Puslapio vaizdai



Enter Gower.

THUS Time we waste, and longest Leagues make shori? Sail Seas in Cockles, have and wish but for't,

Making to take our Imagination,

From bourn to bourn, Region to Region.
By you being Pard'ned, we commit no Crime
To ufe one Language, in each several Clime,
Where our Scenes feem to live. I do beseech you
To learn of me, who stands in gaps to teach you
The Stages of our Story, Pericles

Is now again thwarting the wayward Seas;
(Attended on by many a Lord and Knight)
To fee his Daughter, all his Life's Delight.
Old Hellicanus goes along behind,
Is left to govern it: Ton bear in Mind
Old Efcanes, whom Hellicanus late

Advanc'd in time to great and high Eftate.
Well failing Ships, and bounteous Winds have brought
This King to Tharfus, think this Pilate, thought,
So with his Steerage, fhall your Thoughts grone
To fetch his Daughter home, who first is gone;
Like Motes and Shadows fee them move a while,
Your Ears unto your Eyes I'll reconcile.

Enter Pericles at one Door with all his Train, Cleon and Dionyfia at the other: Cleon fhews Pericles the Tomb, whereat Pericles makes Lamentation, puts on Sackcloth, and in a mighty Paffion departs.

Gower. See how Belief may suffer by foul show,
This borrow'd Paffion ftands for true old Wae:
And Pericles in forrow all devour'd,

With Sighs fhot through, and biggest Tears o'er-fhour'd.
Leaves Tharfus, and again imbarks, he wears
Never to wash his Face, nor cut his Hairs,


put on Sackcloth, and to Sea he bears,


A Tempeft which his mortal Veffel tears,
And he rides it out. Now take we our way
To the Epitaph for Marina, writ by Dionyfia.
Q &


The faireft, fweeteft, and beft lies here,
Who wither'd in her Spring of Year:
She was of Tyrus the King's Daughter,
On whom foul Death hath made this Slaughter:
Marina was the call'd, and at her birth,

That is, being proud, fwallow'd fome part of th'earth:
Therefore the Earth fearing to be o'erflow'd,

Hath Thetis Birth-child on the Heav'ns beftow'd.
Wherefore the does and fwears fhe'll never ftint,
Make raging Battry upon Shores of Flint.

No Vizor does become black Villany,
So well as foft and tender Flattery.
Let Pericles believe,his Daughter's dead,
And bear his Courses to be ordered

By Lady Fortune, while our stear must Play
His Daughter woe and heavy well-a-day,
In her unholy Service: Patience then,
And think you now are all in Meraline

Enter two Gentlemen

1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like?


2 Gent. No, nor never fhall do in fuch a place as this, the being once gone.

I Gent. But to have Divinity preacht there, did you ever dream of fuch a thing?

2 Gent. No, no, come, I am for no more Bawdy-houses, fhall we go hear the Veftals fing?

I Gent. I'll do any thing now that is Virtuous, but I am out of the road of Rutting for ever.


Enter the three Bawds. Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her fhe had ne'er come here.

Bawd. Fie, fie upon her, fhe is able to freeze the God Priapus, and undo a whole Generation, we must either get her Ravifht, or be rid of her; when the fhould do for Clyents her fitment, and do me the kindness of our Profeffion, the has me her Quirks, her Reasons, her Master-reafons, her Prayers, her Knees, that she would make a Puritan of the Devil, if he fhould cheapen a Kifs of her.

Boult. Faith I must ravish her, or she'll disfurnish us of all our Cavaliers, and make all our Swearers Priefts.


Pand. Now the Pox upon her Green-fickness for me. Bawd. Faith there's no way to be rid of it, but by the way to the Pox. Here comes the Lord Lyfimachus difguis'd. Boult. We should have both Lord and Lown, if the peevish Baggage would but give way to Cuftomers.

Enter Lyfimachus.

Lyf. How now, how a dozen of Virginities?
Bawd. Now the Gods blefs your Honour.

Boult. I am glad to fee your Honour in good Hea'th. Lyf. You may fo, 'tis the better for you, that your Reforters ftand upon found Legs, how now? wholefome Impunity have you, that a Man may deal withal, and defie the Surgeon?

Bawd. W have one here, Sir, if the would

But there never came her like in Metaline.

Lys. If he'd do the Deeds of Darknels, thou would't fay. Bawd. Your Honour knows what 'tis to fay well enough. Lyf. Well, call forth, call forth.

