Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  Enter Helicanus and Escanes, with other Lords of Tyre

  Helicanus

  You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre,

  Further to question me of your king’s departure:

  His seal’d commission, left in trust with me,

  Doth speak sufficiently he’s gone to travel.

  Thaliard

  [Aside] How! the king gone!

  Helicanus

  If further yet you will be satisfied,

  Why, as it were unlicensed of your loves,

  He would depart, I’ll give some light unto you.

  Being at Antioch —

  Thaliard

  [Aside] What from Antioch?

  Helicanus

  Royal Antiochus — on what cause I know not —

  Took some displeasure at him; at least he judged so:

  And doubting lest that he had err’d or sinn’d,

  To show his sorrow, he’ld correct himself;

  So puts himself unto the shipman’s toil,

  With whom each minute threatens life or death.

  Thaliard

  [Aside] Well, I perceive

  I shall not be hang’d now, although I would;

  But since he’s gone, the king’s seas must please:

  He ’scaped the land, to perish at the sea.

  I’ll present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre!

  Helicanus

  Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.

  Thaliard

  From him I come

  With message unto princely Pericles;

  But since my landing I have understood

  Your lord has betook himself to unknown travels,

  My message must return from whence it came.

  Helicanus

  We have no reason to desire it,

  Commended to our master, not to us:

  Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,

  As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.

  Exeunt

  SCENE IV. TARSUS. A ROOM IN THE GOVERNOR’S HOUSE.

  Enter Cleon, the governor of Tarsus, with Dionyza, and others

  Cleon

  My Dionyza, shall we rest us here,

  And by relating tales of others’ griefs,

  See if ’twill teach us to forget our own?

  Dionyza

  That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;

  For who digs hills because they do aspire

  Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher.

  O my distressed lord, even such our griefs are;

  Here they’re but felt, and seen with mischief’s eyes,

  But like to groves, being topp’d, they higher rise.

  Cleon

  O Dionyza,

  Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it,

  Or can conceal his hunger till he famish?

  Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep

  Our woes into the air; our eyes do weep,

  Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder;

  That, if heaven slumber while their creatures want,

  They may awake their helps to comfort them.

  I’ll then discourse our woes, felt several years,

  And wanting breath to speak help me with tears.

  Dionyza

  I’ll do my best, sir.

  Cleon

  This Tarsus, o’er which I have the government,

  A city on whom plenty held full hand,

  For riches strew’d herself even in the streets;

  Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss’d the clouds,

  And strangers ne’er beheld but wondered at;

  Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn’d,

  Like one another’s glass to trim them by:

  Their tables were stored full, to glad the sight,

  And not so much to feed on as delight;

  All poverty was scorn’d, and pride so great,

  The name of help grew odious to repeat.

  Dionyza

  O, ’tis too true.

  Cleon

  But see what heaven can do! By this our change,

  These mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air,

  Were all too little to content and please,

  Although they gave their creatures in abundance,

  As houses are defiled for want of use,

  They are now starved for want of exercise:

  Those palates who, not yet two summers younger,

  Must have inventions to delight the taste,

  Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it:

  Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes,

  Thought nought too curious, are ready now

  To eat those little darlings whom they loved.

  So sharp are hunger’s teeth, that man and wife

  Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life:

  Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping;

  Here many sink, yet those which see them fall

  Have scarce strength left to give them burial.

  Is not this true?

  Dionyza

  Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.

  Cleon

  O, let those cities that of plenty’s cup

  And her prosperities so largely taste,

  With their superfluous riots, hear these tears!

  The misery of Tarsus may be theirs.

  Enter a Lord

  Lord

  Where’s the lord governor?

  Cleon

  Here.

  Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring’st in haste,

  For comfort is too far for us to expect.

  Lord

  We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore,

  A portly sail of ships make hitherward.

  Cleon

  I thought as much.

  One sorrow never comes but brings an heir,

  That may succeed as his inheritor;

  And so in ours: some neighbouring nation,

  Taking advantage of our misery,

  Hath stuff’d these hollow vessels with their power,

  To beat us down, the which are down already;

  And make a conquest of unhappy me,

  Whereas no glory’s got to overcome.

