William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Longer for him to make his rest.

He, doing so, put forth to seas,

Where when men been, there’s seldom ease;

For now the wind begins to blow;

Thunder above and deeps below

Make such unquiet, that the ship

Should house him safe is wreck’d and split;

And he, good prince, having all lost,

By waves from coast to coast is tost:

All perishen of man, of pelf,

Ne aught escapen but himself;

Till fortune, tired with doing bad,

Threw him ashore, to give him glad:

And here he comes. What shall be next,

Pardon old Gower, — this longs the text.

[Exit.]

SCENE I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.

[Enter Pericles, wet.]

PERICLES.

Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!

Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man

Is but a substance that must yield to you;

And I, as fits my nature, do obey you:

Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,

Wash’d me from shore to shore, and left me breath

Nothing to think on but ensuing death:

Let it suffice the greatness of your powers

To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;

And having thrown him from your watery grave,

Here to have death in peace is all he’ll crave.

[Enter three Fishermen.]

FIRST FISHERMAN.

What, ho, Pilch!

SECOND FISHERMAN.

Ha, come and bring away the nets!

FIRST FISHERMAN.

What, Patch-breech, I say!

THIRD FISHERMAN.

What say you, master?

FIRST FISHERMAN. Look how thou stirrest now! come away, or I’ll fetch thee with a wanion.

THIRD FISHERMAN. ‘Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us even now.

FIRST FISHERMAN. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves.

THIRD FISHERMAN. Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say they’re half fish, half flesh: a plague on them, they ne’er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

FIRST FISHERMAN. Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful. such whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never leave gaping till they they’ve swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells, and all.

PERICLES. [Aside.]

A pretty moral.

THIRD FISHERMAN. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry.

SECOND FISHERMAN.

Why, man?

THIRD FISHERMAN. Because he should have swallowed me too; and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and parish, up again. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind, —

PERICLES. [Aside.]

Simonides!

THIRD FISHERMAN. We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.

PERICLES. [Aside.]

How from the finny subjec of the sea

These fishers tell the infirmities of men;

And from their watery empire recollect

All that may men approve or men detect!

Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen.

SECOND FISHERMAN. Honest! good fellow, what’s that; If it be a day fits you, search out of the calendar, and nobody look after it.

PERICLES.

May see the sea hath cast upon your coast.

SECOND FISHERMAN.

What a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way!

PERICLES.

A man whom both the waters and the wind,

In that vast tennis-court, have made the ball

For them to play upon, entreats you pity him;

He asks of you, that never used to beg.

FIRST FISHERMAN. No, friend, cannot you beg? Here’s them in our country of Greece gets more with begging than we can do with working.

SECOND FISHERMAN.

Canst thou catch any fishes, then?

PERICLES.

I never practised it.

SECOND FISHERMAN. Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here’s nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish for ‘t.

PERICLES.

What I have been I have forgot to know;

But what I am, want teaches me to think on:

A man throng’d up with cold: my veins are chill,

And have no more of life than may suffice

To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;

Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,

For that I am a man, pray see me buried.

FIRST FISHERMAN. Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid! I have a gown here; come, put it on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and we’ll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and moreo’er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome.

PERICLES.

I thank you, sir.

SECOND FISHERMAN.

Hark you, my friend; you said you could not beg.

PERICLES.

I did but crave.

SECOND FISHERMAN. But crave! Then I’ll turn craver too, and so I shall ‘scape whipping.

PERICLES.

Why, are your beggars whipped, then?

SECOND FISHERMAN.

O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your beggars were

whipped, I would wish no better office than to be beadle.

But, master, I’ll go draw up the net.

[Exit with Third Fisherman.]

PERICLES. [Aside.]

How well this honest mirth becomes their 1abour!

FIRST FISHERMAN.

Hark you, sir, do you know where ye are?

PERICLES.

Not well.

FIRST FISHERMAN. Why, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our king the good Simonides.

PERICLES.

The good King Simonides, do you call him?

FIRST FISHERMAN. Ay, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his peaceable reign and good government.

PERICLES. He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good government. How far is his court distant from this shore?

FIRST FISHERMAN. Marry sir, half a day’s journey: and I’ll tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and tomorrow is her birthday; and there are princes and knights come from all parts of the world to just and tourney for her love.

PERICLES. Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there.

FIRST FISHERMAN. O, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for — his wife’ soul.

[Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing up a net.]

SECOND FISHERMAN. Help, master, help! here’s a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man’s right in the law; ‘twill hardly come out. Ha! bots on’t, ‘tis come at last, and ‘tis turned to a rusty armour.

PERICLES.

An armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.

Thanks, fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses,

Thou givest me somewhat to repair myself,

And though it was mine own, part of my heritage,

Which my dead father did bequeath to me,

With this strict charge, even as he left his life.

‘Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield

‘Twixt me and death;’ — and pointed to this brace; —

For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity —

The which the gods protect thee from! — may defend thee.’

It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;

Till the rough seas, that spare not any man,

Took it in rage, though calm’d have given’t again:

I thank thee for ‘t: my shipwreck now’s no ill,

Since I have here my father’s gift in’s will.

FIRST FISHERMAN.

What mean you’ sir?

PERICLES.

To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth,

For it was sometime target to a king;

I know it by this mark. He loved me dearly,

And for his sake I wish the having of it;