SCENE I.
A Street in Ephesus.
Enter Bawd.
Bawd.
If I could but recover Marina, and make her
pliable, I shou'd do very well still: I cou'd
make an handsome living of her in any ground in
Asia.
Enter Bolt, singing.
Bolt.
Hah, Mother Coupler! How is it with thee,
old flesh-monger? thou quondam retailer of stale
carrion, and propagator of diseases. What, quite
broke! no private practice!—I know you hate
to be idle—Though your house is shut up, you
have some properties, I hope. Why, you'll make
a good stroling bawd still. What never a new
vamped up wench, just come out of an hospital, to
accommodate a friend with?
Bawd.
Villain, traitor, thief, runaway, how dare
you look me in the face?
Bolt.
I am too well acquainted with your face to
be afraid of it—ugly as it is.
Bawd.
You have the impudence of old Nick.
Bolt.
Then I did not converse with you so long
without learning something.
Bawd.
You seduced my slave.
Bolt.
That's a lye; for she seduced me.
Bawd.
You deserve to be hang'd for robbing me
of my property. What have you done with her?
-- 43 --
Bolt.
If I had done with her what you wou'd have
had me, we shou'd both have been hang'd: So take
the matter right, and you are oblig'd to me.
Bawd.
Not at all: For though it happen'd as
you say, you intended me no good.
Bolt.
And pray whom did you ever intend any
good to?
Bawd.
Where have you put Marina?
Bolt.
No where: She was taken from me before
we had gone the length of the street by the Governor's
servants.
Bawd.
This is your praying Lord, plague rot
him for a cheating hypocrite. And so after all my
cost and pains about her to no manner of purpose,
he has her for nothing.
Bolt.
No, he has n't her neither.
Bawd.
That's some comfort yet: Then perhaps
I may have her again.
Bolt.
When she turns strumpet, and you repent.
Bawd.
Where is she?
Bolt.
Where the air is as disagreeable to a bawd,
as the air of a bawdy-house is to her—in the Temple
of Diana.
Bawd.
I'm a ruin'd woman.
Bolt.
You can never be long at a loss for a living:
It is but removing your quarters, and beginning
your trade again where you are n't known—if you
can find such a place.
Bawd.
You're a sneering rascal. But I hope you
did not let Marina go off with the money the Governor
gave her?
-- 44 --
Bolt.
No, no, I took care to lighten her of that
burthen.
Bawd.
And where is it?
Bolt.
Very safe, very safe.
Bawd.
Why, you don't intend to cheat me of
that too?
Bolt.
I don't well understand what you mean by
cheating, but am sure I shou'd deceive you most
egregiously if I were to part with a single stiver.
No, no, I shall take care of my self: I shall keep
what I have got, depend upon it.
Bawd.
But what a conscience must you have in
the mean time!
Bolt.
Don't you and I know one another, Mother
Coupler? Measure my conscience exactly by
your own, and you'll find its dimensions to the
breadth of a hair.
Bawd.
If I ben't reveng'd, may I die of the pip
without the comfort of an hospital to hide my shame
and misery from the world.
Bolt.
Or the pleasure of deserving it.
(Exeunt different ways.
SCENE II.
The Temple of Diana, with her statue and altar. Near them Thaisa is discover'd, sleeping; two Priestesses attending, who come forward.
1 Priest.
Sleeps the high Priestess yet?
2 Priest.
If the suspension
Of sense without the benefit of rest
Be sleep, she sleeps: She's greatly discomposed.
-- 45 --
1 Priest.
Yet trouble in her irritates devotion.
Hence day and night, before her sacred shrine,
She seeks with ardour the celestial maid,
Or watching waits her will; or if by chance
She slumbers, 'tis, as now, beneath her altar.
2 Priest.
You must have known her long?
1 Priest.
E'er since that morning,
When from the troubled bosom of the deep
The billows cast her, breathless, on the beach,
That fronts this holy temple. I was present
When the good father of Lysimachus
(And my kind uncle) by his art restor'd her
From her most death like trance.
2 Priest.
This, though long since
And a known truth, is still the theme of wonder.
1 Priest.
I remember, when all suppos'd her dead,
This learned Lord did from the first affirm,
That death might for some hours usurp on nature,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The o'er prest spirits: And she liv'd to prove it.
