Lyc. 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.

Per.

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.

Lyc.

Even for this charge.

Per.

Patience, good sir,

Now, mild may be thy life!

For a more blusterous birth had never babe:

Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for

Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world

That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows!
Thou hast as chiding a nativity

As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,
To herald thee from the womb: even at the first

Now, the good gods

Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit,
With all thou canst find here.
Throw their best eyes upon't!

Enter two Sailors.

First 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 seafarer,

I would it would be quiet.

First Sail. Slack the bolins there! thou? Blow, and split thyself.

Thou wilt not, wilt

Sec. Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not.

First Sail. 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.

Per. That's your superstition.

First Sail. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it hath been still observed; and we are strong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard straight.

Per. As you think meet.

Lyc. Here she lies, sir.

- Most wretched queen!

Per. 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 aye-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. Sec. Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.

Mariner, say what coast is this?

Sec. Sail. We are near Tharsus.

Per. Thither, gentle mariner,

Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?
Sec. Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease.

Per. O, make for Tharsus!

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.

[Exeunt.

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

Enter CERIMON, a Servant, and some Persons who have been

shipwrecked.

Cer. Philemon, ho!

Enter PHILEMON.

Phil. Doth my lord call?

Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men: 'T has been a turbulent and stormy night.

Serv. I've been in many; but such a night as this, Till now, I ne'er endur'd.

Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return;

There's nothing can be minister'd to nature

That can recover him.

pothecary,

And tell me how it works.

First Gent.

[To Philemon] Give this to the

[Exeunt all except Cerimon.

Enter two Gentlemen.

Good morrow.

Sec. Gent. Good morrow to your lordship.

Cer.

Why do you stir so early?

First Gent. 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.

Gentlemen,

Sec. Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so early; "Tis not our husbandry.

Cer.

O, you say well.

First Gent. 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.

I held it ever,

Cer.
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 treasure up in silken bags,

To please the fool and death.

Sec. Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth Your charity, and hundreds call themselves

Your creatures, who by you have been restor❜d:

And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even hath built Lord Cerimon

still open,

Your purse,
Such strong renown as time shall never raze.

Enter two or three Servants with a chest.
So; lift there.

First Serv.

Cer.

First Serv.

Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest:

"Tis of some wreck.

Cer.

What is that?

Sir, even now

Set 't down, let's look upon 't.

Whate'er it be,

Wrench it open straight:

Sec. Gent. "Tis like a coffin, sir.

Cer.

'Tis wondrous heavy.

If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold,

'Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.

Sec. Gent. "Tis so, my lord.

Cer.

Did the sea cast it up?

How close 'tis caulk'd and bitum'd!

First Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir,

As toss'd it upon shore.

Cer.

Soft!

Wrench it open;

- it smells most sweetly in my sense.

Sec. Gent. A delicate odour.

Cer. As ever hit

my nostril.

So, up with it.

O you most potent gods! what's here? a corse!

First Gent. Most strange!

Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and entreasur'd With full bags of spices! A passport too! ·

Apollo, perfect me in the characters!

"Here I give to understand,

If e'er this coffin drive a-land,
I, King Pericles, have lost

[Reads from a scroll.

This queen, worth all our mundane cost.
Who finds her, give her burying;
She was the daughter of a king:
Besides this treasure for a fee,
The gods requite his charity!”

If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart

That even cracks for woe!

Sec. Gent. Most likely, sir.
Cer.

For look how fresh she looks!

This chanc'd to-night.

Nay, certainly to-night;
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

[Exit a Servant.

The o'erpress'd spirits. I heard of an Egyptian
That had nine hours lien dead,

Who was by good appliances recover'd.

Re-enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, and fire.

Well said, well said; the fire and cloths.

The rough and woful 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

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