SCENE I. On board Pericles' ship, off Mytilene. A close pavilion
on deck, with a curtain before it; Pericles within it, reclined
on a couch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel.
[Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, the other
to the barge; to them Helicanus.]
[To the Sailor of Mytilene.]
Where is lord Helicanus? he can resolve you.
O, here he is.
Sir, there's a barge put off from Mytilene,
And in it is Lysimachus the governor,
Who craves to come aboard. What is your will?
That he have his. Call up some gentlemen.
Ho, gentlemen! my lord calls.
[Enter two or three Gentlemen.]
Doth your lordship call?
Gentlemen, there s some of worth would come aboard;
I pray ye, greet them fairly.
[The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, and go on board the
Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; with the Gentlemen and
the two sailors.
This is the man that can, in aught you would,
Hail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!
And you, sir, to outlive the age I am,
And die as I would do.
You wish me well.
Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs,
Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us,
I made to it, to know of whence you are.
First, what is your place?
I am the governor of this place you lie before.
Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;
A man who for this three months hath not spoken
To any one, nor taken sustenance
But to prorogue his grief.
Upon what ground is his distemperature?
'Twould be too tedious to repeat;
But the main grief springs from the loss
Of a beloved daughter and a wife.
May we not see him?
But bootless is your sight: he will not speak
Yet let me obtain my wish.
This was a goodly person.
Till the disaster that, one mortal night,
Drove him to this.
Sir king, all hail! the gods preserve you!
Hail, royal sir!
It is in vain; he will not speak to you.
We have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager,
Would win some words of him.
'Tis well bethought.
She questionless with her sweet harmony
And other chosen attractions, would allure,
And make a battery through his deafen'd parts,
Which now are midway stopp'd:
She is all happy as the fairest of all,
And, with her fellow maids, is now upon
The leafy shelter that abuts against
The island's side.
[Whispers a Lord, who goes off in the barge of Lysimachus.]
Sure, all's effectless; yet nothing we'll omit
That bears recovery's name. But, since your kindness
We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you
That for our gold we may provision have,
Wherein we are not destitute for want,
But weary for the staleness.
O, sir, a courtesy
Which if we should deny, the most just gods
For every graff would send a catepillar,
And so afflict our province. Yet once more
Let me entreat to know at large the cause
Of your king's sorrow.