2 Priest.
'Tis strange none e'er discover'd who she is.
1 Priest.
From the rich robe she'd on, and gems found with her,
We judg'd her royal: All she wou'd disclose
Was that she lost a husband, and with him
All hopes and all desires of earthly joys.
And choosing to devote her future days
To chastity and grief, she here retir'd;
And took with me, who then was just prepar'd
To be profest, the habit Argentine.
The sacred dignity she now sustains
-- 46 --
Was much against her will conferr'd upon her,
When sage Euphrion dy'd.
2 Priest.
Did you not mark
How in an instant sorrow overwhelm'd her,
When news was brought from Cyprus of the death
Of the good King Simonides?
1 Priest.
I did.
Her fortune's teeming with some great event.
2 Priest.
The perfect likeness too there is between
Her self and sweet Marina, much amaz'd her.
1 Priest.
And must do all that see them. But allow
The diff'rence time must make, and they're the same:
Just what Marina is, Thaisa was
When I beheld her first.
Tha.
O Pericles!
1 Priest.
Did she not speak? Attend.
Tha.
Art thou restor'd
To the long widow'd arms of thy Thaisa!—
Ha!—
(rises and comes forward.
1 Priest.
Madam, How fare you?
Tha.
'Twas but a dream,
A flattering dream. And what is life it self,
Being justly weigh'd, but a meer fleeting shadow?
Most like these visions now so frequent with me—
I am troubled, and trouble you, my friends.
2 Priest.
Cou'd our best service help you, we were happy.
1 Priest.
I fain wou'd hope your present perturbation
May prove the prelude to your lasting peace.
-- 47 --
Tha.
The lasting'st peace is death: And that, perhaps,
Is what my dreams portend.
1 Priest.
The Gods forbid.
Tha.
The Gods do all their will: I've long been learning
A perfect resignation to their pleasure.
My dream was this. Attending on the altar,
The Goddess seem'd to animate her statue;
And, as I view'd the prodigy with terror,
Took from my brow the Crescent and Tiara,
The symbols of my office, and then struck
The smoaking Censer from my trembling hand.
1 Priest.
'Twas wond'rous strange.
Tha.
And with a radiant smile
Consign'd me to the arms of my lov'd Lord,
Who stood confest and living to receive me.
With the surprize I wak'd.
1 Priest.
A fair presage.
Our Goddess visits you as a reward
For your true piety: This dream's from her.
Tha.
We doubtless think our selves of more importance
Than the wise Gods allow us.
2 Priest.
Sacred Madam,
The Lord Lysimachus—
(Enter Lysimachus.
Tha.
He's ever welcome.
Lys.
Hail, holy Priestess, whose celestial mind
Adds whiteness to the silver robe you wear,
Have you yet learnt ought of the birth and fortunes
Of that sweet virgin I commended to you?
-- 48 --
Tha.
No, my good Lord. When e'er I question her
Who and from whence she is, she answers not,
But sits her down and weeps.
Lys.
I wish I knew.
Tha.
Time may reveal it. She's a miracle:
My eyes ne'er saw her peer.
Lys.
O gracious Lady,
She's such an one that were I well assur'd
Came of a gentle kind and noble stock,
I'd wish no better choice.
Enter Gentleman.
Gent.
Most honour'd Sir,
There is a ship arriv'd of strange appearance,
The hull, sails, streamers, tackle, all are black;
From whence is in a chaloupe come on shoar
A person of a great but mournful mein,
Whose chief attendant asks to be admitted
To see our Governor. What is your will?
Lys.
That he have his: I pray you greet him fairly.
(Exit Gentleman.
Enter Escanes; and others after him, bearing Pericles.
Lys.
Hail, reverend Sir: The gracious Gods preserve you.
Esc.
And you, t'out-live the age that I am now,
And die as I wou'd wish.
Lys.
You greet me well.
Esc.
Our vessel is of Tyre, our business here,
T' implore Diana's aid for one distress'd;
And such an one as in his happier days
Never forgot his duty to the Gods,
Nor let th' afflicted sue to him in vain.
-- 49 --
Lys.
And may she prove propitious.
Esc.
Sir, we thank you.