Boult. For Flesh and Blood, Sir, white and red, you fhail fee a Rofe, and the were a Rafe indeed, if the had


Lyf. What prethee?

Boult. O Sir, I can be Modeft..

Lyf. That dignifies the Renown of a Bawd, no lefs than it gives a good Report to a number to be Chaft.

Enter Marina,

Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the ftalk, Never pluckt yet I can affure you.

Is he not a fair Creature?

Lyf. Faith he would ferve after a long Voyage at Sea, Well, there's for you, leave us.

Bawd. I bafeech your Honour give me leave a word, And I'll have done prefently.

Lyf. I beseech

you do.

Bawd. First, I would have you note, this is a honou rable Man.

Mar. I defire to find him fo, that I may worthily note him. Bawd. Next, he's the Governor of this Country, and a Man whom I am bound to.

Mar. If he govern the Country, you are bound to him. indeed, but how honourable he is in that, I know not.

Q 3


Bawd. Pray you without any more virginal fencing, will you use him kindly? He will line your Apron with Gold, Mar. What he will do gracioufly, I will thankfully re


Lvf. Have you done?

Bawd. My Lord, the's not pac'd yet, you must take fome Pains to work her to your manage; come, we will leave his Honour and her together. [Exit Bawd. Lys. Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this


Mar. What Trade, Sir?

Lyf. Why, I cannot name't but I fhall offend.
Mar. I cannot be offended with my Trade,

Please you to name it.

Lyf. How long have you been of this Profeffion?

Mar. E'er fince I can remember.

Lyf. Did you go to't so young, were you a Gamefter at five, or at leven?

Mar. Earlier too, Sir, if now I be one.

Lys. Why the House you dwell in, proclaims you to be a Creature of Sale.

Mar. Do you know this Houfe to be a Place of fuch refort, and will come into it? I hear fay you are of honourable Parts, and the Governor of this place.

Lyf. Why? hath your Principal made known unto you, who I am?

Mar. Who is my Principal?

Lys. Why your Herb-woman, fhe that fets Seeds and Roots of Shame and Iniquity. O you have heard fomething of my Power, and fo ftand aloof for more ferious Wooing; but I proteft to thee, pretty one, my Authority fhall not fee thee, or elfe look friendly upon thee; come bring me to fome private Place, come, come,

Mar. If you were born to Honour, fhew it now; If put upon you, make the Judgment good,

That thought you worthy of it.

Lyf. How's this; how's this? fome more, be fageMar. For me that am a Maid, though most ungentle Fortune have plac'd me in this Stie,

Where fince I came, D feafes have been fold

Dearer than Phyfick; O that the Gods


Would fet me free from this unhallow'd Place,
Though they did change me to the meanest Bird
That flies i'ch' purer Air,

Lyf. I did not think

Thou could't have fpoke fo well, I ne'er dream'd thou could'st;

Had I brought hither a corrupted Mind,

Thy Speech had alter'd it; hold, here's Gold for thee,
Persevere in that clear way thou goeft.

And the Gods ftrengthen thee.

Mar. The good Gods preferve you.

Lys. For my part, I came with no ill intent, for to me The very Doors and Windows favour vilely.

Fare thee well,

Thou art a piece of Virtue, and I doubt not
But thy training hath been Noble;

Hold, here's more Gold for thee;

A Curfe upon him, die he like a Thief

That robs thee of thy Goodness; if thou dost hear from me,

It shall be for thy good.

Boult. I beseech your Honour, one Piece for me.
Lyf. Avant thou damn'd Door-keeper,

Your Houfe, but for this Virgin that doth prop it,
Would fink and overwhelm you. Away.


Boult. How's this? We must take another courfe with you? If your peevish Chaftity, which is not worth a Breakfaft in the cheapest Country under the coap, hall undo a whole Houfhold, let me be gelded like a Spaniel; come

your ways.

Mar. Whither would you have me?

Boult. I must have your Maidenhead taken off, or the Common Hangman fhall execute it; come your way, we'll have no more Gentlemen driv'n away: come your ways,I say. Enter Bawd.

[ocr errors]

Bawd. How now, what's the matter?

Boult. Worfe and worse, Mistress, the hath here fpoken holy words to the Lord Lyfimachus.

Bawd. O abominable.

Boult. She makes our Profeffion as it were to ftink before the Face of the Gods,

Bawd. Marry hang her up for ever.



« AnkstesnisTęsti »