Tarsus. A Room in the Governor's House. |
|
Enter CLEON, DIONYZA, and Attendants. |
Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, |
And by relating tales of others' griefs, |
See if 'twill teach us to forget our own? |
Dio. That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it; |
For who digs hills because they do aspire |
Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher. |
O my distressed lord! even such our griefs are; |
Here they're but felt, and seen with mischief's eyes, |
But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. |
Cle. O Dionyza, |
Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, |
Or can conceal his hunger till he famish? |
Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep |
Our woes into the air; our eyes do weep |
Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder; |
That if heaven slumber while their creatures want, |
They may awake their helps to comfort them. |
I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years, |
And wanting breath to speak help me with tears. |
Dio. I'll do my best, sir. |
Cle. This Tarsus, o'er which I have the government, |
A city on whom plenty held full hand, |
For riches strew'd herself even in the streets; |
Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss'd the clouds, |
And strangers ne'er beheld but wonder'd at; |
Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd, |
Like one another's glass to trim them by: |
Their tables were stor'd full to glad the sight, |
And not so much to feed on as delight; |
All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great, |
The name of help grew odious to repeat. |
Dio. O! 'tis too true. |
Cle. But see what heaven can do! By this our change, |
These mouths, whom but of late earth, sea, and air |
Were all too little to content and please, |
Although they gave their creatures in abundance, |
As houses are defil'd for want of use, |
They are now starv'd for want of exercise; |
Those palates who, not yet two summers younger, |
Must have inventions to delight the taste, |
Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it; |
Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes, |
Thought nought too curious, are ready now |
To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd. |
So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife |
Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life. |
Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping; |
Here many sink, yet those which see them fall |
Have scarce strength left to give them burial. |
Is not this true? |
Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. |
Cle. O! let those cities that of plenty's cup |
And her prosperities so largely taste, |
With their superfluous riots, hear these tears: |
The misery of Tarsus may be theirs. |
|
Enter a Lord. |
Lord. Where's the lord governor? |
Cle. Here. |
Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in haste, |
For comfort is too far for us to expect. |
Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore, |
A portly sail of ships make hitherward. |
Cle. I thought as much. |
One sorrow never comes but brings an heir |
That may succeed as his inheritor; |
And so in ours. Some neighbouring nation, |
Taking advantage of our misery, |
Hath stuff'd these hollow vessels with their power, |
To beat us down, the which are down already; |
And make a conquest of unhappy me, |
Whereas no glory's got to overcome. |
Lord. That's the least fear; for by the semblance |
Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace, |
And come to us as favourers, not as foes. |
Cle. Thou speak'st like him 's untutor'd to repeat: |
Who makes the fairest show means most deceit. |
But bring they what they will and what they can, |
What need we fear? |
The ground's the lowest and we are half way there. |
Go tell their general we attend him here, |
To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, |
And what he craves. |
Lord. I go, my lord. [Exit. |
Cle. Welcome is peace if he on peace consist; |
If wars we are unable to resist. |
|
Enter PERICLES, with Attendants. |
Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are, |
Let not our ships and number of our men, |
Be like a beacon fir'd to amaze your eyes. |
We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, |
And seen the desolation of your streets: |
Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, |
But to relieve them of their heavy load; |
And these our ships, you happily may think |
Are like the Trojan horse was stuff'd within |
With bloody veins, expecting overthrow, |
Are stor'd with corn to make your needy bread, |
And give them life whom hunger starv'd half dead. |
All. The gods of Greece protect you! |
And we'll pray for you. |
Per. Arise, I pray you, rise: |
We do not look for reverence, but for love, |
And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men. |
Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, |
Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, |
Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, |
The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils! |
Till when—the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen— |
Your Grace is welcome to our town and us. |
Per. Which welcome we'll accept; feast here awhile, |
Until our stars that frown lend us a smile. [Exeunt. |
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