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: It has been a turbulent and stormy night.

Serv. I have 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.-Give this to the 'pothecary,
And tell me how it works.


[Exeunt all but CERIMON.

Enter two Gentlemen. 1 Gent.

Good-morrow, sir. 2 Gent. Good-morrow to your lordship.

Why do you stir so early?

1 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.

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

O, you say well.
1 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.
It is most strange
Nature should be so conversant with pain,
Being thereto not compell’d.

I held 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 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.
2 Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd

Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd:
And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even
Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon
Such strong renown as time shall never raze.

Enter two Servants with a chest.
1 Serv. So; lift there.

What is that? 1 Serv.

Sir, even now
Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest:
'Tis of some wreck.

Cer. . Sett down, let's look upon't.
2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir.

Whate'er it be,
'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:
If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold,
It is a good constraint of fortune that
It belches upon us.
2 Gent.

'Tis so, my lord. Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitum'd!Did the sea cast it up?

1 Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, As toss'd it upon shore. Cer.

Wrench it open; Soft!-it smells most sweetly in my sense.

2 Gent. A delicate odour.

Cer. As ever hit my nostril. -So, up with it. O you most potent gods! what's here? a corse!

1 Gent. Most strange!

Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state; balm’d and entreasur'd With bags of spices full! A passport too!Apollo, perfect me in the characters!

[Reads from a scroll. VOL. VI.

Here I give to understand,
lf e'er this coffin drive 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 liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart
That even cracks for woe!—This chanc'd to-night.

2 Gent. Most likely, sir.

Nay, certainly to-night; 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. [Exit a Servant. 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 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 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.“
This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth
Breathes out of her: she hath not been entranc'd
Above five hours: see how she 'gins to blow
Into life's flower again!
I Gent.

The heavens,
Through you, increase our wonder, and set up
Your fame for ever.

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
Do 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. Thai.

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

this? 2 Gent. Is not this strange?

1 Gent.

Most rare. Cer.

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 Æsculapius guide us! [Exeunt, carrying out THAISA.


MARINA in her arms. Per. Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone; My twelvemonths are expir'd, 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 ! Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you

mortally, Yet glance full wanderingly on us. Dion.

O your sweet queen! That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought her

To have bless'd mine eyes!

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 nam'd 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.

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 cħild be thought on. If neglection
Should therein make me vile, the common body,
By you reliev'd, 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!

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
Unscissar'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.

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

Madam, my thanks and prayers.
Cle. We'll bring your grace e'en to the edge o' the

Then give you up to the vast Neptune and
The gentlest winds of heaven.

I will embrace
Your offer. Come, dearest madam.-0, no tears,
Lychorida, no tears :
Look to your little mistress, on whose grace
You may depend hereafter.—Come, my lord. [Exeunt.


Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,
Lay with you in your coffer: which are now
At your command. Know you the character?

Thai. 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.

Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you 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.

Thai. My recompense is thanks, that's all;
Yet my good-will is great, though the gift small. [Exeunt.

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