William Shakespeare's Pericles, Prince of Tyre in the complete original text.
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Pericles, Prince of Tyre

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Act III. Scene I.

Scene I.

Enter PERICLES, on shipboard.

Per. Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these
surges,
Which wash 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 Lycho-
rida,
How does my queen? Thou stormest venom-
ously;
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!
Lyc. 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.
Per. How, how, Lychorida!
Lyc. 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.
Per. O you gods!
Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,
And snatch them straightaway? We here below,
Recall not what we give, and therein may
Use honour with you.
Lyc. Patience, good sir,
Even for this charge.
Per. 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 e'er was prince's child. Happy what fol-
lows!
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't!

Enter two Sailors.
First Sail. What courage, sir? God save you!
Per. 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.
First Sail. Slack the bolins there! thou wilt
not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself. 44
Sec. Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and
cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not.
First Sail. 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.
Per. That's your superstition.
First Sail. 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.
Per. As you think meet. Most wretched
queen!
Lyc. Here she lies, sir.
Per. 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 hallow'd to thy grave, but straight
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze;
Where, for a monument upon thy bones,
And aye-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.
Sec. Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the
hatches, caulk'd and bitumed ready.
Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast
is this?
Sec. Sail. We are near Tarsus.
Per. Thither, gentle mariner,
Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou
reach it?
Sec. Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease.
Per. 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.
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