SIMONIDES. And what's the third?


THAISA. The third of Antioch; And his device, a wreath of chivalry; The word, Me pompae provexit apex.


The fourth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to Thaisa.


SIMONIDES. What is the fourth?


THAISA. A burning torch that's turned upside down; The word, Quod me alit me extinguit.


SIMONIDES. Which shows that beauty hath his power and will, Which can as well inflame as it can kill.


The fifth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to Thaisa.


THAISA. The fifth, an hand environed with clouds, Holding out gold that's by the touchstone tried; The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides.


The sixth Knight, Pericles, passes in rusty armour with bases, and unaccompanied. He presents his device directly to Thaisa.


SIMONIDES. And what's the sixth and last, the which the knight himself With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd?


THAISA. He seems to be a stranger; but his present is A wither'd branch, that's only green at top; The motto, In hac spe vivo.


SIMONIDES. A pretty moral; From the dejected state wherein he is, He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.


FIRST LORD. He had need mean better than his outward show Can any way speak in his just commend; For by his rusty outside he appears To have practised more the whipstock than the lance.


SECOND LORD. He well may be a stranger, for he comes To an honour'd triumph strangely furnished.


THIRD LORD. And on set purpose let his armour rust Until this day, to scour it in the dust.


SIMONIDES. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan The outward habit by the inward man. But stay, the knights are coming. We will withdraw into the gallery.


[Exeunt. Great shouts within, and all cry 'The mean Knight!']


SCENE III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.


Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants and Knights, from tilting.


SIMONIDES. Knights, To say you're welcome were superfluous. To place upon the volume of your deeds, As in a title-page, your worth in arms, Were more than you expect, or more than's fit, Since every worth in show commends itself. Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast: You are princes and my guests.


THAISA. But you, my knight and guest; To whom this wreath of victory I give, And crown you king of this day's happiness.


PERICLES. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit.


SIMONIDES. Call it by what you will, the day is yours; And here, I hope, is none that envies it. In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed, To make some good, but others to exceed; And you are her labour'd scholar. Come queen of the feast,— For, daughter, so you are,—here take your place: Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.


KNIGHTS. We are honour'd much by good Simonides.


SIMONIDES. Your presence glads our days; honour we love; For who hates honour hates the gods above.


MARSHALL. Sir, yonder is your place.


PERICLES. Some other is more fit.


FIRST KNIGHT. Contend not, sir; for we are gentlemen Have neither in our hearts nor outward eyes Envied the great, nor shall the low despise.


PERICLES. You are right courteous knights.


SIMONIDES. Sit, sir, sit. By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts, These cates resist me, he but thought upon.


THAISA. By Juno, that is queen of marriage, All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury, Wishing him my meat. Sure, he's a gallant gentleman.


SIMONIDES. He's but a country gentleman; Has done no more than other knights have done; Has broken a staff or so; so let it pass.


THAISA. To me he seems like diamond to glass.


PERICLES. Yon king's to me like to my father's picture, Which tells me in that glory once he was; Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, And he the sun, for them to reverence; None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights, Did vail their crowns to his supremacy: Where now his son's like a glow-worm in the night, The which hath fire in darkness, none in light: Whereby I see that time's the king of men, He's both their parent, and he is their grave, And gives them what he will, not what they crave.


SIMONIDES. What, are you merry, knights?


KNIGHTS. Who can be other in this royal presence?


SIMONIDES. Here, with a cup that's stored unto the brim,— As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,— We drink this health to you.


KNIGHTS. We thank your grace.


SIMONIDES. Yet pause awhile. Yon knight doth sit too melancholy, As if the entertainment in our court Had not a show might countervail his worth. Note it not you, Thaisa?


THAISA. What is't to me, my father?


SIMONIDES. O attend, my daughter: Princes in this should live like gods above, Who freely give to everyone that comes to honour them: And princes not doing so are like to gnats, Which make a sound, but kill'd are wonder'd at. Therefore to make his entrance more sweet, Here, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him.


THAISA. Alas, my father, it befits not me Unto a stranger knight to be so bold: He may my proffer take for an offence, Since men take women's gifts for impudence.


SIMONIDES. How? Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else.


