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       [Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, and Lychorida with Marina in her arms.]

       PERICLES.

       Most honour’d 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!

       CLEON.

       Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,

       Yet glance full wanderingly on us.

       DIONYZA.

       O, your sweet queen!

       That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,

       To have bless’d mine eyes with her!

       PERICLES.

       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

       Manner’d as she is born.

       CLEON.

       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!

       PERICLES.

       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.

       DIONYZA.

       I have one myself,

       Who shall not be mere dear to my respect

       Than yours, my lord.

       PERICLES.

       Madam, my thanks and prayers.

       CLEON.

       We’ll bring your grace e’en to the edge o’ the shore,

       Then give you up to the mask’d Neptune and

       The gentlest winds of heaven.

       PERICLES.

       I will embrace

       Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no tears,

       Lychorida, no tears:

       Look to your little mistress, on whose grace

       You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.

       [Exeunt.]

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

       [Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.]

       CERIMON.

       Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,

       Lay with you in your coffer: which are now

       At your command. Know you the character?

       THAISA.

       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.

       CERIMON.

       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.

       THAISA.

       My recompense is thanks, that’s all;

       Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.

       [Exeunt.]

       ACT IV.

       [Enter Gower.]

       GOWER.

       Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,

       Welcomed and settled to his own desire.

       His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,

       Unto Diana there a votaress.

       Now to Marina bend your mind,

       Whom our fast-growing scene must find

       At Tarsus, and by Cleon train’d

       In music, letters; who hath gain’d

       Of education all the grace,

       Which makes her both the heart and place

       Of general wonder. But, alack,

       That monster envy, oft the wrack

       Of earned praise, Marina’s life

       Seeks to take off by treason’s knife.

       And in this kind hath our Cleon

       One daughter, and a wench full grown,

       Even ripe for marriage-rite; this maid

       Hight Philoten: and it is said

       For certain in our story, she

       Would ever with Marina be:

       Be’t when she weaved the sleided silk

       With fingers long, small, white as milk;

       Or when she would with sharp needle wound,

       The cambric, which she made more sound

       By hurting it; or when to the lute

       She sung, and made the night-bird mute

       That still records with moan; or when

       She would with rich and constant pen

       Vail to her mistress Dian; still

       This Philoten contends in skill

       With absolute Marina: so

       With the dove of Paphos might the crow

       Vie feathers white. Marina gets

       All praises, which are paid as debts,

       And not as given. This so darks

       In Philoten all graceful marks,

       That Cleon’s wife, with envy rare,

       A present murderer does prepare

       For good Marina, that her daughter

       Might stand peerless by this slaughter.

       The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,

      

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