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  • Title: Pericles, Prince of Tyre (Modern)
  • Editor: Tom Bishop

  • Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Tom Bishop
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Pericles, Prince of Tyre (Modern)

    Enter Pericles at Tharsus with Cleon and Dionyza, [and Lychorida with baby Marina].
    Most honored Cleon, I must needs be gone.
    My twelve 1315months are expired, and Tyrus stands
    In a litigious peace. You and your lady
    Take from my heart all thankfulness. The gods
    Make up the rest upon you.
    Your strokes of fortune,
    Though they hurt you mortally, yet glance
    Full woundingly on us.
    Oh, your sweet queen!
    That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither
    To have blest mine eyes with her.
    We cannot but obey
    The powers above us. Could I rage and roar
    As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end
    Must be as 'tis. My gentle babe Marina,
    1325Whom for she was born at sea I have named so,
    Here I charge your charity withal, leaving her
    The infant of your care, beseeching you
    To give her princely training, that she may
    Be mannered as she is born.
    Fear not, my lord, but think:
    Your Grace 1330that fed my country with your corn,
    For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,
    Must in your child be thought on. If neglection
    Should therein make me vile, the common body,
    By you relieved, would force me to my duty.
    But if to that 1335my nature need a spur,
    The gods revenge it upon me and mine,
    To the end of generation.
    I believe you.
    Your honor and your goodness teach me to't
    Without your vows. Till she be married, madam,
    By bright Diana, whom we honor, all
    1340Unscissored shall this hair of mine remain,
    Though I show ill in't. So I take my leave.
    Good madam, make me blessèd in your care
    In bringing up my child.
    I have one myself,
    Who shall not be more dear 1345to my respect
    Than yours, my lord.
    Madam, my thanks and prayers.
    We'll bring your Grace e'en to the edge o'th'shore,
    Then give you up to the masked Neptune and
    The gentlest winds of heaven.
    I will embrace
    Your offer. Come, dear'st madam. Oh, no tears,
    Lychorida, no tears!
    Look to your little mistress, on whose grace
    You may depend hereafter. Come, my Lord.