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If thou hadst drunk to him, it had been a kindness Becoming well thy feat*: what canst thou say, When noble Pericles shall demand his child?

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

O, go to. Well, well,
Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods
Do like this worst. . .
· Dion. ; . Be one of those, that think
The petty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence,
And open this to Pericles. I do shame
To think of what a noble strain you are,
And of how cow'd a spirit.
Cle.

To such proceeding
Who ever but his approbation added,
Though not his pre-consent, he did not flow
From honourable courses.
Dion.

Be it so then: Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead; Nor none can know, Leonine being gone. She did disdain 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 malkint, Not worth the time of day. It pierc'd nie thorough; 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 soleg daughter. Cleo.

Heavens forgive it!

• i. e. Of a piece with the rest of thy exploit.

An innocent was formerly a common appellation for an idiot. | A coarse wench, not worth a good-morrow.

Only. .

Dion. And as for Pericles,
What should he say? We wept after her bearse,
And even yet we moura: ber monument
Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs
Io glittering golden characters express
A general praise to her, and care in us
At whose expence 'tis done,
Cle.

Thou art like the harpy,
Which, to betray, doth wear an angel's face,
Seize with an eagle's talons.

Dion. 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. (Ereunt.

Enter Gower, before the monument of Mariņa at

Tharsus. Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues

make short; Sail seas in cockles, have, and wisla but for't; Making* (to take your imagination), From bourn to bournt, 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 gap 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 Escapes, whom Helicanus late Advanc'd in time to great and high estate, Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, Old Helicanus goes along behind. Well-sailing ships, and bounteous winds, have

brought This king to Tharsus, (think bis pilot thought;

• Travelling.
† From one boundary to another.

So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on),
To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.
Like motes and shadows see them move awbile;
Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile.

Dumb show. Enter at one door, Pericles, with his train; Cloon

and Dionyza at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb of Marina; whereat Pericles makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a mighty passion departs. Then Cleon and Dionyza rctire.

Gow. 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 oe'r-

show'r'd,
Leaves Tharsus, 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, wbich bis mortal vessel* tears,
And yet he rides it out. Now please you witt
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 wus she call'd; and at her birth,
Thetist, being proud, swallow'd some part o'the

earth: Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'crflow'd, Hath Thetis' birth-child on the hearens bestow'd: Wherefore she does, (and swears she'll never stint, 9) Make raging battery upon shores of flint.

• His body.

The sea. VOL. VII.

+ To know
Never cease.
Y

No visor does become black villainy,
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 scenes display
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day,
In her unholy service. Patience then,
And think you now are all in Mitylen.

E.rit.

SCENE V.

Mitylene. A street before the brothel.

Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like? 2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone.

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

2 Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy. houses: shall we go hear the vestals sing?

1 Gent. I'll do avy thing now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road of rutting, for ever.

(Exeunt,

SCENE VI.

The same. A room in the brothel.

Enter Pander, Bawd, und Boult.

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

Bawd. Fye, fye upon her; she is 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 disfur. nish us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swear. ers priests.

Pand. 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.

Enter Lysimachus.

Lys. 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.

Lys. 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 Mitylene.

Lys. If she'd do the deeds of darkness, thou would'st say.

Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say, well enough.

Lys. 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

• How much? what price?

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