Act I. Scene
Scene IV.Before the Monument of MARINA
Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make
Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for't;
Makingto take your imagination
From bourn to bourn, region to region.
By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime
To use one language in each several clime
Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you
To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach
The stages of our story. Pericles
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas,
Attended on by many a lord and knight,
To see his daughter, all his life's delight, us
Old Helicanus goes along. Behind
Is left to govern it, you bear in mind,
Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late
Advanc'd in time to great and high estate.
Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have
This king to Tarsus, think his pilot thought,
So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,
To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.
Like motes and shadows see them move awhile;
Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile.
Enter at one door PERICLES, with his Train;
CLEON and DIONYZA at the other. CLEON shows
PERICLES the tomb of MARINA; whereat PERI-
CLES makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth,
and in a mighty passion departs. Exeunt
CLEON and DIONYZA.
See how belief may suffer by foul show!
This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe;
And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd,
With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er-
Leaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears
Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs;
He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears
A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,
And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit
The epitaph is for Marina writ
By wicked Dionyza.
[Reads inscription on MARINA'S monument.
THE FAIREST, SWEET'ST, AND BEST
LIES HERE, WHO WITHER'D IN HER
SPRING OF YEAR:SHE WAS OF TYRUS
THE KING'S DAUGHTER,
ON WHOM FOUL DEATH HATH MADE
THIS SLAUGHTER. MARINA WAS SHE
CALL'D; AND AT HER BIRTH, THETIS,
BEING PROUD, SWALLOW'D SOME
PART O' THE EARTH:
THEREFORE THE EARTH, TEARING TO
HATH THETIS' BIRTH-CHILD ON THE
WHEREFORE SHE DOES, AND SWEARS
SHE'LL NEVER STINT, MAKE RAGING
BAWERY UPON SHORES OF FLINT.
No visor does become black villany
So well as soft and tender flattery.
Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead,
And bear his courses to be ordered
By Lady Fortune; while our scene must play
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day
In her unholy service. Patience then,
And think you now are all in Mitylen. [Exit.