Cer.
Philemon, ho! Enter Philemon.

Phil.
Doth my lord call^{7 note}?

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

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

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,
And tell me how it works. [To Philemon. [Exeunt Philemon, Servant, and the rest. Enter Two Gentlemen.

1 Gent.
Good morrow, sir.

2 Gent.
Good morrow to your lordship.

Cer.
Gentlemen,
Why do you stir so early?

1 Gent.
Sir,
Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,

Shook, as the earth did quake;
The very principals did seem to rend,
And all to topple. Pure surprise and fear
Made me to quit 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
Rich tire about you, should at these early hours
Shake off the golden slumber of repose.
'Tis most strange,
Nature should be so conversant with pain,
Being thereto not compell'd.

Cer.
I hold it ever,
Virtue and cunning^{8 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 physic, 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;
And can speak of the disturbances that nature
Works, and of her cures; which doth give me
A more content in course of true delight
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,
Or tie my treasure up^{9 note} in silken bags,
To please the fool and death.

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

Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd:
And not your knowledge, 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.

Serv.
So; lift there.

Cer.
What is that?

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

Cer.
Set it down; let's look upon't.

2 Gent.
'Tis like a coffin, sir.

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

2 Gent.
'Tis so, my lord.

Cer.
How close 'tis caulk'd and bitum'd^{1 note}.
Did the sea cast it up?

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

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

2 Gent.
A delicate odour.

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

1 Gent.
Most strange!

Cer.
Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and entreasured
With full bags of spices! A passport too:
Apollo, perfect me i' the characters! [Unfolds a Scroll.

[Reads.
“Here I give to understand,
(If e'er this coffin drive a-land)
I, king Pericles, have lost
This queen, worth all our mundane cost.
Who finds her, give her burying;
She was the daughter of a king:
Besides this treasure for a fee,
The gods requite his charity!”
If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart
That even cracks for woe!—This chanc'd to-night.

2 Gent.
Most likely, sir.

Cer.
Nay, certainly to-night;
For look, how fresh she looks.—They were too rough,
That threw her in the sea. Make fire within:
Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet.
Death may usurp on nature many hours,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The overpressed spirits. I heard
Of an Egyptian, that had nine hours lien dead,
Who was by good appliance recovered^{2 note}. Enter a Servant, with Boxes, Napkins, and Fire.
Well said, well said; the fire and the cloths.—
The rough and woful music that we have,
Cause it to sound, 'beseech you.
The vial once more;—how thou stirr'st, thou block!—
The music there!—I pray you, give her air.
Gentlemen,
This queen will live: nature awakes a warm

Breath out of her^{3 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, increase our wonder, and set up
Your fame for ever.

Cer.
She is alive! behold,
Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels
Which Pericles hath lost,
Begin to part their fringes of bright gold:
The diamonds of a most praised water
Do appear to make the world twice rich. 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?

2 Gent.
Is not this strange?

1 Gent.
Most rare.

Cer.
Hush, 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;
And Æsculapius guide us! [Exeunt, carrying Thaisa away.

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