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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 seafarer,

       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 straight.

       PERICLES.

       As you think meet. Most wretched queen!

       LYCHORIDA.

       Here she lies, sir.

       PERICLES.

       A terrible childben hast thou had, my dear;

       No light, no fire: the 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 e’er-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.]

       SECOND SAILOR. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.

       PERICLES.

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

       SECOND SAILOR.

       We are near Tarsus.

       PERICLES.

       Thither, gentle mariner,

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

       SECOND SAILOR.

       By break of day, if the wind cease.

       PERICLES.

       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.]

       SCENE II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house.

       [Enter Cerimon, with a Servant, and some Persons who have been shipwrecked.]

       CERIMON.

       Philemon, ho!

       [Enter Philemon.]

       PHILEMON.

       Doth my lord call?

       CERIMON.

       Get fire and meat for these poor men:

       ‘T has been a turbulent and stormy night.

       SERVANT.

       I have been in many; but such a night as this,

       Till now, I ne’er endured.

       CERIMON.

       Your master will be dead ere you return;

       There’s nothing can be minister’d to nature

       That can recover him.

       [To Philemon.]

       Give this to the ‘pothecary,

       And tell me how it works.

       [Exeunt all but Cerimon.]

       [Enter two Gentlemen.]

       FIRST GENTLEMAN.

       Good morrow.

       SECOND GENTLEMAN.

       Good morrow to your lordship.

       CERIMON.

       Gentlemen,

       Why do you stir so early?

       FIRST GENTLEMAN.

       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.

       SECOND GENTLEMAN.

       That is the cause we trouble you so early;

       ‘Tis not our husbandry.

       CERIMON.

       O, you say well.

       FIRST GENTLEMAN.

       But I much marvel that your lordship, having

      

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