Part 2 out of 3
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.
That is the cause we trouble you so early;
'Tis not our husbandry.
O, you say well.
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.
I hold it ever,
Virtue and cunning 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 I 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 in silken bags,
To please the fool and death.
Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth
Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
Your creatures, who by you have been restored:
And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even
Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon
Such strong renown as time shall ne'er decay.
[Enter two or three Servants with a chest.]
So; lift there.
What is that?
Sir, even now
Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest:
'Tis of some wreck.
Set 't down, let's look upon 't.
'Tis like a coffin, sir.
Whate'er it be,
'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:
If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold,
'Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.
'Tis so, my lord.
How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed!
Did the sea cast it up?
I never saw so huge a billow, sir,
As toss'd it upon shore.
Wrench it open;
Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.
A delicate odour.
As ever hit my nostril. So up with it.
O you most potent gods! what's here? a corse!
Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and entreasured
With full bags of spices! A passport too!
Apollo, perfect me in the characters!
[Reads from a scroll.]
'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 her, give her burying;
She was the daughter of a king:
Besides this treasure for a fee,
The gods requite his charity!'
If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart
That even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.
Most likely, sir.
Nay, certainly to-night;
For look how fresh she looks! They were too rough
That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within
Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet.
[Exit a Servant.]
Death may usurp on nature many hours,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The o'erpress'd spirits. I heard of an Egyptian
That had nine hours lien dead,
Who was by good appliance recovered.
[Re-enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, and fire.
Well said, well said; the fire and cloths.
The rough and woeful music that we have,
Cause it to sound, beseech you
The viol once more: how thou stirr'st, thou block!
The music there! -- I pray you, give her air.
This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth
Breathes out of her: she hath not been entranced
Above five hours: see how she gins to blow
Into life's flower again!
Through you, increase our wonder and set up
Your fame for ever.
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.
And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature,
Rare as you seem to be.
O dear Diana,
Where am I? Where's my lord? What world is this?
Is not this strange?
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;
And AEsculapius guide us!
[Exeunt, carrying her away.]
SCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon's house.
[Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, and Lychorida with Marina in her
Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone;
My twelve months are expired, 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!
Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,
Yet glance full wanderingly on us.
O, your sweet queen!
That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,
To have bless'd mine eyes with her!
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 named 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.
Fear not, my lord, but think
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 relieved, 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!
I believe you;
Your honour and your goodness teach me to 't,
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 ill in 't. So I take my leave
Good madam, make me blessed in your care
In bringing up my child.
I have one myself,
Who shall not be mere dear to my respect
Than yours, my lord.
Madam, my thanks and prayers.
We'll bring your grace e'en to the edge o' the shore,
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune and
The gentlest winds of heaven.
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.
SCENE IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon's house.
[Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.]
Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,
Lay with you in your coffer: which are now
At your command. Know you the character?
It is my lord's.
That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember,
Even on my eaning time; but whether there
Deliver'd, 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.
Madam, if this you purpose as ye speak,
Diana's temple is not distant far,
Where you may abide till your date expire.
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine
Shall there attend you.
My recompense is thanks, that's all;
Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.
Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,
Welcomed and settled to his own desire.
His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,
Unto Diana there a votaress.
Now to Marina bend your mind,
Whom our fast-growing scene must find
At Tarsus, 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-rite; this maid
Hight Philoten: and it is said
For certain in our story, she
Would ever with Marina be:
Be't when she weaved the sleided silk
With fingers long, small, white as milk;
Or when she would with sharp needle 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 records 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
Prest for this blow. The unborn event
I do commend to your content:
Only I carry winged time
Post on the lame feet of my rhyme;
Which never could I so convey,
Unless your thoughts went on my way.
Dionyza does appear,
With Leonine, a murderer.
Scene I. Tarsus. An open place near the sea-shore.
[Enter Dionyza and Leonine.]
Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do 't:
'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, inflaming love i' thy bosom,
Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be
A soldier to thy purpose.
I will do't; but yet she is a goodly creature.
The fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here she comes
weeping for her only mistress' death. Thou art resolved?
I am resolved.
[Enter Marina, with a basket of flowers.]
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 carpet hang upon thy grave,
While summer-days do last. Ay me! poor maid,
Born in a tempest, when my mother died,
This world to me is like a lasting storm,
Whirring me from my friends.
