Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > Pericles, Prince of Tyre > Act III, scene I

	[Enter PERICLES, on shipboard]

PERICLES: 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, Lychorida,
	How does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;
	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!

LYCHORIDA: 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.

PERICLES: How, how, Lychorida!

LYCHORIDA: 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.

PERICLES: O you gods!
	Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,
	And snatch them straight away? We here below
	Recall not what we give, and therein may
	Use honour with you.

LYCHORIDA: Patience, good sir,
	Even for this charge.

PERICLES: Now, mild may be thy life!
	For a more blustrous birth had never babe:
	Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for
	Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world
	That ever was prince's child. Happy what follows!
	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 Sailor: What courage, sir? God save you!

PERICLES: 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 Sailor: Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou?
	Blow, and split thyself.

Second Sailor: But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy billow kiss
	the moon, I care not.

First Sailor: 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.

PERICLES: That's your superstition.

First Sailor: 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.

PERICLES: As you think meet. Most wretched queen!

LYCHORIDA: Here she lies, sir.

PERICLES: A terrible childbed 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 e'er-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.


Second Sailor: Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked
	and bitumed ready.

PERICLES: I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?

Second Sailor: We are near Tarsus.

PERICLES: Thither, gentle mariner.
	Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?

Second Sailor: By break of day, if the wind cease.

PERICLES: 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.



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