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  • Title: Pericles, Prince of Tyre (Quarto)
  • 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    Not Peer Reviewed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 (Quarto)

    Pericles Prince of Tyre.
    1. Die, ke-tha; now Gods forbid't, and I haue a Gowne
    heere, come put it on, keepe thee warme: now afore mee a
    handsome fellow : Come, thou shalt goe home, and wee'le
    haue Flesh for all day, Fish for fasting-dayes and more; or
    630Puddinges and Flap-iackes, and thou shalt be welcome.
    Per. I thanke you sir.
    2. Harke you my friend: You sayd you could not beg?
    Per. I did but craue.
    2. But craue?
    635Then Ile turne Crauer too, and so I shall scape whipping.
    Per. Why, are you Beggers whipt then?
    2. Oh not all, my friend, not all: for if all your Beggers
    were whipt, I would wish no better office, then to be Beadle:
    But Maister, Ile goe draw vp the Net.
    640Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their labour?
    1. Harke you sir; doe you know where yee are?
    Per. Not well.
    1. Why Ile tell you, this I cald Pantapoles,
    And our King, the good Symonides.
    645Per. The good Symonides, doe you call him?
    1. I sir, and he deserues so to be cal'd,
    For his peaceable raigne, and good gouernement.
    Per. He is a happy King, since he gaines from
    His subiects the name of good, by his gouernment.
    650How farre is his Court distant from this shore?
    1. Mary sir, halfe a dayes iourney: And Ile tell you,
    He hath a faire Daughter, and to morrow is her birth-day,
    And there are Princes and Knights come from all partes of
    the World, to Iust and Turney for her loue.
    655Per. Were my fortunes equall to my desires,
    I could wish to make one there.
    1. O sir, things must be as they may: and what a man can
    not get, he may lawfully deale for his Wiues soule.
    Enter the two Fisher-men, drawing vp a Net.
    6602. Helpe Maister helpe; heere's a Fish hanges in the Net,
    Like a poore mans right in the law: t'will hardly come out.
    Ha bots on't, tis come at last; & tis turnd to a rusty Armour.
    Per. An
    C 3.