How now, Marina! why do you keep alone?
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 changed
With this unprofitable woe!
Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.
Walk with Leonine; the air is quick there,
And it pierces and sharpens the stomach.
Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.
No, I pray you;
I'll not bereave you of your servant.
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 taken
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.
Well, I will go;
But yet I have no desire to it.
Come, come, I know 'tis good for you.
Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least:
Remember what I have said.
I warrant you, madam.
I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while:
Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood:
What! I must have a care of you.
My thanks, sweet madam.
Is this wind westerly that blows?
When I was born, the wind was north.
Was 't so?
My father, as nurse said, did never fear,
But cried 'Good seamen!' to the sailors, galling
His kingly hands, haling ropes;
And, clasping to the mast, endured a sea
That almost burst the deck.
When was this?
When I was born:
Never was waves nor wind more violent;
And from the ladder-tackle washes off
A canvas-climber. 'Ha!' says one, wilt out?'
And with a dropping industry they skip
From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and
The master calls, and trebles their confusion.
Come, say your prayers.
What mean you?
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.
Why will you kill rne?
To satisfy my lady.
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 spoke 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 it. How have I offended,
Wherein my death might yield her any profit,
Or my life imply her any danger?
Is not to reason of the deed, but do it.
You will not do 't for all the world, I hope.
You are well favour'd, and your looks foreshow
You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,
When you caught hurt in parting two that fought:
Good sooth, it show'd well in you: do so now:
Your lady seeks my life; come you between,
And save poor me, the weaker.
I am sworn,
And will dispatch.
[He seizes her.]
[Leonine runs away.]
A prize! a prize!
Half-part, mates, half-part,
Comes, let's have her aboard suddenly.
[Exeunt Pirates with Marina.]
These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes;
And they hav seized Marina. Let her go:
Thre's no hope she will 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.
Scene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel.
[Enter Pandar, Bawd, and Boult.]
Search the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of gallants. We lost
too much money this mart by being too wenchless.
We were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three,
and they can do no more than they can do; and they with continual
action are even as good as rotten.
Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'r we pay for them. If
there be not a conscience to be used in every trade, we shall
Thou sayest true: 'tis not our bringing up of poor bastards, --
as, I think, I have bought up some eleven --
Ay, to eleven; and brought them down again. But shall I search
What else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blo it to
pieces, they are so pitifully sodden.
Thou sayest true; they're too unwholesome, o' conscience. The
poor Transylvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage.
Ay, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat for worms.
But I'll go search the market.
Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to
live quietly, and so give over.
Wgy to give over, I pray you? is it a shame to get when we are
O, our credit comes not in like the commodity , nor the commodity
wages not with the danger: therfore, 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.
Come, others sorts offend as well as we.
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.
[Re-enter Boult, with the Pirates and Marina.]
Come your ways. My masters, you say she's a virgin?
O, sir, we doubt it not.
Master, I have gone through for this piece, you see: if you like
her, so; if not, I have lost my earnest.
Boult, has she any qualities?
She has a good face, speaks well, and has excellent clothes:
ther's no further necessity of qualities can make her be refused.
What is her price, Boult?
I cannot be baited one doit of a thousand pieces.
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 Pandar and Pirates.]
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.
Performance shall follow.
Alack that Leonine was so slack, so slow!
He should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates,
Not enough barbarous, had not o'erboard thrown me
For to seek my mother!
Why lament you, pretty one?
That I am pretty.
Come, the gods have done their part in you.
I accuse them not.
You are light into my hands, where you are like to live.
The more my fault
To scape his hands where I was like to die.
Ay, and you shall live in pleasure.
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?
Are you a woman?
What would you have me be, an I be not a woman?
An honest woman, or not a woman.
Marry, whip the, gosling: I think I shall have something to do
with you. Come, you're a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed
as I would have you.
The gods defend me!
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.
Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?
I have cried her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn
her picture with my voice.
And I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the
people, especially of the younger sort?
'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.
We shall have him here to-morrow: with his best ruff on.
To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you know the French knight
that cowers i' the hams?
Who, Monsieur Veroles?
Ay, he: he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he
made a groan at it, and swore he would see her to-morrow.
