The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works
Page 345
Thy deaf‘ning dreadful thunders, gently quench
Thy nimble sulph’rous flashes.—O, ho, 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
Use honour with you.
LYCHORIDA Patience, good sir,
E’en for this charge.
She gives him the infant. ⌈Pericles, looking mournfully upon it, shakes his head, and weeps⌉
PERICLES Now mild may be thy life,
For a more blust‘rous birth had never babe;
Quiet and gentle thy conditions, for
Thou art the rudeliest welcome 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 heav’n can make
To herald thee from th’ womb. Poor inch of nature,
Ev’n at the first thy loss is more than can
Thy partage quit with all thou canst find here.
Now the good gods throw their best eyes upon’t.
Enter ⌈the Master⌉ and a Sailor
⌈MASTER⌉ What, courage, sir! God save you.
PERICLES
Courage enough, I do not fear the flaw;
It hath done to me its worst. Yet for the love
Of this poor infant, this fresh new seafarer,
I would it would be quiet.
⌈MASTER⌉ (calling) Slack the bow-lines, there.—Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself.
SAILOR But searoom, an the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not.
⌈MASTER⌉ (to Pericles) 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 but your superstition.
⌈MASTER⌉ Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it hath been still observed, and we are strong in custom. Therefore briefly yield ’er, for she must overboard straight.
PERICLES
As you think meet. Most wretched queen!
LYCHORIDA Here she lies, sir.
She ⌈draws the curtains and discovers⌉ the body of Thaisa in a ⌈bed. Pericles gives Lychorida the infant⌉
PERICLES (to Thaisa)
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 hallowed to thy grave, but straight
Must cast thee, scarcely coffined, 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 shetts.—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
⌈SAILOR⌉ Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches caulked and bitumed ready.
PERICLES
I thank thee. ⌈To the Master⌉ Mariner, say, what coast is this?
⌈MASTER⌉
We are near Tarsus.
PERICLES
Thither, gentle mariner,
Alter thy course from Tyre. When canst thou reach it? ⌈MASTER⌉
By break of day, if the wind cease.
PERICLES
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.
⌈Exit Master at one door and Sailor beneath the hatches. Exit Pericles to Thaisa, closing the curtains⌉
Sc. 12 Enter Lord Cerimon with a ⌈poor man and a⌉ servant
CERIMON
Philemon, ho!
Enter Philemon
PHILEMON Doth my lord call?
CERIMON
Get fire and meat for those poor men.
⌈Exit Philemon⌉
‘T’as been a turbulent and stormy night.
SERVANT
I have seen 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 ministered in nature
That can recover him. ⌈To poor man⌉ Give this to th’
pothecary
And tell me how it works.
⌈Exeunt poor man and servant⌉
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 should,
Having rich tire about you, at this hour
Shake off the golden slumber of repose. ’Tis most
strange,
Nature to be so conversant with pain,
Being thereto not compelled.
CERIMON I held it ever
Virtue and cunning were endowments greater
Than nobleness and riches. Careless heirs
May the two latter darken and dispend,
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 dwells in vegetives, in metals, stones,
And so can speak of the disturbances
That nature works, and of her cures, which doth
give me
A more content and cause of true delight
Than to be thirsty after tott’ring honour,
Or tie my pleasure up in silken bags
To glad the fool and death.
SECOND GENTLEMAN Your honour has
Through Ephesus poured forth your charity,
And hundreds call themselves your creatures who by
you
Have been restored. And not alone your knowledge,
Your personal pain, but e’en your purse still
open
Hath built Lord Cerimon such strong renown
As time shall never—
Enter ⌈Philemon and one or⌉ two with a chest
⌈PHILEMON⌉ So, lift there.
CERIMON What’s that? ⌈PHILEMON⌉ Sir, even now
The sea tossed up upon our shore this chest.
’Tis off 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.—Did the sea cast it up?
⌈PHILEMON⌉
I never saw so huge a billow, sir,
Or a more eager.
CERIMON Wrench it open straight.
The others start to work
If the sea’s stomach be o‘ercharged with gold
’Tis by a good constraint of queasy fortune
It belches upon us.
SECOND GENTLEMAN ’Tis so, my lord.
CERIMON
How close ’tis caulked and bitumed!
⌈They force the lid⌉
Soft, it smells
Most sweetly in my sense.
SECOND GENTLEMAN A delicate odour.
CERIMON
As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it.
They take the lid off
O you most potent gods! What’s here—a corpse?
SECOND GENTLEMAN
Most strange.
CERIMON Shrouded in cloth of state, and crowned,
Balmed and entreasured with full bags of spices.
A passport, too!
He takes a paper from the chest
Apollo perfect me i’th’ characters.
‘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 liv’st, 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 rash
That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within.
Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet. ⌈Exit Philemon⌉
Death may usurp on nature many hours,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The o’erpressed spirits. I have heard
Of an Egyptian nine hours dead
Who was by good appliances recovered.
Enter ⌈Philemon⌉ with napkins and fire
Well said, well said, the fire and cloths.
The still and woeful music that we have,
Cause it to sound, beseech you.
Music
The vial once more.
How thou stirr‘st, thou block! The music there!
I pray you give her air. Gentlemen,
This queen will live. Nature awakes, a warmth
Breathes out of her. She hath not been entranced
Above five hours. See how she ’gins to blow
Into life’s flow’r again.
FIRST GENTLEMAN The heavens
Through you increase our wonder, and set up
Your fame for ever.
CERIMON She is alive. Behold,
Her eyelids, cases to those heav’nly 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, gentle neighbours. Lend me your hands. To the next chamber bear her. Get linen. Now this matter must be looked to, For her relapse is mortal. Come, come, And Aesculapius guide us. They carry her away. Exeunt
Sc. 13 Enter Pericles at Tarsus, with Cleon and Dionyza, and Lychorida with a babe
PERICLES
Most honoured 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 strokes of fortune, Though they hurt you mortally, yet glance Full woundingly on us.
DIONYZA O your sweet queen!
That the strict fates had pleased you’d brought her
hither
T’have blessed mine eyes with her!
PERICLES
We cannot but obey
The pow‘rs above us. Should 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, and leave her
The infant of your care, beseeching you
To give her princely training, that she may be
Mannered 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 pray’rs 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 th’ 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’th’ shore,
Then give you up to th’ masted Neptune and
The gentlest winds of heaven.
PERICLES
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
Sc. 14 Enter Cerimon and Thaisa
CERIMON
Madam, this letter and some certain jewels
Lay with you in your coffer, which are all
At your command. Know you the character?
THAISA
It is my lord’s. That I was shipped at sea
I well remember, ev’n on my eaning time,
But whether there delivered, by th’ holy gods
I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,
My wedded lord, I ne‘er shall see again,
A vestal liv’ry 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 till your date expire you may abide.
Moreover, if you please a niece of mine
Shall there attend you.
THAISA
My recompense is thanks, that’s all,
Sc. 15 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 ’s a votaress.
Now to Marina bend your mind,
Whom our fast-growing scene must find
At Tarsus, and by Cleon trained
In music, letters; who hath gained
Of education all the grace,
Which makes her both the heart and place
Of gen‘ral 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 has
One daughter, and a full-grown lass
E’en 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 they weaved the sleided silk
With fingers long, small, white as milk;
Or when she would with sharp nee‘le 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
With 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 murder 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,
⌈A tomb is revealed⌉
And cursed Dionyza hath
The pregnant instrument of wrath
Pressed for this blow. Th’unborn event
I do commend to your content,
Only I carry winged Time