Complete Plays, The (440 page)

She moves

Thaisa

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

Second Gentleman

Is not this strange?

First Gentleman

Most rare.

Cerimon

Hush, my gentle neighbours!
Lend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.
Get linen: now this matter must be look’d to,
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come;
And Aesculapius guide us!

Exeunt, carrying her away

S
CENE
III. T
ARSUS
. A
ROOM
IN
C
LEON
’
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
Unscissor’d shall this hair of mine remain,
Though I show ill in’t. So I take my leave.
Good madam, make me blessed in your care
In bringing up my child.

Dionyza

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

Pericles

Madam, my thanks and prayers.

Cleon

We’ll bring your grace e’en to the edge o’ the shore,
Then give you up to the mask’d Neptune and
The gentlest winds of heaven.

Pericles

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

Exeunt

S
CENE
IV. E
PHESUS
. A
ROOM
IN
C
ERIMON
’
S
HOUSE
.

Enter Cerimon and Thaisa

Cerimon

Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,
Lay with you in your coffer: which are now
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 eaning time; but whether there
Deliver’d, by the holy gods,
I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,
My wedded lord, I ne’er shall see again,
A vestal livery will I take me to,
And never more have joy.

Cerimon

Madam, if this you purpose as ye speak,
Diana’s temple is not distant far,
Where you may abide till your date expire.
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine
Shall there attend you.

Thaisa

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

Exeunt

A
CT
IV

P
ROLOGUE

Enter Gower

Gower

Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,
Welcomed and settled to his own desire.
His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,
Unto Diana there a votaress.
Now to Marina bend your mind,
Whom our fast-growing scene must find
At Tarsus, and by Cleon train’d
In music, letters; who hath gain’d
Of education all the grace,
Which makes her both the heart and place
Of general wonder. But, alack,
That monster envy, oft the wrack
Of earned praise, Marina’s life
Seeks to take off by treason’s knife.
And in this kind hath our Cleon
One daughter, and a wench full grown,
Even ripe for marriage-rite; this maid
Hight Philoten: and it is said
For certain in our story, she
Would ever with Marina be:
Be’t when she weaved the sleided silk
With fingers long, small, white as milk;
Or when she would with sharp needle wound
The cambric, which she made more sound
By hurting it; or when to the lute
She sung, and made the night-bird mute,
That still records with moan; or when
She would with rich and constant pen
Vail to her mistress Dian; still
This Philoten contends in skill
With absolute Marina: so
With the dove of Paphos might the crow
Vie feathers white. Marina gets
All praises, which are paid as debts,
And not as given. This so darks
In Philoten all graceful marks,
That Cleon’s wife, with envy rare,
A present murderer does prepare
For good Marina, that her daughter
Might stand peerless by this slaughter.
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
Lychorida, our nurse, is dead:
And cursed Dionyza hath
The pregnant instrument of wrath
Prest for this blow. The unborn event
I do commend to your content:
Only I carry winged time
Post on the lame feet of my rhyme;
Which never could I so convey,
Unless your thoughts went on my way.
Dionyza does appear,
With Leonine, a murderer.

Exit

S
CENE
I. T
ARSUS
. A
N
OPEN
PLACE
NEAR
THE
SEA
-
SHORE
.

Enter Dionyza and Leonine

Dionyza

Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do’t:
’Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.
Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,
Which is but cold, inflaming love i’ thy bosom,
Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be
A soldier to thy purpose.

Leonine

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

Dionyza

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

Leonine

I am resolved.

Enter Marina, with a basket of flowers

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: you have
A nurse of me. Lord, how your favour’s changed
With this unprofitable woe!
Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.
Walk with Leonine; the air is quick there,
And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. 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.

Leonine

I warrant you, madam.

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.

Marina

My thanks, sweet madam.

Exit Dionyza

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 seaman!’ 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, ‘wilt 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?

Leonine

To satisfy my lady.

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.

He seizes her

Enter Pirates

First Pirate

Hold, villain!

Leonine runs away

Second Pirate

A prize! a prize!

Third Pirate

Half-part, mates, half-part.
Come, let’s have her aboard suddenly.

Exeunt Pirates with Marina

Re-enter Leonine

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.

Exit

S
CENE
II. M
YTILENE
. A
ROOM
IN
A
BROTHEL
.

Enter Pandar, Bawd, and Boult

Pandar

Boult!

Boult

Sir?

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.

Exit

Pandar

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