Well. well; as for him, he brought his disease hither: here he
does but repair it. I know he will come in our shadow, to
scatter his crowns in the sun.
Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, we should lodge them
with this sign.
Pray you, come hither awhile. You have fortunes coming upon you.
Mark me: you must seem to do that fearfully which you commit
willingly, despise profit where you have most gain. To weep that
you live as ye do makes pity in your lovers: seldom but that
pity begets you a good opinion, and that opinion a mere profit.
I understand you not.
O, take her home, mistress, take her home: these blushes of hers
must be quenched with some present practice.
Thou sayest true, i' faith so they must; for your bride goes to
that with shame which is her way to go with warrant.
'Faith, some do and some do not. But, mistress, if I have
bargained for the joint, --
Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.
I may so.
Who should deny it? Come young one, I like the manner of your
Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.
Boult, spend thou that in the town: report what a sojourner we
have; you'll lose nothing by custom. When nature framed this
piece, she meant thee a good turn; therefore say what a paragon
she is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own report.
I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of
eels as my giving out her Beauty stir up the lewdly-inclined.
I'll bring home some to-night.
Come your ways; follow me.
If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep.
Diana, aid my purpose!
What have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us?
SCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon's house.
[Enter Cleon and Dionyza.]
Why, are you foolish? Can it be undone?
O, Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter
The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon!
You'll turn a child agan.
Were I chief lord of all this spacious world,
I'ld give it to undo the deed. 0 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, 't had been a kindness
Becoming well thy fact: what canst thou say
When noble Pericles shall demand his child?
That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,
To foster it, nor ever to preserve.
She died at night; I'11 say so. Who can cross it?
Unless you play the pious innocent,
And for an honest attribute cry out
'She died by foul play.'
O, go to. Well, well,
Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods
Do like this worst.
Be one of those that think.
The petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence,
And open this to Pericles. I do shame
To think of what a noble strain you are,
And of how coward a spirit.
To such proceeding
Whoever but his approbation added,
Though not his prime consent, he did not flow
From honourable sources,
Be it so, then:
Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead,
Nor none can know, Leonine being gone.
She did distain 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 at and held a malkin
Not worth the time of day. It pierced me through;
And though you call my course unnatural,
You not your child well loving, yet I find
It greets me as an enterprise of kindness
Perform'd to your sole daughter.
Heavens forgive it!
And as for Pericles,
What should he say? We wept after her hearse,
And 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 expense 'tis done.
Thou art like the harpy,
Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face,
Seize with thine eagle's talons.
You are like one that superstitiously
Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies:
But yet I know you'll do as I advise.
[Enter Gower, before the monument of Marina at Tarsus.]
Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short;
Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for 't;
Making, to take your imagination,
From bourn to bourn, 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,
The stages of our story. Pericles
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas
Attended on by many a lord and knight,
To see his daughter, all his life's deight.
Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late
Advanced in time to great and high estate.
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 Tarsus, -- think his pilot thought;
So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on, --
To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.
Like motes and shadows see them move awhile;
Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile.
[Enter Pericles, at one door, with all his train; Cleon and
Dionyza, at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb; whereat
Pericles makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a
mighty passion departs. Then exeunt Cleon and Dionyza.]
See how belief may suffer by foul show;
This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe;
And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd,
With sighs shot through; and biggest tears o'ershower'd,
Leaves Tarsus 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 wit
The epitaph is for Marina writ
By wicked Dionyza.
[Reads the inscription on Marina's monument.]
'The fairest, sweet'st, and 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 earth:
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 flint.'
No visor does become black villany
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 scene must play
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day
In her unholy service. Patience, then,
And think you now are all in Mytilene.
SCENE V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel.
[Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen.]
Did you ever hear the like?
No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once
But to have divinity preached there! did you ever dream of such a
No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy-houses: shall's go hear the
I'll do any thing now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road
of rutting for ever.
SCENE VI. The same. A room in the brothel.
[Enter Pandar, Bawd, and Boult.]
Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her she had ne'er come
Fie, fie upon her! she's able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo
a whole generation. We must either get her ravished, 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.
'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll disfurnish us of all our
cavaliers, and make our swearers priests.
Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for me!
'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't but by the way to the pox.
Here comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.
We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would
but give way to customers.
