Part 150

HELICANUS. No, Escanes, know this of me, Antiochus from incest lived not free: For which the most high gods not minding longer To withhold the vengeance that they had in store Due to this heinous capital offence, Even in the height and pride of all his glory, When he was seated in a chariot Of an inestimable value, and his daughter with him, A fire from heaven came and shrivell’d up Their bodies, even to loathing, for they so stunk, That all those eyes adored them ere their fall Scorn now their hand should give them burial.

ESCANES. ’Twas very strange

HELICANUS. And yet but justice; for though this king were great; His greatness was no guard to bar heaven’s shaft, But sin had his reward.

ESCANES. ’Tis very true.

Enter two or three Lords.

FIRST LORD. See, not a man in private conference Or council has respect with him but he.

SECOND LORD. It shall no longer grieve without reproof.

THIRD LORD. And cursed be he that will not second it.

FIRST LORD. Follow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word.

HELICANUS. With me? and welcome: happy day, my lords.

FIRST LORD. Know that our griefs are risen to the top, And now at length they overflow their banks.

HELICANUS. Your griefs! for what? Wrong not your prince you love.

FIRST LORD. Wrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane; But if the prince do live, let us salute him. Or know what ground’s made happy by his breath. If in the world he live, we’ll seek him out; If in his grave he rest, we’ll find him there. We’ll be resolved he lives to govern us, Or dead, give’s cause to mourn his funeral, And leave us to our free election.

SECOND LORD. Whose death’s indeed the strongest in our censure: And knowing this kingdom is without a head,— Like goodly buildings left without a roof Soon fall to ruin,—your noble self, That best know how to rule and how to reign, We thus submit unto,—our sovereign.

ALL. Live, noble Helicane!

HELICANUS. For honour’s cause, forbear your suffrages: If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear. Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, Where’s hourly trouble for a minute’s ease. A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you To forbear the absence of your king; If in which time expired, he not return, I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. But if I cannot win you to this love, Go search like nobles, like noble subjects, And in your search spend your adventurous worth; Whom if you find, and win unto return, You shall like diamonds sit about his crown.

FIRST LORD. To wisdom he’s a fool that will not yield; And since Lord Helicane enjoineth us, We with our travels will endeavour us.

HELICANUS. Then you love us, we you, and we’ll clasp hands: When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace.

Enter Simonides reading a letter at one door; the Knights meet him.

FIRST KNIGHT. Good morrow to the good Simonides.

SIMONIDES. Knights, from my daughter this I let you know, That for this twelvemonth she’ll not undertake A married life. Her reason to herself is only known, Which yet from her by no means can I get.

SECOND KNIGHT. May we not get access to her, my lord?

SIMONIDES. Faith, by no means; she hath so strictly tied Her to her chamber, that ’tis impossible. One twelve moons more she’ll wear Diana’s livery; This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow’d, And on her virgin honour will not break it.

THIRD KNIGHT. Loath to bid farewell, we take our leaves.

[_Exeunt Knights._]

SIMONIDES. So, they are well dispatch’d; now to my daughter’s letter: She tells me here, she’ll wed the stranger knight, Or never more to view nor day nor light. ’Tis well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine; I like that well: nay, how absolute she’s in’t, Not minding whether I dislike or no! Well, I do commend her choice; And will no longer have it be delay’d. Soft! here he comes: I must dissemble it.

Enter Pericles.

PERICLES. All fortune to the good Simonides!

SIMONIDES. To you as much. Sir, I am beholding to you For your sweet music this last night: I do Protest my ears were never better fed With such delightful pleasing harmony.

PERICLES. It is your grace’s pleasure to commend; Not my desert.

SIMONIDES. Sir, you are music’s master.

PERICLES. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord.

SIMONIDES. Let me ask you one thing: What do you think of my daughter, sir?

PERICLES. A most virtuous princess.

SIMONIDES. And she is fair too, is she not?

PERICLES. As a fair day in summer, wondrous fair.

SIMONIDES. Sir, my daughter thinks very well of you; Ay, so well, that you must be her master, And she will be your scholar: therefore look to it.

PERICLES. I am unworthy for her schoolmaster.

SIMONIDES. She thinks not so; peruse this writing else.

PERICLES. [_Aside._] What’s here? A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre! ’Tis the king’s subtlety to have my life. O, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord, A stranger and distressed gentleman, That never aim’d so high to love your daughter, But bent all offices to honour her.

