Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies; But yet I know you'll do as I advise.

[Exeunt.

Enter Gower, before the Monument of Marina at

Tharsus.

Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest
leagues make short;

Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for't;
Making, (to 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 you
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.
Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late
Advanc'd in time to great and high estate,
Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind,
Old Helicanus goes along behind.

Well-sailing ships, and bounteous winds, have
brought

This king to Tharsus, (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 a-

while;

Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile.

Dumb show.

Enter at one door, Pericles with his train; Cleon and Dionyza at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb of Marina; whereat Pericles makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a mighty passion departs. Then Cleon and Dionyza retire.

Gow. 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'ershower'd,

Leaves Tharsus, 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 the 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, fearing to be o’erflow'd,
Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd:
Wherefore she does, (and swears she'll never stint,)
Make raging battery upon shores of flint.

No visor does become black villainy,
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 scenes display
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day,
In her unholy service. Patience then,
And think you now are all in Mitylen. [Exit.

SCENE V

MITYLENE. A STREET BEFORE THE BROTHEL.

Enter, from the Brothel, two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like?

2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone.

1 Gent. But to have divinity preach'd there! did you ever dream of such a thing?

2 Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy-houses: Shall we go hear the vestals sing?

1 Gent. I'll do any thing now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road of rutting, for ever.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

THE SAME. A ROOM IN THE BROTHEL.

Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult.

Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her, she had ne'er come here.

Bawd. Fie, fie upon her; she is able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We must either get her ravish'd, or be rid of her. When she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of our profession, she has me her quirks, her reasons, her master-reasons, her prayers, her knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her.

Boult. 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll disfurnish us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swearers priests.

Pand. Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for me!

Bawd. 'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't, but by the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Lysimachus, disguis'd.

Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but give way to customers.

Enter Lysimachus.

Lys. How now? How a dozen of virginities? Bawd. Now, the gods to-bless your honour! Boult. I am glad to see your honour in good health.

Lys. You may so; 'tis the better for you that your resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, wholesome iniquity? Have you that a man may deal withal, and defy the surgeon?

Bawd. We have here one, sir, if she would-but there never came her like in Mitylene.

Lys. If she'd do the deeds of darkness, thou would'st say.

Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say, well enough.

Lys. Well; call forth, call forth.

Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose; and she were a rose indeed, if she had but———

Lys. What, prythee?

Boult. O, sir, I can be modest.

Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste.

Enter Marina.

Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the stalk; never pluck'd yet, I can assure you. Is she not a fair creature?

Lys. 'Faith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea. Well, there's for you;-leave us.

Bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and I'll have done presently.

Lys. I beseech you, do.

Bard. First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man.

[To Marina, whom she takes aside.