THAISA. [Aside.] Now, by the gods, he could not please me better.


SIMONIDES. And furthermore tell him, we desire to know of him, Of whence he is, his name and parentage.


THAISA. The king my father, sir, has drunk to you.


PERICLES. I thank him.


THAISA. Wishing it so much blood unto your life.


PERICLES. I thank both him and you, and pledge him freely.


THAISA. And further he desires to know of you, Of whence you are, your name and parentage.


PERICLES. A gentleman of Tyre; my name, Pericles; My education been in arts and arms; Who, looking for adventures in the world, Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, And after shipwreck driven upon this shore.


THAISA. He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles, A gentleman of Tyre, Who only by misfortune of the seas Bereft of ships and men, cast on this shore.


SIMONIDES. Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune, And will awake him from his melancholy. Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles, And waste the time, which looks for other revels. Even in your armours, as you are address'd, Will well become a soldier's dance. I will not have excuse, with saying this, 'Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads' Since they love men in arms as well as beds.


[The Knights dance.]


So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perform'd. Come, sir; here is a lady which wants breathing too: And I have heard you knights of Tyre Are excellent in making ladies trip; And that their measures are as excellent.


PERICLES. In those that practise them they are, my lord.


SIMONIDES. O, that's as much as you would be denied Of your fair courtesy.


[The Knights and Ladies dance.]


Unclasp, unclasp: Thanks gentlemen, to all; all have done well. [To Pericles.] But you the best. Pages and lights to conduct These knights unto their several lodgings. [To Pericles.] Yours, sir, we have given order to be next our own.


PERICLES. I am at your grace's pleasure.


SIMONIDES. Princes, it is too late to talk of love; And that's the mark I know you level at: Therefore each one betake him to his rest; Tomorrow all for speeding do their best.


SCENE IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor's house.


Enter Helicanus and Escanes.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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?


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.


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?


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.


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.


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.


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.


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


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


CERIMON. Philemon, ho!


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.


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.


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.


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


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.


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.


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?


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.


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.


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.


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?


Enter Marina with a basket of flowers.


MARINA. 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.


DIONYZA. How now, Marina! why do you keep alone? How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not consume your blood with sorrowing; Have you 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. Come, Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.


MARINA. No, I pray you; I'll not bereave you of your servant.


DIONYZA. Come, come; I love the king your father, and yourself, With more than foreign heart. We every day Expect him here: when he shall come and find Our paragon to all reports thus blasted, He will repent the breadth of his great voyage; Blame both my lord and me, that we have 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.


MARINA. Well, I will go; But yet I have no desire to it.


DIONYZA. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you. Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least: Remember what I have said.


DIONYZA. 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.


Is this wind westerly that blows?


LEONINE. South-west.


MARINA. When I was born the wind was north.


LEONINE. Was't so?


MARINA. 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.


LEONINE. When was this?


MARINA. When I was born: Never was waves nor wind more violent; And from the ladder tackle washes off A canvas-climber. 'Ha!' says one, 'wolt out?' And with a dropping industry they skip From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and The master calls and trebles their confusion.


LEONINE. Come, say your prayers.


MARINA. What mean you?


LEONINE. 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.


MARINA. Why will you kill me?


MARINA. 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 spake 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?


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


MARINA. 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.


LEONINE. I am sworn, And will dispatch.


FIRST PIRATE. Hold, villain!


[Leonine runs away.]


THIRD PIRATE. Half part, mates, half part, Come, let's have her aboard suddenly.


[Exeunt Pirates with Marina.]


LEONINE. These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes; And they have seized Marina. Let her go: There'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.


PANDAR. Boult!


PANDAR. Search the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of gallants. We lost too much money this mart by being too wenchless.


BAWD. We were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three, and they can do no more than they can do; and they with continual action are even as good as rotten.


PANDAR. Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er we pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be used in every trade, we shall never prosper.


BAWD. Thou sayest true: 'tis not our bringing up of poor bastards,—as, I think, I have brought up some eleven—


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


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


PANDAR. Thou sayest true; they're too unwholesome, o' conscience. The poor Transylvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage.


BOULT. Ay, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat for worms. But I'll go search the market.


PANDAR. Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over.


