The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare

And time that is so briefly spent,
With your fine fancies quaintly eche;'
What's dumb in show, I'll plain with speech.

Dumb show.

Having call'd them from the deep! O still thy

deaf'ning,

Thy dreadful thunders; gently quench thy nimble,
Sulphureous flashes!-O how, Lychorida,
How does my queen ?-Thou storm, thou! venom.
ously10

Enter Pericles and Simonides at one door, with
Attendants; a Messenger meets him, kneels, and Wilt thou spit all thyself?-The seaman's whistle
gives Pericles a letter. Pericles shows it to Simon- Is as a whisper in the ears of death,
ides; the Lords kneel to the former. Then enter Unheard.-Lychorida!-Lucina," O
Simonides Divinest patroness, and midwife, gentle
Thaisa with child, and Lychorida.
shows his daughter the letter; she rejoices: she To those that cry by night, convey thy deity
and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart. Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs
Of my queen's travails!-Now, Lychorida-
Then Simonides, &c. retire.

Gow. By many a dearn2 and painful perch,3
Of Pericles the careful search,

By the four opposing coignes,*
Which the world together joins,
Is made, with all due diligence,

That horse, and sail, and high expense,
Can stead the quest." At last from Tyre
(Fame answering the most strong inquire,)
To the court of king Simonides
Are letters brought; the tenor 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 there he hastes t'appease :
Says to them, if king Pericles
Come not, in twice six moons, home,
He obedient to their doom,
Will take the crown.

The sum of this,

Brought hither to Pentapolis,
Y-ravished the regions round,
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 wo;)
Lychorida, her nurse, she takes,
And so to sea. Their vessel shakes
On Neptune's billow; half the flood
Hath their keel cut; but fortune's mood
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,
Shall, for itself, itself perform.
I nills relate; action may
Conveniently the rest convey:
Which might not what by me is told.
In your imagination hold

This stage, the ship, upon whose deck
The sea-tost prince appears to speak.

Enter Lychorida, with an infant.

Lyc. Here is a thing

Too young for such a place, who if it had
Conceit 2 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.
Here's all that is left living of your queen,-

A little daughter; for the sake of it,

Be manly, and take comfort.

Per.

O you gods!

Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,

And snatch them straight away? We, here below,
Recall not what we give, and therein may
Vie honour13 with yourselves.

Patience, good sir,

Now, mild may be thy life!

For a more blust'rous birth had never babe:
Quiet and gentle thy conditions!

For thou'rt the rudéliest welcom❜d to this world,
That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows!
Thou hast as chiding a nativity,

As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,
To herald thee from the womb: even at the first,
Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit,15
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 flaw;16
It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love'
Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer,
I would, it would be quiet.

1 Sail. Slack the bolins there; thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself.

2 Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not.

1 Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard; the sea works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie, till the ship be cleared of the dead.

Per. That's your superstition.

1 Sail. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it still hath been observed; and we are strong in earnest. [Exit. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard straight.

SCENE I.-Enter Pericles, on a ship at sea.
Per. Thou god of this great vast,' rebuke these

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, but straight

(11) The goddess of child-bearing.

(12) Thought. (13) Contend with you in honour,
(14) As noisy a one.

(15) Than thy entrance into life can requite.
(16) Blast. (17) Bowlines, reves of the sails.

Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze;
Where, for a monument upon thy bones,

And aye-remaining lamps, the belching whale,
And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse,
Lying with simple shells. Lychorida,
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and paper;
My casket, and my jewels; and bid Nicander
Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe
Upon the pillow; hie thee, whiles I say
A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.
[Exit Lychorida.

2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulk'd and bitum'd ready.

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

2 Sail. We are near Tharsus.

Per. Thither, gentle mariner,

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 I can speak of the disturbances

That nature works, and of her cures; which gives

A more content in course of true delight
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,
Or tie my treasure up 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

Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it? Your creatures, who by you have been restor❜d.

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.

And not your knowledge, 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.

[Exeunt.

Serv. So; lift there.

What is that?

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 has been a turbulent and stormy night.

Cer.

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

Set 't down, let's look on 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'ercharg'd with gold, It is a good constraint of fortune, that

Serv. I have been in many; but such a night as It belches upon us.

this,

Till now I ne'er endur'd.

'Tis so, my lord.

2 Gent.
Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitum'd!—
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 god! what's here? a corse? i Gent. Most strange!

Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and en

treasur'd

With bags of spices full! A passport too! Apollo, perfect me i'the characters!

Here I give to understand,

[Unfolds a scroll.

[Reads.

(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 wo!-This chanc'd to-night.
2 Gent. Most likely, sir.
Cer.
Nav, certainly to-night,
For look, how fresh she looks!-They were too

The music there.-I pray you, give her air :Gentlemen,

thou

This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth
Breathes out of her; she hath not been entranc'd
Above five hours. See, how she 'gins to blow
Into life's flower again!
The heavens, sir,

1 Gent.
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
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?
2 Gent. Is not this strange?
1 Gent.

Cer.

Most rare.

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, come; And Esculapius guide us!

[Exeunt, carrying Thaisa away.

SCENE III.-Tharsus. A room in Cleon's house. Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionýza, 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 shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,

Dion.

Yet glance full wand'ringly on us.
O your sweet queen!
That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought

her hither,

To have bless mine eyes!

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 babe Marina (whom, For she was born at sea, I have nam'd so,) here I charge your charity withal, and leave her The infant of your care; beseeching you To give her princely training, that she may be Manner'd as she is born.

