Pericles, Prince of Tyre Act 3

Act III of Pericles, Prince of Tyre, by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act III. Prologue. Enter Gower.

Now sleep is slaked hath the road. no din but snores the house about made louder by the oar-fed breast of this most pompous marriage feast the cat with eyne of burning coal now crouches for the mouse's hole and crickets sing at the oven's mouth ere the blither for their troth hymen hath brought the bride to bed by the loss of maidenhead a babe is moulded be attend and time that is so briefly spent with your fine fancies quaintly edge what's dumb in show i'll plain with speech.

Dumb show enter pericles and simonides at one door with attendants a messenger meets them kneels and gives pericles a letter pericles shows it simonides the lords kneel to him then enter theisa with child with lycorida a nurse the king shows her the letter she rejoices she and pericles takes leave of her father and depart with lycorida and their attendants then exeunt simonides and the rest.

By many a dern and painful perch of pericles the careful search by the four opposing coins which the world together joins is made with all due diligence that horse and sail and high expense can stead the quest at last from tyre fame answering the most strange enquire to the court of king simonides our letters brought the tenor these antiochus and his daughter dead the men of tirus on the head of helicanus would set on the crown of tyre but he will none the mutiny he there hastes to oppress says to em if king pericles come not home in twice six moons he obedient to their dooms will take the crown the sum of this brought hither to pentapolis he ravishd the regions round and every one with claps can sound our heir apparent is a

king who dreamed who thought of such a thing brief he must hence depart to tyre his queen with child makes her a desire which who shall cross along to go omit we all their dole and woe lycorida her nurse she takes and so to see Their vessel shakes on Neptune's billow, Half the flood hath their keel cut, But fortune's mood varies again. The grisly north disgorges such a tempest forth, That as a duck for life that dives, So up and down the poor ship drives. The lady shrieks, and well anear Does fall in travail with her fear, and what ensues in this foul storm shall for itself itself perform i nill relate axion 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-tossed pericles appears to speak.

Act III, Scene I. On Ship. Enter Pericles on shipboard.

Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these surges which wash both heaven and hell, and thou that hast upon the wind's command bind them in brass, having called them from the deep. O still thy deafening dreadful thunders gently quench thy nimble sulfurous flashes. O how! how does my queen thou stormest venomously wilt thou spit all thyself the seaman's whistle is as a whisper in the ears of death unheard lucina o divinest patroness and midwife gentle to those that cry by night convey thy deity upon our dancing boat make swift the pangs of my.

Queen's Enter Lycorda with an infant.

Now, Lycordia!

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.

How, how, Lycordia!

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.

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 use honour with.

You patience good sir even for this charge.

Now mild may be thy life for a more blust'rous 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 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 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 enter two sailors.

What courage sir god save.

You 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 slack the bullens there thou wilt not wilt thou blow and split thyself but.

Sea-room and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon i care.

Not 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.

That's your superstition.

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.

As you think meet. Most wretched queen!

Here she lies, sir.

A terrible child-bed hast thou had my dear no light no fire the unfriendly elements forgot thee utterly nor have i time to give thee hallowed to thy grave but straight must cast thee scarcely coffined in the ooze where for a monument upon thy bones and ere remaining lamps the belching wail and humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse lying with simple shells oh like 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 by thee whiles i say a priestly farewell to her suddenly woman exit my corridor.

Sir we have a chest beneath the hatches cocked and betom'd ready.

I thank thee Mariner, say, what coast is this?

We are near Tarsus.

Thither, gentle Mariner. Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?

By break of day, if the wind cease. O, make for Tarsus.

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 act three scene two ephesus a room in saramon's house enter saramon with a servant and some persons who have been shipwrecked philemon who enter philemon who doth my lord call.

Get fire and meat for these poor men tis been a turbulent and stormy night.

I have been in many but such a night as this till now i ne'er endured.

Your master will be dead ere you return there's nothing can be minstered to nature that can recover him to philemon give this to the pockethary and tell me how it works exeunt all but saruman enter two gentlemen.

Good morrow good morrow your lordship.

Gentlemen what are you stir so early.

Sir a lodging standing bleak upon the sea shook as the earth did quake the very principles did seem to rend and all to topple pure surprise and fear made me to quit the house.

Captain that is the cause we trouble you so early tis not our husbandry.

Captain oh you say well captain but i much marvel at your lordship having reached higher 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 compelled.

I hold 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 arts, by turning o'er authorities, I have together with my practice made familiar to me and to my aid the blessed infusions that dwell in vedatives, in metals, stones, and I can speak of the disturbances that nature works, and of her cures, which doth give me a more contenting 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.

Your honour has through ephesus poured forth your charity and hundreds call themselves your creatures who by you have been restored and not your knowledge your personal pain but even your purse still open hath built lord kerriman such strong renown as time shall ne'er decay.

Enter two or three servants with a chest so lift there what is that sir even now did the sea toss up upon our shore this chest Tis of some wreck.

Set it down.

Let's look upon't.

Tis like a coffin, sir.

Whate'er it be, it tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight. If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold, tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.

Tis so, my lord.

How close tis corked and bitumed. Did the sea cast it up?

I never saw so huge a billow, sir, as tossed it upon shore.

Wrench it open, soft.

It smells most sweetly in my sense.

A delicate odour.

As ever hit my nostril, so up with it. Oh, you most potent gods, what's here?

A course?

Most strange.

Shrouded in cloth of state, balmed and entresured with full bags of spices. A passport, too. Apollo perfect me in the characters.

Reads from a scrawl.

Here I give to understand, if here 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 livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart that even cracks for woe. This chance to knight.

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 oppressed spirits. I heard of an Egyptian that had nine hours lean dead, who was by good appliance recovered.

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

Was it, was it, the fire and cloths? The rough and woeful music that we have, cause it to sound. Beseech you the viol once more. How thou stir'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 entranced above five hours.

See how she gins to blow into life's flower again.

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 the 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.

Oh, dear Diana, where am I? Where is my lord? What world is this?

Is not this strange?

Most rare.

Hush, my gentle neighbours. Lend me your hands, to the next chamber bear her. Get linen. Now, this matter must be looked to, for... Her relapse is mortal.

Come, come.

And Escalapius guide us.

Exeunt.

Carrying her away. Act 3. Scene 3.

Tarsus.

A room in Cleon's house. Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionysia, and Lycorida, with Marina in her arms.

Most honoured 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.

Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally, yet glance full wonderingly on us.

O your sweet queen, that the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither, to have blessed mine eyes with her.

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 mannered 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 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.

I believe you. Your honour and your goodness teach me to it without your vows. Till she be married, madam, by bright Diana, whom we honour, all unsizzard shall this hair of mine remain, though I show ill in it. 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.

We'll bring your grace e'en to the edge o'er the shore, then give you up to the masked Neptune and the gentlest winds of heaven.

I will embrace your offer. Come, dearest madam. Oh, no, tears, Lycorida, no tears. Look to your little mistress, on whose grace you may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.

Exeunt.

Act III, Scene IV.

Ephesus.

A room in Saramon's house. Enter Saramon and Thaisa.

Madam, this letter and some certain jewels lay with you in your coffer, which are now at your command. Know you the character?

It is my lord's, that I was shipped at sea I well remember, even on my evening time, but whether they're delivered by the holy gods I cannot rightly say. But, since King Pericles, my wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again. A vast delivery will I take me to, and never more have joy.

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.

My recompense is thanks, that's all. Yet my goodwill is great, though the gift small.

Exeunt End of Act 3

Pericles, Prince of Tyre Act 3

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