BAWD. Why to give over, I pray you? Is it a shame to get when we are old?


PANDAR. O, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor the commodity wages not with the danger: therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatched. Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods will be strong with us for giving over.


BAWD. Come, others sorts offend as well as we.


PANDAR. 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.


BOULT [To Pirates.] Come your ways. My masters, you say she's a virgin?


FIRST PIRATE. O sir, we doubt it not.


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


BAWD. Boult, has she any qualities?


BOULT. She has a good face, speaks well and has excellent good clothes: there's no farther necessity of qualities can make her be refused.


BAWD. What is her price, Boult?


BOULT. I cannot be baited one doit of a thousand pieces.


PANDAR. 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.]


BAWD. Boult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her hair, complexion, height, her age, with warrant of her virginity; and cry 'He that will give most shall have her first.' Such a maidenhead were no cheap thing, if men were as they have been. Get this done as I command you.


BOULT. Performance shall follow.


MARINA. 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!


BAWD. Why lament you, pretty one?


MARINA. That I am pretty.


BAWD. Come, the gods have done their part in you.


MARINA. I accuse them not.


BAWD. You are light into my hands, where you are like to live.


MARINA. The more my fault To scape his hands where I was like to die.


BAWD. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure.


BAWD. Yes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all fashions: you shall fare well; you shall have the difference of all complexions. What! do you stop your ears?


MARINA. Are you a woman?


BAWD. What would you have me be, an I be not a woman?


MARINA. An honest woman, or not a woman.


BAWD. 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.


MARINA. The gods defend me!


BAWD. If it please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you, men must feed you, men stir you up. Boult's returned.


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


BOULT. I have cried her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn her picture with my voice.


BAWD. And I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort?


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


BAWD. We shall have him here tomorrow with his best ruff on.


BOULT. Tonight, tonight. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that cowers i' the hams?


BOULT. Ay, he: he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore he would see her tomorrow.


BAWD. 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.


BOULT. Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, we should lodge them with this sign.


[To Marina.] 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.


MARINA. I understand you not.


BOULT. O, take her home, mistress, take her home: these blushes of hers must be quenched with some present practice.


BAWD. Thou sayest true, i'faith so they must; for your bride goes to that with shame which is her way to go with warrant.


BOULT. Faith, some do and some do not. But, mistress, if I have bargained for the joint,—


BAWD. Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.


BAWD. Who should deny it? Come young one, I like the manner of your garments well.


BOULT. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.


BAWD. 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.


BOULT. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels as my giving out her beauty stirs up the lewdly inclined. I'll bring home some tonight.


BAWD. Come your ways; follow me.


MARINA. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. Diana, aid my purpose!


BAWD. What have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us?


Enter Cleon and Dionyza.


DIONYZA. Why, are you foolish? Can it be undone?


CLEON. O, Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon!


DIONYZA. I think you'll turn a child again.


CLEON. Were I chief lord of all this spacious world, I'd give it to undo the deed. A 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 face. What canst thou say When noble Pericles shall demand his child?


DIONYZA. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates, To foster it, nor ever to preserve. She died at night; I'll say so. Who can cross it? Unless you play the pious innocent, And for an honest attribute cry out 'She died by foul play.'


CLEON. O, go to. Well, well, Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods Do like this worst.


DIONYZA. Be one of those that thinks 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.


CLEON. To such proceeding Whoever but his approbation added, Though not his prime consent, he did not flow From honourable courses.


DIONYZA. 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.


DIONYZA. 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.


CLEON. Thou art like the harpy, Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face, Seize with thine eagle's talons.


DIONYZA. 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.


GOWER. Thus time we waste, and long leagues make short; Sail seas in cockles, have and 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 delight. Old Helicanus goes along. Behind Is left to govern, if you bear in mind, Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late Advanced in time to great and high estate. Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought This king to Tarsus,—think his pilot thought; So with his steerage shall your thoughts go 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.


Dumb-show. 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.


FIRST GENTLEMAN. Did you ever hear the like?


SECOND GENTLEMAN. No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone.


FIRST GENTLEMAN. But to have divinity preached there! did you ever dream of such a thing?


SECOND GENTLEMAN. No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy houses: shall's go hear the vestals sing?


FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll do anything now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road of rutting for ever.


SCENE VI. The same. A room in the brothel.


PANDAR. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her she had ne'er come here.


BAWD. 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.


BOULT. Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll disfurnish us of all our cavaliers, and make our swearers priests.


PANDAR. Now, the pox upon her green sickness for me!


BAWD. Faith, there's no way to be rid on't but by the way to the pox. Here comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.


BOULT. We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but give way to customers.


LYSIMACHUS. How now! How a dozen of virginities?


BAWD. Now, the gods to bless your honour!


BOULT. I am glad to see your honour in good health.


LYSIMACHUS. 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?


BAWD. We have here one, sir, if she would—but there never came her like in Mytilene.


LYSIMACHUS. If she'd do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say.


BAWD. Your honour knows what 'tis to say well enough.


LYSIMACHUS. Well, call forth, call forth.


BOULT. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose; and she were a rose indeed, if she had but—


LYSIMACHUS. What, prithee?


BOULT. O, sir, I can be modest.


LYSIMACHUS. That dignifies the renown of a bawd no less than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste.


BAWD. 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?


LYSIMACHUS. Faith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea. Well, there's for you: leave us.


BAWD. I beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and I'll have done presently.


BAWD. [To Marina.] First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man.


MARINA. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him.


BAWD. Next, he's the governor of this country, and a man whom I am bound to.


MARINA. If he govern the country, you are bound to him indeed; but how honourable he is in that, I know not.


BAWD. Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him kindly? He will line your apron with gold.


MARINA. What he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.


BAWD. 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.]


LYSIMACHUS. Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?


MARINA. What trade, sir?


LYSIMACHUS. Why, I cannot name't but I shall offend.


MARINA. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.


LYSIMACHUS. How long have you been of this profession?


MARINA. E'er since I can remember.


LYSIMACHUS. Did you go to't so young? Were you a gamester at five or at seven?


MARINA. Earlier, too, sir, if now I be one.


LYSIMACHUS. Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of sale.


MARINA. 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.


LYSIMACHUS. Why, hath your principal made known unto you who I am?


MARINA. Who is my principal?


LYSIMACHUS. 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.


MARINA. If you were born to honour, show it now; If put upon you, make the judgement good That thought you worthy of it.


LYSIMACHUS. How's this? how's this? Some more; be sage.


MARINA. For me, 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!


LYSIMACHUS. 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!


MARINA. The good gods preserve you!


LYSIMACHUS. 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.


BOULT. I beseech your honour, one piece for me.


LYSIMACHUS. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper! Your house but for this virgin that doth prop it, Would sink and overwhelm you. Away!


BOULT. 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.


MARINA. Whither would you have me?


BOULT. 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.


BAWD. How now! what's the matter?


BOULT. Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the Lord Lysimachus.


BOULT. She makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of the gods.


BAWD. Marry, hang her up for ever!


BOULT. The nobleman would have dealt with her like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a snowball; saying his prayers too.


BAWD. Boult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure: crack the glass of her virginity, and make the rest malleable.


BOULT. An if she were a thornier piece of ground than she is, she shall be ploughed.


BAWD. 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 womankind? Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays!


BOULT. Come, mistress; come your way with me.


MARINA. Whither wilt thou have me?


BOULT. To take from you the jewel you hold so dear.


MARINA. Prithee, tell me one thing first.


BOULT. Come now, your one thing?


MARINA. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be?


BOULT. Why, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress.


MARINA. Neither of these are so bad 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.


BOULT. 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?


MARINA. Do anything 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.


BOULT. But can you teach all this you speak of?


MARINA. Prove that I cannot, take me home again, And prostitute me to the basest groom That doth frequent your house.


BOULT. Well, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can place thee, I will.


MARINA. But amongst honest women.


BOULT. 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. Come, I'll do for thee what I can; come your ways.


GOWER. 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 nee'le composes Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry, That even her art sisters 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.


TYRIAN SAILOR. [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?


HELICANUS. That he have his. Call up some gentlemen.


TYRIAN SAILOR. Ho, gentlemen! my lord calls.


Enter two or three Gentlemen.


FIRST GENTLEMAN. Doth your lordship call?