  Lord

  That’s the least fear; for, by the semblance

  Of their white flags display’d, they bring us peace,

  And come to us as favourers, not as foes.

  Cleon

  Thou speak’st like him’s untutor’d to repeat:

  Who makes the fairest show means most deceit.

  But bring they what they will and what they can,

  What need we fear?

  The ground’s the lowest, and we are half way there.

  Go tell their general we attend him here,

  To know for what he comes, and whence he comes,

  And what he craves.

  Lord

  I go, my lord.

  Exit

  Cleon

  Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist;

  If wars, we are unable to resist.

  Enter Pericles with Attendants

  Pericles

  Lord governor, for so we hear you are,

  Let not our ships and number of our men

  Be like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes.

  We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre,

  And seen the desolation of your streets:

  Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears,

  But to relieve them of their heavy load;

  And these our ships, you happily may think

  Are like the Trojan horse was stuff’d within

  With bloody veins, expecting overthrow,

  Are stored with corn to make your needy bread,

  And give them life whom hunger starved half dead.

  All

  The gods of Greece protect you!

  And we’ll pray for you.

  Pericles

  Arise, I pray
you, rise:

  We do not look for reverence, but to love,

  And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men.

  Cleon

  The which when any shall not gratify,

  Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought,

  Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves,

  The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!

  Till when,— the which I hope shall ne’er be seen,—

  Your grace is welcome to our town and us.

  Pericles

  Which welcome we’ll accept; feast here awhile,

  Until our stars that frown lend us a smile.

  Exeunt

  ACT II

  PROLOGUE

  Enter Gower

  Gower

  Here have you seen a mighty king

  His child, I wis, to incest bring;

  A better prince and benign lord,

  That will prove awful both in deed and word.

  Be quiet then as men should be,

  Till he hath pass’d necessity.

  I’ll show you those in troubles reign,

  Losing a mite, a mountain gain.

  The good in conversation,

  To whom I give my benison,

  Is still at Tarsus, where each man

  Thinks all is writ he speken can;

  And, to remember what he does,

  Build his statue to make him glorious:

  But tidings to the contrary

  Are brought your eyes; what need speak I?

  Dumb Show.

  Enter at one door Pericles talking with Cleon; all the train with them. Enter at another door a Gentleman, with a letter to Pericles; Pericles shows the letter to Cleon; gives the Messenger a reward, and knights him. Exit Pericles at one door, and Cleon at another

  Good Helicane, that stay’d at home,

  Not to eat honey like a drone

  From others’ labours; for though he strive

  To killen bad, keep good alive;

  And to fulfil his prince’ desire,

  Sends word of all that haps in Tyre:

  How Thaliard came full bent with sin

  And had intent to murder him;

  And that in Tarsus was not best

  Longer for him to make his rest.

  He, doing so, put forth to seas,

  Where when men been, there’s seldom ease;

  For now the wind begins to blow;

  Thunder above and deeps below

  Make such unquiet, that the ship

  Should house him safe is wreck’d and split;

  And he, good prince, having all lost,

  By waves from coast to coast is tost:

  All perishen of man, of pelf,

  Ne aught escapen but himself;

  Till fortune, tired with doing bad,

  Threw him ashore, to give him glad:

  And here he comes. What shall be next,

  Pardon old Gower,— this longs the text.

  Exit

  SCENE I. PENTAPOLIS. AN OPEN PLACE BY THE SEA-SIDE.

  Enter Pericles, wet

  Pericles

  Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!

  Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man

  Is but a substance that must yield to you;

  And I, as fits my nature, do obey you:

  Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,

  Wash’d me from shore to shore, and left me breath

  Nothing to think on but ensuing death:

  Let it suffice the greatness of your powers

  To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;

  And having thrown him from your watery grave,

  Here to have death in peace is all he’ll crave.

