3

GOWER enters.*

Now ysleep slaked bath the rout,
No din but snoars about the house,
Made louder by the o'er-fee beast,
Of this most pompous marriage feast:
The cat with eyne of burning coal,
Now couches from the mouses hole :
And crickets sing at the oven's mouth,
Are the blither for their drowth :
Hymen hath brought the bride to bed,
Whence her affection fairly sped,
She riseth pregnant; by attent,
And time that is so briefly spent,
With your fine fancies quaintly each,

What's dumb in shew, I'll plain with speech.

[Enter Pericles, and Symonides, at one door, with attendants; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter; Pericles shews it Symonides, the Lords kneel to him; then enter Thaisa with child, with Lychorida, a nurse, the King shews her the letter, she rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart.

By many a dearn, and painful pearch,

Of Pericles, the careful search,

*The present editor has taken the liberty of altering and crossing, in a trifling degree, where he met with any expression rather too indecorous for the present taste.

By the four oosing coignes,
Which the thyd together joynes,
Is made with all due diligence,

That horse, and sail, and high expence,
Can steed the quest; at last from Tyre,
Fame answering the most strange enquire,
To th' court of king Symonides,

Are letters brought, the tenour these.
Antiochus, and his daughter's dead,
The men of Tyrus, on the head
Of Hellicanus would set on

The crown of Tyre; but he will none :
The mutiny be there hastes t' oppress,
Says to them, if king Pericles

Comes not home in twice six moons,
He, obedient to their dooms,

Will take the crown: the sum of this

Brought hither to Pentapolis,

Irony shed the regions round,

And every one 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, ber nurse she takes,
And so to sea; then vessel shakes
On Neptune's billow; half the flood
Half their keel cut; but fortune, mov'd,

Varies again, the grisly nort`-
Disgorges such a tempest for

That, as a duck for life that dives,
So up and down the poor ship drives :
The lady shrieks, and well a-near,
Doth fall in travail with her fear:
And what ensues in this self-storm,
Shall for itself, itself perform:
I nil 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.

SCENE VI.

The Ocean. PERICLES enters on Shipboard.*

Per. Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these surges Which wash both heav'n and hell; and thou that hast Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, Having call'd them from the deep; O still

Thy deafning dreadful thunders; daily quench
Thy nimble sulphurous flashes: O how, Lychorida,

From this soliloquy, through the character of Pericles, the pen of our great Shakespeare, is surely, at times, very discernible, as it likewise is, (with submission be it observed!) in that of Marina,

How does my queen? then storm, venomously

Wilt thou spit all thyself? the seaman's whistle
Is a whisper in the ears of death,

Unheard, Lychorida! Lucina, oh

Divinest patroness, and my wife, gentle
To those that cry by night, convey thy Deity
Aboard our dancing boat make swift the pangs
Of my queen's travels! Now, Lychorida.

LYCHORIDA enters.

Lyc. 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. Per. How? how, Lychorida?

Lyc. Patience, good sir, do not assist the storm, Here's all that is left living of our queen ;--A little daughter; for the sake of it

Be manly, and take comfort.

Per. O you Gods!

Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,
And snatch them straight away?

We here below, recal not what we give,
And we therein may use honour with you.
Lyc. Patience, good sir, even for this charge.
Per. 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 that follows,
Thou hast as chiding a nativity,

As fire, air, water, earth, and heav'n can make
To herald thee from the womb;

Ev'n 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 it.

Two Sailors enter.

1 Sail. What courage, sir? God save you.
Per. 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.

1 Sail. Slack the bolins there; thou wilt not, wilt thou, blow, and split thyself?

2 Sail. But sea-room, and the brine, and cloudy billows kiss the moon, I care not.

1 Sail. Sir, your queen must over-board:

The sea works high, the wind is loud,

And will not lie till the ship be clear'd of the dead. Per. That's your superstition. [observ'd,

1 Sail. Pardon us, sir, with us at sea it still hath been And we are strong in eastern, therefore briefly yield her. Per. As you think meet: for she must o'er-board Most wretched queen. [straight,

Lyc. Here she lies, sir.

Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dear; No light, no fire; the unfriendly elements

Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time

To bring thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight
Must cast thee scarcely coffin'd, in oar,