HELICANUS. Gentlemen, there is some of worth would come aboard; I pray ye, greet them fairly.


[The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend and go on board the barge.]


Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; with the Gentlemen and the two Sailors.


TYRIAN SAILOR. Sir, This is the man that can, in aught you would, Resolve you.


LYSIMACHUS. Hail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!


HELICANUS. And you, sir, to outlive the age I am, And die as I would do.


LYSIMACHUS. 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.


HELICANUS. First, what is your place?


LYSIMACHUS. I am the governor of this place you lie before.


HELICANUS. Sir, our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king; A man who for this three months hath not spoken To anyone, nor taken sustenance But to prorogue his grief.


LYSIMACHUS. Upon what ground is his distemperature?


HELICANUS. 'Twould be too tedious to repeat; But the main grief springs from the loss Of a beloved daughter and a wife.


LYSIMACHUS. May we not see him?


HELICANUS. You may; But bootless is your sight: he will not speak To any.


LYSIMACHUS. Yet let me obtain my wish.


HELICANUS. Behold him. [Pericles discovered.] This was a goodly person. Till the disaster that, one mortal night, Drove him to this.


LYSIMACHUS. Sir king, all hail! The gods preserve you! Hail, royal sir!


HELICANUS. It is in vain; he will not speak to you.


FIRST LORD. Sir, we have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager, Would win some words of him.


LYSIMACHUS. '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.]


HELICANUS. 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.


LYSIMACHUS. O, sir, a courtesy Which if we should deny, the most just gods For every graff would send a caterpillar, And so inflict our province. Yet once more Let me entreat to know at large the cause Of your king's sorrow.


HELICANUS. 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.


LYSIMACHUS. O, here is the lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one! Is't not a goodly presence?


HELICANUS. She's a gallant lady.


LYSIMACHUS. She's such a one, that, were I well assured Came of a gentle kind and noble stock, I'd 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.


MARINA. Sir, I will use My utmost skill in his recovery, provided That none but I and my companion maid Be suffer'd to come near him.


LYSIMACHUS. Come, let us leave her, And the gods make her prosperous!


LYSIMACHUS. Mark'd he your music?


MARINA. No, nor look'd on us.


LYSIMACHUS. See, she will speak to him.


MARINA. Hail, sir! My lord, lend ear.


MARINA. I am a maid, My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes, But have been gazed on like a comet: 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. [Aside.] I will desist; But there is something glows upon my cheek, And whispers in mine ear 'Go not till he speak.'


PERICLES. My fortunes—parentage—good parentage— To equal mine!—was it not thus? what say you?


MARINA. I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage, You would not do me violence.


PERICLES. I do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me. You are like something that—what country-woman? Here of these shores?


MARINA. No, nor of any shores: Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am No other than I appear.


PERICLES. 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?


MARINA. Where I am but a stranger: from the deck You may discern the place.


PERICLES. Where were you bred? And how achieved you these endowments, which You make more rich to owe?


MARINA. If I should tell my history, it would seem Like lies disdain'd in the reporting.


PERICLES. Prithee, speak: 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 cam'st From good descending?


PERICLES. 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.


MARINA. Some such thing, I said, and said no more but what my thoughts Did warrant me was likely.


PERICLES. Tell thy story; If thine consider'd prove the thousand 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.


PERICLES. O, I am mock'd, And thou by some incensed god sent hither To make the world to laugh at me.


MARINA. Patience, good sir, Or here I'll cease.


PERICLES. Nay, I'll be patient. Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me, To call thyself Marina.


MARINA. The name Was given me by one that had some power, My father, and a king.


PERICLES. How! a king's daughter? And call'd Marina?


MARINA. You said you would believe me; But, not to be a troubler of your peace, I will end here.


PERICLES. 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?


MARINA. Call'd Marina For I was born at sea.


PERICLES. At sea! What mother?


MARINA. My mother was the daughter of a king; Who died the minute I was born, As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft Deliver'd weeping.


PERICLES. O, stop there a little! [Aside.] This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep Did mock sad fools withal: this cannot be: My daughter, buried. Well, where were you bred? I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story, And never interrupt you.