How now! How a dozen of virginities?
Now, the gods to bless your honour!
I am glad to see your honour in good health.
You may so; 'tis the better for you that your resorters stand
upon sound legs. How now! wholesome iniquity have you that a
man may deal withal, and defy the surgeon?
We have here one, sir, if she would -- but there never came her
like in Mytilene.
If she'ld do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say.
Your honour knows what 'tis to say well enough.
Well, call forth, call forth.
For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose;
and she were a rose indeed, if she had but --
O, sir, I can be modest.
That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less than it gives a good
report to a number to be chaste.
Here comes that which grows to the stalk; never plucked yet, I
can assure you.
[Re-enter Boult with Marina.]
Is she not a fair creature?
'Faith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea. Well, there's
for you: leave us.
I beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and I'll have done
I beseech you, do.
First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man.
I desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him.
Next, he's the governor of this country, and a man whom I am
If he govern the country, you are bound to him indeed; but how
honourable he is in that, I know not.
Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him
kindly? He will line your apron with gold.
What he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.
Ha' you done?
My lord, she's not paced yet: you must take some pains to work
her to your manage. Come, we will leave his honour and her
together. Go thy ways.
[Exeunt Bawd, Pandar, and Boult.]
Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?
What trade, sir?
Why, I cannot name't but I shall offend.
I cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.
How long have you been of this profession?
E'er since I can remember?
Did you go to't so young? Were you a gamester at five or at
Earlier, too, sir, if now I be one.
Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of
Do you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will
come into 't? I hear say you are of honourable parts, and are
the governor of this place.
Why, hath your principal made known unto you who I am?
Who is my principal?
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.
If you were born to honour, show it now;
If put upon you, make the judgement good
That thought you worthy of it.
How 's this? how 's this? Some more; be sage.
That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune
Have placed me in this sty, where, since I came,
Diseases have been sold dearer than physic,
O, that the 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!
I did not think
Thou couldst have spoke so well; ne'er dream'd thou couldst.
Had I brought hither a corrupted mind,
Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here 's gold for thee:
Persever in that clear way thou goest,
And the gods strengthen thee!
The good gods preserve you!
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 virtue, 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 dost
Hear from me, it shall be for thy good.
I beseech your honour, one piece for me.
Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper!
Your house but for this virgin that doth prop it,
Would sink and overwhelm you. Away!
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 cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded
like a spaniel. Come your ways.
Whither would you have me?
I must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common hangman
shall execute it. Come your ways. We'll have no more
gentlemen driven away. Come your ways, I say.
How now! what's the matter?
Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the
She makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of
Marry, hang her up for ever!
The nobleman would have dealt with her like a nobleman, and she
sent him away as cold as a snowball; saying his prayers too.
Boult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure: crack the glass of
her virginity, and make the rest malleable.
An if she were a thornier piece of ground than she is, she shall
Hark, hark, you gods!
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 women-kind? Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with
rosemary and bays!
Come, mistress; come your ways with me.
Whither wilt thou have me?
To take from you the jewel you hold so dear.
Prithee, tell me one thing first.
Come now, your one thing.
What canst thou wish thine enemy to be?
Why, I could wish him to he my master, or rather, my mistress.
Neither of these are so had 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 doorkeeper to every
Coistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib;
To the choleric fisting of every rogue
Thy ear is liable, thy food is such
As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.
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?
Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty
Old receptacles, or common shores, of filth;
Serve by indenture to the common hangman:
Any of these ways are yet better than this;
For what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak,
Would own a name too dear. O, that the gods
Would safely deliver me from this place!
Here, here's gold for thee.
If that thy master would gain 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 scholars.
But can you teach all this you speak of?
Prove that I cannot, take me home again,
And prostitute me to the basest groom
That doth frequent your house.
Well, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can place thee, I
But amongst honest women.
'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.
ome, I'll do for thee what I can; come your ways.
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 lays;
Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her neeld composes
Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry,
That even her art sistrs the natural roses;
Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry:
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 place;
And to her father turn our thoughts again,
Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost;
Whence, driven before the winds, he is arrived
Here where his daughter dwells; and on this coast
Suppose him now at anchor. The city strived
God Neptune's annual feast to keep: from whence
Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies,
His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense;
And to him in his barge with fervour hies.
