Marina.

ACT V. SCENE I.

I am a maid,

My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes,

But have been gaz'd on, comet-like: she speaks,
My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief
Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd.
Though wayward fortune did malign my state,
My derivation was from ancestors

Who stood equivalent with mighty kings:
But time hath rooted out my parentage,
And to the world and awkward casualties
Bound me in servitude.—I will desist ;
But there is something glows upon my cheek,
And whispers in mine ear, Go not till he speak.

Pericles. I am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping. My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one My daughter might have been: my queen's square brows; Her stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;

As silver-voic'd; her eyes as jewel-like,

And cas'd as richly: in pace another Juno;

Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry, The more she gives them speech.—Where do you live?

Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st
Modest as justice, and thou seem'st a palace
For the crown'd truth to dwell in: I'll believe thee,
And make my senses credit thy relation.

To points that seem impossible; for thou look'st
Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends?

M

Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back

(Which was when I perceiv'd thee), that thou cam❜st From good descending?

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Marina. My name, sir, is Marina.

Pericles.

O, I am mock'd,

And thou by some incensed god sent hither

To make the world laugh at me.

Marina.

Or here I'll cease.

Pericles.

Patience, good sir,

Nay, I'll be patient;

Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me,

To call thyself Marina.

Marina.

The name Marina

Was given me by one that had some power;

My father, and a king.

Pericles.

And call'd Marina?

Marina.

How! a king's daughter?

You said you would believe me ;

But, not to be a troubler of your peace,

I will end here.

Pericles.

But are you flesh and blood ?

Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy?
No motion? Well; speak on.

And wherefore call'd Marina ?

Marina. My mother was the daughter of a king;

Who died the very minute I was born,

As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft
Deliver'd weeping.

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Pericles. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir;
Give me a gash, put me to present pain;
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me,
O'erbear the shores of my mortality,

And drown me with their sweetness.

O, come hither,

Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget;
Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus,
And found at sea again! O Helicanus,
Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods, as loud
As thunder threatens us; This is Marina.—
What was thy mother's name? tell me but that,
For truth can never be confirm'd enough,
Though doubts did ever sleep.

Give me my robes; I am wild in my beholding.

O heavens bless my girl! But hark, what musick?—
Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him

O'er point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,
How sure you are my daughter.-But what musick?
Helicanus. My lord, I hear none.

Pericles. None?

The musick of the spheres: list, my Marina.

Lysimachus. It is not good to cross him; give him way. Pericles. Rarest sounds!

Do ye not hear?

Lysimachus. Musick? My lord, I hear—

Pericles. Most heavenly musick:

It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber
Hangs on mine eyelids; let me rest.

[He sleeps.

SCENE III.

Pericles. This, this; no more, you gods! your present

kindness

Makes my past miseries sport: You shall do well,

That on the touching of her lips I may

Melt, and no more be seen. O come, be buried

A second time within these arms.

Marina. Leaps to be

My heart

gone into my mother's bosom.

[Kneels to Thaisa.

Pericles. Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh,

Thaisa;

Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina,

For she was yielded there.

Thaisa.

Bless'd and mine own!

Helicanus. Hail, madam, and my queen!

TAY, Roman brethren;-Gracious conqueror,
Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
A mother's tears in passion for her son:
And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee,

O, think my son to be as dear to me.
Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome,
To beautify thy triumphs, and return,
Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke;
But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets,
For valiant doings in their country's cause?
O! if to fight for king and commonweal
Were piety in thine, it is in these.
Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood:
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful :
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge;
Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.