MARINA. You scorn: believe me, 'twere best I did give o'er.


PERICLES. 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?


MARINA. 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.


PERICLES. Ho, Helicanus!


Enter Helicanus and Lysimachus.


HELICANUS. Calls my lord?


PERICLES. 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.


HELICANUS. I know not, But here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene Speaks nobly of her.


LYSIMACHUS. She would never tell Her parentage; being demanded that, She would sit still and weep.


PERICLES. 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. [To Marina] 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.


MARINA. First, sir, I pray, what is your title?


PERICLES. 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 life To Pericles thy father.


MARINA. 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.


PERICLES. 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?


HELICANUS. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mytilene, Who, hearing of your melancholy state, Did come to see you.


PERICLES. 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?


HELICANUS. My lord, I hear none.


PERICLES. None! The music of the spheres! List, my Marina.


LYSIMACHUS. It is not good to cross him; give him way.


PERICLES. Rarest sounds! Do ye not hear?


LYSIMACHUS. Music, my lord? I hear.


PERICLES. Most heavenly music! It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber Hangs upon mine eyes: let me rest.


LYSIMACHUS. 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.


Diana appears to Pericles as in a vision.


DIANA. 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.


[Disappears.]


PERICLES. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, I will obey thee. Helicanus!


Re-enter Helicanus, Lysimachus and Marina.


PERICLES. 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. [To Lysimachus.] Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore, And give you gold for such provision As our intents will need?


LYSIMACHUS. Sir, with all my heart, And when you come ashore I have another suit.


PERICLES. You shall prevail, were it to woo my daughter; For it seems you have been noble towards her.


PERICLES. Come, my Marina.


Enter Gower before the temple of Diana at Ephesus.


GOWER. 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, Our 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.


PERICLES. 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; whom, 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.


PERICLES. What means the nun? She dies! help, gentlemen!


CERIMON. Noble sir, If you have told Diana's altar true, This is your wife.


PERICLES. Reverend appearer, no; I threw her overboard with these very arms.


CERIMON. Upon this coast, I warrant you.


PERICLES. 'Tis most certain.


CERIMON. Look to the lady; O, she's but o'er-joy'd. Early in blustering morn this lady was Thrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin, Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and placed her Here in Diana's temple.


PERICLES. May we see them?


CERIMON. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house, Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is Recovered.


THAISA. O, let me look! If he be none of mine, my sanctity Will to my sense bend no licentious ear, But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord, Are you not Pericles? Like him you spake, Like him you are: did you not name a tempest, A birth, and death?


PERICLES. The voice of dead Thaisa!


THAISA. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead And drown'd.


THAISA. Now I know you better, When we with tears parted Pentapolis, The king my father gave you such a ring.


[Shows a ring.]


PERICLES. This, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness Makes my past miseries sports: you shall do well, That on the touching of her lips I may Melt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried A second time within these arms.


MARINA. My heart Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom.


PERICLES. Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa; Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina For she was yielded there.


THAISA. Blest, and mine own!


HELICANUS. Hail, madam, and my queen!


THAISA. I know you not.


PERICLES. You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre, I left behind an ancient substitute: Can you remember what I call'd the man? I have named him oft.


THAISA. 'Twas Helicanus then.


PERICLES. Still confirmation: Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he. Now do I long to hear how you were found: How possibly preserved; and who to thank, Besides the gods, for this great miracle.


THAISA. Lord Cerimon, my lord; this man, Through whom the gods have shown their power; that can From first to last resolve you.


PERICLES. Reverend sir, The gods can have no mortal officer More like a god than you. Will you deliver How this dead queen relives?


CERIMON. I will, my lord. Beseech you, first go with me to my house, Where shall be shown you all was found with her; How she came placed here in the temple; No needful thing omitted.


PERICLES. Pure Dian, bless thee for thy vision! I Will offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa, This prince, the fair betrothed of your daughter, Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now this ornament Makes me look dismal will I clip to form; And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd To grace thy marriage-day, I'll beautify.


THAISA. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir, My father's dead.


PERICLES. Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen, We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves Will in that kingdom spend our following days: Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay To hear the rest untold. Sir, lead's the way.