In your supposing once more put your sight
Of heavy Pericles; think this his bark:
Where what is done in action, more, if might,
Shall be discover'd; please you, sit and hark.
SCENE I. On board Pericles' ship, off Mytilene. 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.]
[To the Sailor of Mytilene.]
Where is lord Helicanus? he can resolve you.
O, here he is.
Sir, there's a barge put off from Mytilene,
And in it is Lysimachus the governor,
Who craves to come aboard. What is your will?
That he have his. Call up some gentlemen.
Ho, gentlemen! my lord calls.
[Enter two or three Gentlemen.]
Doth your lordship call?
Gentlemen, there s some of worth would come aboard;
I pray ye, greet them fairly.
[The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, and go on board the
Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; with the Gentlemen and
the two sailors.
This is the man that can, in aught you would,
Hail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!
And you, sir, to outlive the age I am,
And die as I would do.
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.
First, what is your place?
I am the governor of this place you lie before.
Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;
A man who for this three months hath not spoken
To any one, nor taken sustenance
But to prorogue his grief.
Upon what ground is his distemperature?
'Twould be too tedious to repeat;
But the main grief springs from the loss
Of a beloved daughter and a wife.
May we not see him?
But bootless is your sight: he will not speak
Yet let me obtain my wish.
This was a goodly person.
Till the disaster that, one mortal night,
Drove him to this.
Sir king, all hail! the gods preserve you!
Hail, royal sir!
It is in vain; he will not speak to you.
We have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager,
Would win some words of him.
'Tis well bethought.
She questionless with her sweet harmony
And other chosen attractions, would allure,
And make a battery through his deafen'd parts,
Which now are midway 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 side.
[Whispers a Lord, who goes off in the barge of Lysimachus.]
Sure, all's effectless; yet nothing we'll omit
That bears recovery's name. But, since your kindness
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.
O, sir, a courtesy
Which if we should deny, the most just gods
For every graff would send a catepillar,
And so afflict our province. Yet once more
Let me entreat to know at large the cause
Of your king's sorrow.
Sit, sir, I will recount it to you:
But, see, I am prevented.
[Re-enter, from the barge, Lord, with Marina, and a young Lady.]
O, here is
The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one!
Is't not a goodly presence?
She's a gallant lady.
She's such a one, that, were I well assured
Came of a gentle kind and noble stock,
I'ld wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed.
Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty
Expect even here, where is a kingly patient:
If that thy prosperous and artificial feat
Can draw him but to answer thee in aught,
Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay
As thy desires can wish.
Sir, I will use
My utmost skill in his recovery,
That none but I and my companion maid
Be suffer'd to come near him.
Come, let us leave her,
And the gods make her prosperous!
Mark'd he your music?
No, nor look'd on us,
See, she will speak to him.
Hail, sir! my lord, lend ear.
I am a maid,
My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes,
But have been gazed on like a cornet: she speaks,
My lord, that, may be, hath endured 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 awkward casualties
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.'
My fortunes -- parentage -- good parentage --
To equal mine! -- was it not thus? what say you?
I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage.
You would not do me violence.
I do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me.
You are like something that -- What country-woman?
Here of these shores?
No, nor of any shores:
Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am
No other than I appear.
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-voiced; her eyes as jewel-like
And cased as richly; in pace another Juno;
Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry,
The more she gives them speech. Where do you live?
Where I am but a stranger: from the deck
You may discern the place.
Where were you bred?
And how achieved you these endowments, which
You make more rich to owe?
If I should tell my history, it would seem
Like lies disdain'd in the reporting.
Falseness cannot come from thee; for thou look'st
Modest as Justice, and thou seem'st a palace
For the crown'd Truth to dwell in: I will believe thee,
And make my senses credit thy relation
To points that seem impossible; for thou look'st
Like one I loved indeed. What were thy friends?
Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back --
Which was when I perceived thee -- that thou earnest
From good descending?
So indeed I did.
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.
Some such thing,
I said, and said no more but what my thoughts
Did warrant me was likely.
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 girl: yet thou dost look
Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling
Extremity out of act. What were thy friends?
How lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin?
Recount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me.
My name is Marina.
O, I am mock'd,
And thou by some incensed god sent hither
To make the world to laugh at me.
