,9Q1322
Alter thy course for Tyre^{1 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'd^{2 note}

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

That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary^{3 note},
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 quake^{4 note}


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

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

Cer.
O you say well.

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

Rich tire about you^{6 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 cunning^{7 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, stones^{8 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

Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,
Or tie my pleasure up in silken bags,
To please the fool and death^{9 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'd^{1 note}! Did the sea
Cast it up?

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 characters^{2 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 cost^{3 note}.
Who finds her, give her burying,
She was the daughter of a king^{4 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 woe^{5 note}

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 dead^{6 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 you^{7 note}
.
The vial once more;—How thou stir'st, thou block?—
The musick there^{8 note}

Gentlemen, this queen will live: Nature awakes;
A warmth breathes out of her^{9 note}

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 jewels^{1 note}

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 this^{3 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 mortally^{4 note}

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 grace^{5 note}

Must in your child be thought on. If neglection
Should therein make me vile^{6 note}


, the common body,
By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty:
But if to that my nature need a spur^{7 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 it^{8 note}

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 Neptune^{1 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 time^{2 note}

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 expire^{3 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.

Previous section

Next section