And further wou'd intreat that for our gold,
Your people may supply us with provisions,
Whereof we are not destitute for want,
But weary for the staleness.
Lys.
'Tis a courtesy
Which if we shou'd deny, the most just Gods
For ev'ry graft wou'd send a caterpiller,
And so inflict our province. But inform me,
Who is that melancholy Gentleman.
Esc.
He is of note (I may reveal no more)
And was a goodly person, ere disasters,
Too great for human suff'rance, sunk him thus.
Lys.
Upon what ground is his distemperance?
Esc.
It would be now too tedious to repeat;
But his main grief springs from the timeless loss
Of a beloved wife, and only child.
Lys.
Good Sir, all hail: The Gods preserve you, hail.
Esc.
'Tis all in vain, my Lord; he will not speak
To any one, nor takes he sustenance
But to prolong his grief.
Lys.
Yet I durst wager,
We have a maid in Ephesus wou'd win
Some words from him.
Tha.
'Tis well bethought, my Lord.
She, questionless, with her sweet harmony,
And other choice attractions, wou'd allure him,
And melt his fix'd resolves: She is most happy
In form and utt'rance.
Lys.
Say, we wish to see her.
(Exit Gentleman.
-- 50 --
Esc.
Sure all's effectless: Yet we'll omit nothing
That bears recov'ry's name.
Enter Marina.
Lys.
This is the virgin.
Thrice welcome, fair one.
Esc.
She's a gallant Lady.
Lys.
Lovely physician of distemper'd minds,
We did send for thee to exert thy skill,
And matchless goodness on a noble patient;
View this majestick ruin, and then judge
By what remains how excellent a pile
Grief hath defac'd: Absent to all things else,
And self resign'd to silence and despair,
See, he appears his own sad monument.
Now, if thy heav'nly art, so prosperous
In all attempts, can win him to attention,
And draw him but to answer thee in aught;
Thy sacred physick shall receive such thanks
As thy desires can wish.
Mar.
You over rate me.
But I will use my uttermost endeavours
For his recovery.
Tha.
Succeed them, Heaven!
What strange unlikelihood assaults my mind!
My wild, ungovern'd fancy wou'd perswade
My memory to find some traces there,
In that marr'd face, yet unobliterated,
Of my long dead, long drowned Pericles.
(aside.
Lys.
Mark, she will try the force of musick first.
-- 51 --
SONG.
Mar.
Let those who are in favour with their stars,
Of publick honour and proud titles boast;
While we whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Seek joy in Virtue that we honour most.
Great Princes Favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marygold at the Sun's eye;
While ruin in their pride but hides its head:
For at a frown their flatt'ring glories die.
The painful warriour famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of Honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd.
Then let us bear the malice of our stars,
And make our noble sufferance our boast;
Tho' fortune ev'ry other triumph bars,
Seek joy in Virtue that we honour most.
Tha.
Mark'd he your musick?
Mar.
No, nor look'd upon me.
Lys.
She'll speak to him.
Mar.
Sir, lend me your attention,
And behold me. Indeed I am a Maid
Who ne'er before invited ears or eyes;
But have been sought too like an oracle,
And gaz'd on like a comet. Sir, she speaks,
Who, may be, hath endur'd calamities
Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd—
Alas he heeds me not. I wou'd give o'er,
But something whispers in my ear, Go on.
Per.
What Syren have they found to force attention?
-- 52 --
I'll steal a look, but not a word shall scape
From forth my lips.—(rises.) O you immortal Gods!
Mar.
Why do you gaze so eagerly upon me?
Why spreads that burning crimson o'er your face
But now so pale? If you did know me, Sir,
You wou'd not do me harm.
Per.
I do believe thee.
Nay, turn thy eyes upon me—O how like!—
Such things I've heard—Inform me what thou art.
Mar.
I am what I appear, a simple Maid.
Per.
My long pent sorrow rages for a vent,
And will o'erflow in tears. Such was my wife,
And such an one my daughter might have been.
My Queen's square brows, her stature to an inch,
As wand like strait, as silver voic'd, her eyes
As jewels like, in pace another Juno:
And then, like her, she starves the ears she feeds,
And makes them crave the more, the more she speaks.
