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That horse and sail and high expense

Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre,

Fame answering the most strange inquire,

To the court of King Simonides

Are letters brought, the tenour these:

Antiochus and his daughter dead;

The men of Tyrus on the head

Of Helicanus would set on

The crown of Tyre, but he will none:

The mutiny he there hastes t' 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

Y-ravished the regions round,

And every one with claps can sound,

'Our heir-apparent is a king!

Who dream'd, 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, her nurse, she takes,

And so to sea. Their vessel shakes

On Neptune's billow; half the flood

Hath their keel cut: but fortune's mood

Varies again; the grisled 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-a-near

Does fall in travail with her fear:

And what ensues in this fell storm

Shall for itself itself perform.

I nill 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.

[Exit.]

SCENE I.

[Enter Pericles, on shipboard.]

PERICLES.

Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,

Which wash forth both heaven and hell; and thou that hast

Upon the winds command, bind them in brass,

Having call'd them from the deep! O, still

Thy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench

Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,

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. Lychorida! - Lucina, O

Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle

To those that cry by night, convey thy deity

Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs

Of my queen's travails!

[Enter Lychorida, with an Infant.]

Now, Lychorida!

LYCHORIDA.

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 aims this piece

Of your dead queen.

PERICLES.

How, how, Lychorida!

LYCHORIDA.

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.

PERICLES.

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.

LYCHORIDA.

Patience, good sir.

Even for this charge.

PERICLES.

Now, mild may be thy life!

For a more blustrous birth had never babe:

Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for

Thou art the rudliest welcome to this world

That ever was prince's child. Happy what follows!

Thiou 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't!

{ Enter two Sailors.]

FIRST SAILOR.

What courage, sir? God save you!

PERICLES.

Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw;

It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love

Of ths poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer,

I would it would be quiet.

FIRST SAILOR.

Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself.

SECOND SAILOR.

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

FIRST SAILOR.

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.

PERICLES.

That's your superstition.

FIRST SAILOR.

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