Patience, good sir,
Or here I'll cease.
Nay, I'll be patient.
Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me,
To call thyself Marina.
Was given me by one that had some power,
My father, and a king.
How! a king's daughter?
And call'd Marina?
You said you would believe me;
But, not to be a troubler of your peace,
I will end here.
But are you flesh and blood?
Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy?
Motion! Well; speak on. Where were you born?
And wherefore call'd Marina?
For I was born at sea.
At sea! what mother?
My mother was the daughter of a king;
Who died the minute I was born,
As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft
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's buried. Well: where were: you bred?
I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story,
And never interrupt you.
You scorn: believe me, 'twere best I did give o'er.
I will believe you by the syllable
Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:
How came you in these parts? where were you bred?
The king my father did in Tarsus leave me;
Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife,
Did seek to murder me: and having woo'd
A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do 't,
A crew of pirates came and rescued me;
Brought me to Mytilene. 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.
Calls my lord?
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?
I know not; but
Here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene
Speaks nobly of her.
She would never tell
Her parentage; being demanded that,
She would sit still and weep.
O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir;
Give me a gash, put me to present pain;
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me
O'erbear the shores of my mortality,
And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither,
Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget;
Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus,
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 sleep
First, sir, I pray,
What is your title?
I am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now
My drown'd queen's name, as in the rest you said
Thou hast been godlike perfect,
The heir of kingdoms and another like
To Pericles thy father.
Is it no more to be your daughter than
To say my mother's name was Thaisa?
Thaisa was my mother, who did end
The minute I began.
Now, blessing on thee! rise; thou art my child.
Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus;
She is not dead at Tarsus, 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?
Sir, 'tis the governor of Mytilene,
Who, hearing of your melancholy state,
Did come to see you.
I embrace you.
Give me my robes. I am wild in my beholding.
O heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what music?
Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him
O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,
How sure you are my daughter. But, what music?
My lord, I hear none.
The music of the spheres! List, my Marina.
It is not good to cross him; give him way
Rarest sounds! Do ye not hear?
My lord, I hear.
Most heavenly music!
It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber
Hangs upon mine eyes: let me rest.
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 you.
[Exeunt all but Pericles.]
[Diana appears to Pericles as in a vision.]
My temple stands in Ephesus: 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 life.
Or perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe:
Do it, and happy; by my silver bow!
Awake, and tell thy dream.
Celestial Dian, goddess argentine,
I will obey thee. Helicanus!
[Re-enter Helicanus, Lysimachus, and Marina.]
My purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike
The inhospitable Cleon; but I am
For other service first: toward Ephesus
Turn our blown sails; eftsoons I'll tell thee why
Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,
And give you gold for such provision
As our intents will need?
With all my heart; and when you come ashore,
I have another suit.
You shall prevail,
Were you to woo my daughter; for it seems
You have been noble towards her.
Sir, lend me your arm.
Come, my Marina.
SCENE II. Enter Gower, before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.
Now our sands are almost run;
More a little, and then dumb.
This, my last boon, give me,
For such kindness must relieve me,
That you aptly will suppose
What pageantry, what feats, what shows,
What minstrelsy, and pretty din,
The regent made in Mytilene
To greet the king. So he thrived,
That he is promised to be wived
To fair Marina; but in no wise
Till he had done his sacrifice,
As Dian bade: whereto being bound,
The interim, pray you, all confound.
In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd,
And wishes fall out as they're will'd.
At Ephesus, the temple see,
Cur king and all his company.
That he can hither come so soon,
Is by your fancy's thankful doom.
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.]
Hail, Dian! to perform thy just command,
I here confess myself the king of Tyre;
Who, frighted from my country, did wed
At Pentapolis the fair Thaisa.
At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth
A maid-child call'd Marina; who, O goddess,
Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus
Was nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years
He sought to murder: but her better stars
Brought her to Mytilene; 'gainst whose shore
Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,
Where by her own most clear remembrance, she
Made known herself my daughter.
Voice and favour!
You are, you are -- O royal Pericles!
What means the nun? she dies! help, gentlemen!
If you have told Diana's altar true,
This is your wife.
Reverend appearer, no;
I threw her overboard with these very arms.
Upon this coast, I warrant you.