SIMONIDES. Thou hast bewitch’d my daughter, And thou art a villain.

PERICLES. By the gods, I have not: Never did thought of mine levy offence; Nor never did my actions yet commence A deed might gain her love or your displeasure.

SIMONIDES. Traitor, thou liest.

PERICLES. Traitor?

SIMONIDES. Ay, traitor.

PERICLES. Even in his throat—unless it be the king— That calls me traitor, I return the lie.

SIMONIDES. [_Aside._] Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage.

PERICLES. My actions are as noble as my thoughts, That never relish’d of a base descent. I came unto your court for honour’s cause, And not to be a rebel to her state; And he that otherwise accounts of me, This sword shall prove he’s honour’s enemy.

SIMONIDES. No? Here comes my daughter, she can witness it.

Enter Thaisa.

PERICLES. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, Resolve your angry father, if my tongue Did e’er solicit, or my hand subscribe To any syllable that made love to you.

THAISA. Why, sir, say if you had, Who takes offence at that would make me glad?

SIMONIDES. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory? [_Aside._] I am glad on’t with all my heart.— I’ll tame you; I’ll bring you in subjection. Will you, not having my consent, Bestow your love and your affections Upon a stranger? [_Aside._] Who, for aught I know May be, nor can I think the contrary, As great in blood as I myself.— Therefore hear you, mistress; either frame Your will to mine, and you, sir, hear you, Either be ruled by me, or I will make you— Man and wife. Nay, come, your hands, And lips must seal it too: and being join’d, I’ll thus your hopes destroy; and for further grief, God give you joy! What, are you both pleased?

THAISA. Yes, if you love me, sir.

PERICLES. Even as my life my blood that fosters it.

SIMONIDES. What, are you both agreed?

BOTH. Yes, if’t please your majesty.

SIMONIDES. It pleaseth me so well, that I will see you wed; And then with what haste you can, get you to bed.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT III

Enter Gower.

GOWER. Now sleep yslaked hath the rouse; No din but snores about the house, Made louder by the o’erfed breast Of this most pompous marriage feast. The cat, with eyne of burning coal, Now couches fore the mouse’s hole; And crickets sing at the oven’s mouth, Are the blither for their drouth. Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, Where, by the loss of maidenhead, A babe is moulded. Be attent, And time that is so briefly spent With your fine fancies quaintly eche: What’s dumb in show I’ll plain with speech.

Dumb-show. Enter, Pericles and Simonides at one door with Attendants; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter: Pericles shows it Simonides; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter Thaisa with child, with Lychorida, a nurse. The King shows her the letter; she rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart, with Lychorida and their Attendants. Then exeunt Simonides and the rest.

By many a dern and painful perch Of Pericles the careful search, By the four opposing coigns 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 strange enquire, To th’ court of King Simonides Are letters brought, the tenour these: Antiochus and his daughter dead; The men of Tyrus on the head Of Helicanus would set on The crown of Tyre, but he will none: The mutiny he there hastes t’oppress; Says to ’em, if King Pericles Come not home in twice six moons, He, obedient to their dooms, Will take the crown. The sum of this, Brought hither to Pentapolis Y-ravished the regions round, And everyone with claps can sound, ‘Our heir apparent is a king! Who dreamt, 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 woe: 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 grisled 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 Does fall in travail with her fear: And what ensues in this fell storm Shall for itself itself perform. I nill 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 Pericles appears to speak.

[_Exit._]

SCENE I.

Enter Pericles, on shipboard.

PERICLES. Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges, Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, Having call’d them from the deep! O, still Thy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida, How does my queen? Thou stormest venomously; Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman’s whistle Is as a whisper in the ears of death, Unheard. Lychorida! - Lucina, O! Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle To those that cry by night, convey thy deity Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs Of my queen’s travails! Now, Lychorida!

Enter Lychorida with an infant.

LYCHORIDA. Here is a thing too young for such a place, Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I Am like to do: take in your arms this piece Of your dead queen.

PERICLES. How? how, Lychorida?

LYCHORIDA. 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.

PERICLES. 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 honour with you.

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

PERICLES. Now, mild may be thy life! For a more blustrous birth had never babe: Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world That ever 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, with all thou canst find here, Now, the good gods throw their best eyes upon’t!

Enter two Sailors

FIRST SAILOR. What courage, sir? God save you!

PERICLES. Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw; 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.

FIRST SAILOR. Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself.