GOWER. In Antiochus and his daughter you have heard Of monstrous lust the due and just reward: In Pericles, his queen and daughter seen, Although assail'd with Fortune fierce and keen, Virtue preserved from fell destruction's blast, Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last. In Helicanus may you well descry A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty: In reverend Cerimon there well appears The worth that learned charity aye wears: For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame Had spread their cursed deed, the honour'd name Of Pericles, to rage the city turn, That him and his they in his palace burn. The gods for murder seemed so content To punish, although not done, but meant. So on your patience evermore attending, New joy wait on you! Here our play has ending.


ACT I Scene I. London. A Room in the palace. Scene II. The same. A room in the Duke of Lancaster's palace. Scene III. Open Space, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &c., attending. Scene IV. London. A Room in the King's Castle. ACT II Scene I. London. An Apartment in Ely House. Scene II. The Same. A Room in the Castle. Scene III. The Wolds in Gloucestershire. Scene IV. A camp in Wales. ACT III Scene I. Bristol. Bolingbroke's camp. Scene II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view. Scene III. Wales. Before Flint Castle. Scene IV. Langley. The Duke of York's garden. ACT IV Scene I. Westminster Hall. ACT V Scene I. London. A street leading to the Tower. Scene II. The same. A room in the Duke of York's palace. Scene III. Windsor. A room in the Castle. Scene IV. Another room in the Castle. Scene V. Pomfret. The dungeon of the Castle. Scene VI. Windsor. An Apartment in the Castle.


KING RICHARD THE SECOND JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk DUKE OF SURREY EARL OF SALISBURY LORD BERKELEY BUSHY - Servant to King Richard BAGOT - Servant to King Richard GREEN - Servant to King Richard EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND HARRY PERCY, surnamed Hotspur, his son LORD ROSS LORD WILLOUGHBY LORD FITZWATER BISHOP OF CARLISLE ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER LORD MARSHAL SIR PIERCE OF EXTON SIR STEPHEN SCROOP Captain of a band of Welshmen


QUEEN TO KING RICHARD DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER DUCHESS OF YORK Lady attending on the Queen


SCENE: Dispersedly in England and Wales.


SCENE I. London. A Room in the palace.


Enter King Richard, John of Gaunt, with other Nobles and Attendants.


KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son, Here to make good the boist'rous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?


KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice, Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him?


GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aimed at your Highness, no inveterate malice.


KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence. Face to face And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak. High-stomached are they both and full of ire, In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.


Enter Bolingbroke and Mowbray.


BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!


MOWBRAY. Each day still better other's happiness Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown!


KING RICHARD. We thank you both. Yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come, Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?


BOLINGBROKE. First—heaven be the record to my speech!— In the devotion of a subject's love, Tend'ring the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat, And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove.


MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal. 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cooled for this. Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hushed and naught at all to say. First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech, Which else would post until it had returned These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him, Call him a slanderous coward and a villain; Which to maintain, I would allow him odds And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable Wherever Englishman durst set his foot. Meantime let this defend my loyalty: By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.


BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the King, And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop. By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise.


MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree Or chivalrous design of knightly trial. And when I mount, alive may I not light If I be traitor or unjustly fight!


KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him.


BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true: That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detained for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say, and will in battle prove, Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was surveyed by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say, and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood, Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth To me for justice and rough chastisement. And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.


KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what sayst thou to this?


MOWBRAY. O! let my sovereign turn away his face And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood How God and good men hate so foul a liar.


KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears. Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now, by my sceptre's awe I make a vow Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul. He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou. Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.


MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account Since last I went to France to fetch his queen. Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, I slew him not, but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; But ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it and exactly begged Your Grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault. As for the rest appealed, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor, Which in myself I boldly will defend, And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom. In haste whereof most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day.


KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me. Let's purge this choler without letting blood. This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision. Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.


GAUNT. To be a make-peace shall become my age. Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.


KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his.


GAUNT. When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again.


KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.


MOWBRAY. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame. The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison.


KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood. Give me his gage. Lions make leopards tame.


MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one. Take honour from me, and my life is done. Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live, and for that will I die.


KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.


BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this outdared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.


KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry upon Saint Lambert's day. There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate. Since we cannot atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms Be ready to direct these home alarms.