Where were you born? and how did you atchieve
Endowments, that you make more rich by owning?
Mar.
If I shou'd tell my story it wou'd seem
Like lyes, disdaining the disguise of truth,
And found in the reporting.
Per.
Prithee, speak.
Thou seem'st a palace for crown'd truth to dwell in:
No falshood can come from thee. Sweet, begin,
And I will make my senses to give credit
To points that seem impossible. I think,
Thou said'st thou had'st been toss'd from wrong to wrong,
-- 35 --
And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mine,
If both were open'd.
Mar.
Some such thing I said,
And said no more than what I thought was likely.
Per.
Rehearse what thou hast born: If that consider'd
Prove but the thousandth part of my endurance,
I will forego my sex, thou art a man,
And I have suffer'd like a girl. Yet thou
Dost look like patience, gazing on Kings graves,
And wooing with her smiles resolv'd extremity,
To spare himself, and wait a better day.
My most kind virgin, come and sit down by me.
Recount, I do beseech thee, what's thy name.
Mar.
My name, Sir, is Marina.
Per. (Rising)
O! I'm mock'd,
And thou by some incensed God sent hither,
To make the world laugh at me.
Mar.
Nay, have patience,
Or here I'll cease.
Per.
I will, I will have patience.
Mar.
That name was giv'n me by a King and Father.
Per.
How! a King's daughter too! and call'd Marina!
Mar.
Did you not say you wou'd believe me, Sir?
But not to be a troubler of your peace,
I will end here.
Per.
But are you flesh and blood?
Have you a working pulse? are you no spirit?—
Substance and motion—Well, where were you born?
And wherefore call'd Marina?
-- 54 --
Mar.
I was born
At sea, and from that circumstance so named.
Per.
Hold, hold awhile. This is the rarest dream,
That e'er dull sleep did mock sad fool withal.
How shou'd this be my child?—Buried and here,
Living and dead at once—It cannot be.
Mar.
'Twere best I did give o'er.
Per.
Yet give me leave.
Where were you bred? How came you to these parts?
Mar.
The King, my father, did in Tharsus leave me,
Till Philoten, the Queen, sought to destroy me;
And having won a villain to attempt it,
A crew of pirates came and rescued me,
Who brought me here.
Per.
You Gods! if I'm deceiv'd
Ne'er let me wake again—Marina!—O!
(takes her hand.
Mar.
Why do you wring my wrist? Where wou'd you draw me?
Why do you weep, good Sir? what moves you thus?
In sooth, I'm no imposture, but the daughter
Of good King Pericles.
Per.
I'll praise the Gods,
Their power, and goodness, ever while I breath.
I've been a sinful man; but from this hour,
In darkness and distress I'll wait their mercy,
And ne'er distrust them more.
Tha.
You mighty Gods!
Whose boundless goodness still delights to triumph
O'er our demerits and confirm'd despair,
And evidence the wisdom of your counsels,
-- 55 --
By shewing man the folly of his own;
What are you doing now to raise our wonder!
That voice and person grow familiar to me.
Doth my Lord live! hath Pericles a daughter!
It cannot, cannot be. Then who are these?
I'm deeply int'rested, yet know not how.
Some God, instruct me what to hope or fear,
To ask or deprecate. Stupid amazement
Obstructs my powers—When will these clouds disperse,
And day break in on my benighted mind?
Per.
But one thing more: Tell me, who was thy mother?
Mar.
She was the daughter of the King of Cyprus.
Tha.
O let me hear the rest.
Mar.
Her name Thaisa:
Who, as Lychorida oft told me weeping,
Did end the very moment I began.
Per.
You Gods! you Gods! your present kindness makes
All my past mis'ries sport—
I'm Pericles of Tyre.
Mar.
My royal Father!—
(kneels; he raises her.
Tha.
You gracious Gods! if now you take me hence,
I shall not taste the joys of your Elizium.
(faints.
Lys.
What! ho! help here: The holy Priestess dies.
Mar.
The heav'nly pow'rs forbid.
Lys.
She did observe
The progress of this strange discovery,
With strong emotions and unusual transports.
Per.
I pray who is this Lady?
-- 56 --
Lys.