  Enter three Fishermen

  First Fisherman

  What, ho, Pilch!

  Second Fisherman

  Ha, come and bring away the nets!

  First Fisherman

  What, Patch-breech, I say!

  Third Fisherman

  What say you, master?

  First Fisherman

  Look how thou stirrest now! come away, or I’ll fetch thee with a wanion.

  Third Fisherman

  Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us even now.

  First Fisherman

  Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves.

  Third Fisherman

  Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say they’re half fish, half flesh: a plague on them, they ne’er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

  First Fisherman

  Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful: such whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never leave gaping till they’ve swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells, and all.

  Pericles

  [Aside] A pretty moral.

  Third Fisherman

  But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry.

  Second Fisherman

  Why, man?

  Third Fisherman

  Because he should have swallowed me too: and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and parish up again. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind,—

  Pericles

  [Aside] Simonides!

  Third Fisherman

  We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.

  Pericles

  [Aside] How from the finny subject of the sea

  These fishers tell the infirmities of men;

  And from their watery empire recollect

  All that may men approve or men detect!

  Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen.

  Second Fisherman

  Honest! good fellow, what’s that? If it be a day fits you, search out of the calendar, and nobody look after it.

  Pericles

  May see the sea hath cast upon your coast.

  Second Fisherman

  What a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way!

  Pericles

  A man whom both the waters and the wind,

  In that vast tennis-court, have made the ball

  For them to play upon, entreats you pity him:

  He asks of you, that never used to beg.

  First Fisherman

  No, friend, cannot you beg? Here’s them in our country Greece gets more with begging than we can do with working.

  Second Fisherman

  Canst thou catch any fishes, then?

  Pericles

  I never practised it.

  Second Fisherman

  Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here’s nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish for’t.

  Pericles

  What I have been I have forgot to know;

  But what I am, want teaches me to think on:

  A man throng’d up with cold: my veins are chill,

  And have no more of life than may suffice

  To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;

  Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,

  For that I am a man, pray see me buried.

  First Fisherman

  Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid! I have a gown here; come, put it on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and we’ll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and moreo’er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome.

  Pericles

  I thank you, sir.

  Second Fisherman

  Hark you, my friend; you said you could not beg.

  Pericles

  I did b
ut crave.

  Second Fisherman

  But crave! Then I’ll turn craver too, and so I shall ’scape whipping.

  Pericles

  Why, are all your beggars whipped, then?

  Second Fisherman

  O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your beggars were whipped, I would wish no better office than to be beadle. But, master, I’ll go draw up the net.

  Exit with Third Fisherman

  Pericles

  [Aside] How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!

  First Fisherman

  Hark you, sir, do you know where ye are?

  Pericles

  Not well.

  First Fisherman

  Why, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our king the good Simonides.

  Pericles

  The good King Simonides, do you call him.

  First Fisherman

  Ay, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his peaceable reign and good government.

  Pericles

  He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good by his government. How far is his court distant from this shore?

  First Fisherman

  Marry, sir, half a day’s journey: and I’ll tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is her birth-day; and there are princes and knights come from all parts of the world to just and tourney for her love.

  Pericles

  Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there.

  First Fisherman

  O, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for — his wife’s soul.

  Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing up a net

  Second Fisherman

  Help, master, help! here’s a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man’s right in the law; ’twill hardly come out. Ha! bots on’t, ’tis come at last, and ’tis turned to a rusty armour.

  Pericles

  An armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.

  Thanks, fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses,

  Thou givest me somewhat to repair myself;

  And though it was mine own, part of my heritage,

  Which my dead father did bequeath to me.

  With this strict charge, even as he left his life,

  ‘Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield

  Twixt me and death;’— and pointed to this brace;—

  ‘For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity —

  The which the gods protect thee from!— may defend thee.’

  It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;

  Till the rough seas, that spare not any man,

  Took it in rage, though calm’d have given’t again:

  I thank thee for’t: my shipwreck now’s no ill,

  Since I have here my father’s gift in’s will.