SCENE II. The same. A room in the Duke of Lancaster's palace.


Enter John of Gaunt with the Duchess of Gloucester.


GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims To stir against the butchers of his life. But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven, Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.


DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root. Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is cracked, and all the precious liquor spilt, Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine! That bed, that womb, That metal, that self mould, that fashioned thee Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair. In suff'ring thus thy brother to be slaughtered, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. That which in mean men we entitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.


GAUNT. God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caused his death, the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister.


DUCHESS. Where then, alas! may I complain myself?


GAUNT. To God, the widow's champion and defence.


DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom That they may break his foaming courser's back And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt. Thy sometimes brother's wife With her companion, Grief, must end her life.


GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry. As much good stay with thee as go with me!


DUCHESS. Yet one word more. Grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight. I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all. Nay, yet depart not so! Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him—ah, what?— With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die! The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.


SCENE III. Open Space, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &c., attending.


Enter the Lord Marshal and the Duke of Aumerle.


MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?


AUMERLE. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.


MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appelant's trumpet.


AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepared and stay For nothing but his Majesty's approach.


Enter King Richard, who takes his seat on his Throne; Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green and others, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered by another trumpet within. Then enter Mowbray in armour, defendant, preceded by a Herald.


KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms. Ask him his name, and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause.


MARSHAL. In God's name and the King's, say who thou art, And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel. Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath, As so defend thee heaven and thy valour.


MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, Who hither come engaged by my oath— Which God defend a knight should violate!— Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my King, and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me, And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me; And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.


[He takes his seat.]


Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, appellant, in armour, preceded by a Herald.


KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war, And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause.


MARSHAL. What is thy name? And wherefore com'st thou hither Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!


BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Am I, who ready here do stand in arms To prove by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he's a traitor foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me. And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.


MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the Marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs.


BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand And bow my knee before his Majesty. For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends.


MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your highness And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.


KING RICHARD. [Descends from his throne.] We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight. Farewell, my blood, which if today thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.


BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear. As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you. Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo! as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet. O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers, And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt, Even in the lusty haviour of his son.


GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous. Be swift like lightning in the execution, And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy. Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.


BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!


MOWBRAY. [Rising.] However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just, and upright gentleman. Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace His golden uncontrolled enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years. As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast.


KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord. Securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.


[The King and the Lords return to their seats.]


MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right.


BOLINGBROKE. [Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I cry "Amen"!


MARSHAL. [To an officer.] Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.


FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his King, and him, And dares him to set forward to the fight.


SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal, Courageously and with a free desire, Attending but the signal to begin.


MARSHAL. Sound trumpets, and set forward, combatants.


[A charge sounded.]


Stay! the King hath thrown his warder down.


KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again. Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree.


[A long flourish.]


[To the Combatants.] Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soiled With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours' swords; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep, Which so roused up with boist'rous untuned drums, With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood: Therefore we banish you our territories. You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enriched our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment.


BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be: That sun that warms you here shall shine on me, And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment.


KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile. The hopeless word of "never to return" Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.


MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlooked for from your highness' mouth. A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo; And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you have engaoled my tongue, Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips, And dull unfeeling, barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now. What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?


KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compassionate. After our sentence plaining comes too late.


MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.


KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banished hands. Swear by the duty that you owe to God— Our part therein we banish with yourselves— To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God, Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.


BOLINGBROKE. I swear.


MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this.


BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy: By this time, had the King permitted us, One of our souls had wandered in the air, Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banished from this land. Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm. Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burden of a guilty soul.


MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke. If ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banished as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way.


KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banished years Plucked four away. [To Bolingbroke.] Six frozen winters spent, Return with welcome home from banishment.


BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings.


GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile; But little vantage shall I reap thereby, For, ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about, My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son.


KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.


GAUNT. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give. Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow. Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.


KING RICHARD. Thy son is banished upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave. Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?


GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge, but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild. A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroyed. Alas, I looked when some of you should say I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong.


KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell, and, uncle, bid him so. Six years we banish him, and he shall go.


[Flourish. Exit King Richard and Train.]


AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show.


MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side.


GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?