A miracle of goodness, sent by Heav'n
To make this land most happy. In her bloom,
After a tempest, in the which 'twas thought
All her companions perish'd, she was cast
Here on our coast.
Per.
Near it I lost the mother
Of my Marina.
Tha.
Hark, what musick's that?
Per.
These very hands did cast into those seas
The treasure of my soul.
Tha.
I know it now:
It is the harmony the spheres do make—
Nay do not weep—I am but overjoy'd—
I shall recover strait.
Per.
Pray, how long since
Was this strange chance you speak of?
Lys.
'Tis, I've heard,
About as many years as your fair daughter
Seems to be old.
Per.
I do begin to doat;
And yet the Gods are mighty as they're good.
How was she found?
Lys.
Close in a sailor's coffer.
She seem'd a breathless corpse; but my good father,
(Now with the Gods) by his superior skill
Did find it was not so, and by his art,
Which equall'd his humanity, restor'd her
To health and vigour.
Tha.
Where, O where's my Lord?
Per.
Thaisa's voice!
Tha.
Yet let me look again:
If he be none of mine, my sanctity
-- 57 --
Shall guard me still from his licentious touch—
I'll none but Pericles.
Per.
Her face, her stature,
That beauty that nor time nor grief cou'd change—
It is, it can be, none but my Thaisa.
Tha.
But dare we trust?—
Per.
By Jove, I'd not be kept
A moment longer absent from thy bosom,
Tho' I were sure as I did press thy lips,
My high wrought spirits wou'd dissolve to air,
And leave me cold and lifeless in thy arms.
Tha.
You sons and daughters of adversity,
Preserve your innocence, and each light grief,
(So bounteous are the Gods to those who serve them)
Shall be rewarded with ten thousand joys.
Mar.
My heart bounds in me, and wou'd fain be gone
Into my mother's bosom.
Per.
See who kneels there, thy Child and mine, Thaisa,
Bought almost with thy life.
Tha.
And cheaply purchased.
Blest and my own! Thou mak'st my joy compleat.
Esc.
Hail, royal master.
Lys.
Happy monarch, hail.
Per.
O good Escanes, strike me, noble Sir,
Give me a gash, put me to present pain;
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me,
O'er bear the mounds of frail mortality,
And sweetness be my bane. O come, come both:
Thou whom the boundless ocean gave me back,
O let me bury thee a second time,
-- 58 --
And hide thee in my heart; and thou who gavest
Him life who did beget thee, come thou too:
There's endless space, and as repleat with love
As the great deep with waters. Wou'd our voices
Rise with our thoughts, we'd thank the holy Gods
As loud as their high thunder threaten'd us,
When thou wast born, and thou did'st seem to die.
This tribute paid not to our will but power,
I do resolve for Tharsus; there to strike
Th' inhospitable Queen.
Lys.
I have advice,
My Lord, that she is slain by Leonine,
One who was poison'd by her.
Mar.
That's the wretch
She hir'd to murder me.
Lys.
'Tis added too,
She dy'd in evil fame and unlamented.
Then, mighty Sir, repose your self awhile
After your weary griefs, and make our court
Proud with your presence.
Per.
You're a noble host,
And sue to purchase trouble with expence;
Injoy thy wish.
Lys.
Herein I'm highly honour'd.
But, royal Sir, I've yet a bolder suit.
Per.
Your princely Sire preserv'd Thaisa's life,
And you are master of as gracious parts
In mind and form, as any I e'er noted;
You shall prevail, be it to woo my daughter.
Lys.
Thanks, royal Sir. If she accept my vows,
I am the very happiest of mankind.
Tha.
And she, sweet maid, most happily bestow'd.
-- 59 --
O my dear Lord, he has been noble to her;
But that and all we've proved since our sad parting,
We will rehearse at leisure. I have had
From sure intelligence the heavy news
Of my good Father's death, and that our subjects
In peace and loyalty do wait our coming.
Per.
Heav'n make a star of him. Yet here, my Queen,
We'll celebrate their nuptials; and our selves
Will in fair Cyprus spend our future days,
And to our children leave the crown of Tyre.
To cast new light on truth, in us is seen,
Tho' long assail'd with fortunes fierce and keen,
Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast,
Led on by Heav'n, and crown'd with joy at last.
The END.