Cle.
Fear not, my lord:
Your grace,' that fed my country with your corn
(For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,)
Must in your child be thought on. If neglection
Should therein make me vile, the common body,"
By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty:
But if to that my nature need a spur,
The gods revenge it upon me and mine,
To the end of generation!

(1) Favour. (2) The common people.
Appear wilful, perverse by such conduct.

I believe you;

Per.
Your honour and your goodness teach me credit,
Without your vows. Till she be married, madam,
By bright Diana, whom we honour all,
Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain,
Though I show will' in't. So I take my leave.
Good madam, make me blessed in your care
In bringing up my child.

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,* and
The gentlest winds of heaven.

Per.
I will embrace
Your offer. Come, dear'st 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 shipp'd at sea, I well remember,
Even on my yearning time; but whether there
Delivered or no, by the holy gods,

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,
Where you may 'bide until your date expire.
Diana's temple is not distant far,
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine
Shall there attend you.

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

ACT IV.

Enter Gower.

Gow. Imagine Pericles at Tyre,
Welcom'd to his own desire.
His woful queen leave at Ephess,
To Dian there a votaress.

Now to Marina bend your mind,

Whom our fast growing scene must find
At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd
In music, letters; who hath gain'd
Of education all the grace,

Which makes her both the heart and place
Of general wonder. But alack!
That monster envy, oft the wrack
Of earned praise, Marina's life
Seeks to take off by treason's knife.
And in this kind hath our Cleon
One daughter, and a wench full grown.
Even ripe for marriage fight; 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 sleided silk

(4) Insidious waves that wear a treacherous smil (5) Groaning. (6) Called. (7) Untwisted.

With fingers long, small, white as milk;
Or when she would with sharp neeld' wound
The cambric, which she made more sound
By hurting it; or when to the lute
She sung, and made the night-bird mute,
That still records2 with moan; or when
She would with rich and constant pen
Vail to her mistress Dian; still
This Philoten contends in skill
With absolute Marina: so

With the dove of Paphos might the crow
Vie feathers white. 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 rare,
A present murderer does prepare
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
Prests for this blow. The unborn event
I do commend to your content:

Only I carry winged time

Post on the lame feet of my ryhme;
Which never could I so convey,

Unless your thoughts went on my way.-
Dionyza does 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 it:

'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. Thou canst not do a thing i'the world so soon

To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,

Which is but cold, inflame love in thy bosom,
Inflame 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 should have her.

Here

Enter Marina, with a basket of flowers. Mar. No, no, I will rob Tellus of her weed,

To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues,

The purple violets, and marigolds,

Shall, as a chaplet, hang upon thy grave,

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 heart. We every day
Expect him here: when he shall come, and find
Our paragon to all reports, 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 cheerful once again; reserve
That excellent complexion, which did steal
The eyes of young and old. Care not for me;
I can go home alone.

Mar.

Well, I will go;

But yet I have no desire to it.

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.

Thanks, sweet madam.[Exit Dionyza

Is this wind westerly that blows?
Leon.

South-west.

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 deck, and from the ladder-
tackle

Wash'd off a canvas-climber: Ha! says one,
Wilt out? and, with a dropping industry,
They skip from stem to stern: the boatswain whis-
tles,

The master calls, and trebles their confusion.

Leon. And when was this?

I never spake bad word, nor did nì turn

While summer days do last. Ah me! poor maid, To any living creature: believe me, la,

Born in a tempest, when my mother died,
This world to me is like a lasting storm,
Whirring me from my friends.

Dion. How now, Marina! why do you keep
alone?

I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly:
I trod upon a worm against my will,
But I wept for it. How have I offended,
Wherein my death might yield her profit, or
My life imply her danger?
Leon.

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

How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not
Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have
A nurse of me. Lord! how your favour's' chang'd_Mar. You will not do't for all the world, I hope.
With this unprofitable wo! Come, come;

You are well-favour'd, and your looks foreshow Give me your wreath of flowers. Ere the sea mar it, You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately, Walk forth with Leonine; the air is quick there,

When you caught hurt in parting two that fought: Piercing, and sharpens well the stomach. Come;-Good sooth, it show'd well in you; do so now: Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.

Your lady seeks my life; come you between,
And save poor me, the weaker.

(8) i. e. Ere the sea, by the coming in of the tide, mar your walk.

(9) A ship-boy.

Leon.

And will despatch.

1 Pirate. Hold, villain!

2 Pirate. A prize! a prize!

I am sworn,

Enter Pirates, whilst Marina is struggling.

[Leonine runs away.

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

Come, [Exeunt Pirates with Marina. SCENE II.-The same. Re-enter Leonine. Leon. These roving thieves serve the great pirate Valdes;

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 prosper.

Bawd. Thou say'st true: 'tis not the bringing up of poor bastards, as I think I have brought up some eleven

Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down again. But shall I search the market?

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

Pand. Thou say'st true; they are too unwholesome o'conscience. The poor Transilvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage.

Boult. Ay, she quickly poop'd him; 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. Bad. 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 danger; therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatched. Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods, will be strong with us for giving

over.

Band. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. 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 Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not.

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

(1) i. e. Half-open. (2) Bid a high price for her.

VOL. II.

pieces.

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 entertainment.

[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 first. Such a maidenhead 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 not overboard
Thrown me, 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.

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, goslin: 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 returned.

Enter Boult.

Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?

Boult. I have cried 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 listened to me, as they would have hearkened to their father's testament. There was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went to bed to her very description.

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

Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that cowers' i'the hams? 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-morrow.

Bawd. Well, well; as for him, he brought his dis

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare, Volumen2