SECOND SAILOR. But sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not.

FIRST SAILOR. 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.

PERICLES. That’s your superstition.

FIRST SAILOR. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it has been still observed; and we are strong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard straight.

PERICLES. As you think meet. Most wretched queen!

LYCHORIDA. Here she lies, sir.

PERICLES. A terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear; No light, no fire: th’unfriendly elements Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time To give thee hallow’d to thy grave, but straight Must cast thee, scarcely coffin’d, in the ooze; Where, for a monument upon thy bones, And e’er-remaining lamps, the belching whale And humming water must o’erwhelm thy corpse, Lying with simple shells. O 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._]

SECOND SAILOR. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.

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

SECOND SAILOR. We are near Tarsus.

PERICLES. Thither, gentle mariner, Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?

SECOND SAILOR. By break of day, if the wind cease.

PERICLES. O, make for Tarsus! There will I visit Cleon, for the babe Cannot hold out to Tyrus. There I’ll leave it At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner: I’ll bring the body presently.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.

Enter Cerimon, with a Servant, and some Persons who have been shipwrecked.

CERIMON. Philemon, ho!

Enter Philemon.

PHILEMON. Doth my lord call?

CERIMON. Get fire and meat for these poor men: ’T has been a turbulent and stormy night.

SERVANT. I have been in many; but such a night as this, Till now, I ne’er endured.

CERIMON. Your master will be dead ere you return; There’s nothing can be minister’d to nature That can recover him. [_To Philemon._] Give this to the ’pothecary, And tell me how it works.

[_Exeunt all but Cerimon._]

Enter two Gentlemen.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Good morrow.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Good morrow to your lordship.

CERIMON. Gentlemen, why do you stir so early?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 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.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. That is the cause we trouble you so early; ’Tis not our husbandry.

CERIMON. O, you say well.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 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.

CERIMON. 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 pleasure up in silken bags, To please the fool and death.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 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 never—

Enter two or three Servants with a chest.

FIRST SERVANT. So, lift there.

CERIMON. What’s that?

FIRST SERVANT. Sir, even now Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest: ’Tis of some wreck.

CERIMON. Set’t down, let’s look upon’t.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. ’Tis like a coffin, sir.

CERIMON. 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.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. ’Tis so, my lord.

CERIMON. How close ’tis caulk’d and bitumed! Did the sea cast it up?

FIRST SERVANT. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, As toss’d it upon shore.

CERIMON. Wrench it open; Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. A delicate odour.

CERIMON. As ever hit my nostril. So up with it. O you most potent gods! what’s here? a corpse!

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Most strange!

CERIMON. 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 drives 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 livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart That even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Most likely, sir.

CERIMON. Nay, certainly tonight; 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 lain dead, Who was by good appliance recovered.

Re-enter a Servant with 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. Gentlemen, 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!

FIRST GENTLEMAN. The heavens, through you, increase our wonder And sets up your fame for ever.

CERIMON. 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 doth 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._]

THAISA. O dear Diana, Where am I? Where’s my lord? What world is this?

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Is not this strange?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Most rare.

CERIMON. 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 arms.

PERICLES. 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!

CLEON. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally, Yet glance full wanderingly on us.

DIONYZA. O, your sweet queen! That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither, To have bless’d mine eyes with her!

PERICLES. 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.

CLEON. 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!

PERICLES. 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 Unscissored 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.

DIONYZA. I have one myself, Who shall not be more dear to my respect Than yours, my lord.

PERICLES. Madam, my thanks and prayers.

CLEON. 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.

PERICLES. I will embrace your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no tears, Lychorida, no tears. Look to your little mistress, on whose grace You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.

Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.

CERIMON. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, Lay with you in your coffer, which are At your command. Know you the character?

THAISA. It is my lord’s. That I was shipp’d at sea, I well remember, Even on my groaning 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.

CERIMON. 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.

THAISA. My recompense is thanks, that’s all; Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT IV

Enter Gower.

GOWER. 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’s 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 our Cleon hath One daughter, and a full grown wench 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 th’ 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 The dove of Paphos might with 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.

[_Exit._]

Scene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore.

Enter Dionyza with Leonine.

DIONYZA. 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.

LEONINE. I will do’t; but yet she is a goodly creature.

DIONYZA. The fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here she comes weeping for her only mistress’ death. Thou art resolved?

LEONINE. I am resolved.

Enter Marina with a basket of flowers.