Enter GOWER. |
Now sleep yslaked hath the rout; |
No din but snores the house about, |
Made louder by the o'er-fed breast |
Of this most pompous marriage-feast. |
The cat, with eyne of burning coal, |
Now couches fore the mouse's hole; |
And crickets sing at the oven's mouth, |
E'er the blither for their drouth. |
Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, |
Where, by the loss of maidenhead, |
A babe is moulded. Be attent; |
And time that is so briefly spent |
With your fine fancies quaintly eche; |
What's dumb in show I'll plain with speech. |
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DUMB SHOW. |
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Enter, from one side, PERICLES and SIMONIDES, with Attendants; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives PERICLES a letter: PERICLES shows it to SIMONIDES; the Lords kneel to PERICLES. Then enter THAISA with child, and LYCHORIDA: SIMONIDES shows his daughter the letter; she rejoices: she and PERICLES take leave of her father, and all depart. |
By many a dern and painful perch, |
Of Pericles the careful search |
By the four opposing coigns, |
Which the world together joins, |
Is made with all due diligence |
That horse and sail and high expense, |
Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre,— |
Fame answering the most strange inquire— |
To the court of King Simonides |
Are letters brought, the tenour these: |
Antiochus and his daughter dead; |
The men of Tyrus on the head |
Of Helicanus would set on |
The crown of Tyre, but he will none: |
The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress; |
Says to 'em, if King Pericles |
Come not home in twice six moons, |
He, obedient to their dooms, |
Will take the crown. The sum of this, |
Brought hither to Pentapolis, |
Yravished the regions round, |
And every one with claps can sound, |
'Our heir-apparent is a king! |
Who dream'd, who thought of such a thing?' |
Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre: |
His queen, with child, makes her desire,— |
Which who shall cross?—along to go; |
Omit we all their dole and woe: |
Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, |
And so to sea. Their vessel shakes |
On Neptune's billow; half the flood |
Hath their keel cut: but Fortune's mood |
Varies again; the grisled north |
Disgorges such a tempest forth, |
That, as a duck for life that dives, |
So up and down the poor ship drives. |
The lady shrieks, and well-a-near |
Does fall in travail with her fear; |
And what ensues in this fell storm |
Shall for itself itself perform. |
I nill relate, action may |
Conveniently the rest convey, |
Which might not what by me is told. |
In your imagination hold |
This stage the ship, upon whose deck |
The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak. [Exit. |
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