Now sleep yslaked hath the rouse;
No din but snores about the house,
Made louder by the o’erfed breast
Of this most pompous marriage feast.
The cat, with eyne of burning coal,
Now couches fore the mouse’s hole;
And crickets sing at the oven’s mouth,
Are the blither for their drouth.
Hymen hath brought the bride to bed,
Where, by the loss of maidenhead,
A babe is moulded. Be attent,
And time that is so briefly spent
With your fine fancies quaintly eche:
What’s dumb in show I’ll plain with speech.
Dumb-show. Enter, Pericles and Simonides at one door with Attendants;
a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter: Pericles
shows it Simonides; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter Thaisa with
child, with Lychorida, a nurse. The King shows her the letter; she
rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart, with
Lychorida and their Attendants. Then exeunt Simonides and the rest.
By many a dern and painful perch
Of Pericles the careful search,
By the four opposing coigns
Which the world together joins,
Is made with all due diligence
That horse and sail and high expense
Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre,
Fame answering the most strange enquire,
To th’ court of King Simonides
Are letters brought, the tenour these:
Antiochus and his daughter dead;
The men of Tyrus on the head
Of Helicanus would set on
The crown of Tyre, but he will none:
The mutiny he there hastes t’oppress;
Says to ’em, if King Pericles
Come not home in twice six moons,
He, obedient to their dooms,
Will take the crown. The sum of this,
Brought hither to Pentapolis
Y-ravished the regions round,
And everyone with claps can sound,
‘Our heir apparent is a king!
Who dreamt, who thought of such a thing?’
Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre:
His queen with child makes her desire—
Which who shall cross?—along to go:
Omit we all their dole and woe:
Lychorida, her nurse, she takes,
And so to sea. Their vessel shakes
On Neptune’s billow; half the flood
Hath their keel cut: but fortune’s mood
Varies again; the grisled north
Disgorges such a tempest forth,
That, as a duck for life that dives,
So up and down the poor ship drives:
The lady shrieks, and well-a-near
Does fall in travail with her fear:
And what ensues in this fell storm
Shall for itself itself perform.
I nill relate, action may
Conveniently the rest convey;
Which might not what by me is told.
In your imagination hold
This stage the ship, upon whose deck
The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.
Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,
Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast
Upon the winds command, bind them in brass,
Having call’d them from the deep! O, still
Thy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench
Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,
How does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;
Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman’s whistle
Is as a whisper in the ears of death,
Unheard. Lychorida! - Lucina, O!
Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle
To those that cry by night, convey thy deity
Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs
Of my queen’s travails! Now, Lychorida!
Here is a thing too young for such a place,
Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I
Am like to do: take in your arms this piece
Of your dead queen.
How? how, Lychorida?
Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm.
Here’s all that is left living of your queen,
A little daughter: for the sake of it,
Be manly, and take comfort.
O you gods!
Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,
And snatch them straight away? We here below
Recall not what we give, and therein may
Vie honour with you.
Patience, good sir.
Even for this charge.
Now, mild may be thy life!
For a more blustrous birth had never babe:
Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for
Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world
That ever was prince’s child. Happy what follows!
Thou hast as chiding a nativity
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,
To herald thee from the womb.
Even at the first thy loss is more than can
Thy portage quit, with all thou canst find here,
Now, the good gods throw their best eyes upon’t!
What courage, sir? God save you!
Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw;
It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love
Of this poor infant, this fresh new sea-farer,
I would it would be quiet.
Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split
thyself.
But sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care
not.
Sir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high, the wind is loud
and will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead.
That’s your superstition.
Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it has been still observed; and we are
strong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard
straight.
As you think meet. Most wretched queen!
Here she lies, sir.
A terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;
No light, no fire: th’unfriendly elements
Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time
To give thee hallow’d to thy grave, but straight
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin’d, in the ooze;
Where, for a monument upon thy bones,
And e’er-remaining lamps, the belching whale
And humming water must o’erwhelm thy corpse,
Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida.
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,
My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander
Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe
Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say
A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.
Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.
I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?
We are near Tarsus.
Thither, gentle mariner,
Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?
By break of day, if the wind cease.
O, make for Tarsus!
There will I visit Cleon, for the babe
Cannot hold out to Tyrus. There I’ll leave it
At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner:
I’ll bring the body presently.
Now sleep has quieted the party's noise; There's no sound but snoring through the house, Made louder by the overstuffed chests Of guests at this grand wedding feast. The cat, with eyes like burning coals, Now crouches in front of the mouse's hole; And the crickets singing by the oven's mouth Are all the happier for the dry heat. Hymen, god of marriage, has brought the bride to bed, Where, through the loss of her virginity, A baby has been conceived. Pay attention, And stretch out cleverly with your fine imaginations The time that passes so quickly here: What's shown in silence I'll explain in words. Mime show. Pericles and Simonides enter at one door with attendants; a messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter. Pericles shows it to Simonides; the lords kneel to him. Then Thaisa enters, pregnant, with Lychorida, a nurse. The King shows her the letter; she is overjoyed. She and Pericles say goodbye to her father and leave, with Lychorida and their attendants. Then Simonides and the rest go out. Across many dark and difficult miles, A careful search for Pericles Has been carried out to the four far corners That hold the world together, with all the effort That horses, ships, and great expense Can bring to the hunt. At last from Tyre, Where rumor answered this strange inquiry, Letters are brought to King Simonides' court, And this is what they say: Antiochus and his daughter are dead; The men of Tyre want to set The crown of Tyre on Helicanus's head, But he refuses it: He hurries to put down the uprising there, And tells them that if King Pericles Doesn't come home within twelve months, He will accept their judgment And take the crown. The news of all this, Brought here to Pentapolis, Thrilled the whole region around, And everyone applauds and cries, "Our heir to the throne is a king! Who ever dreamed or imagined such a thing?" In short, he has to leave for Tyre: His pregnant queen asks to go with him, And who would refuse her? Let's skip all their tearful goodbyes: She takes her nurse Lychorida, And they put to sea. Their ship rocks On the waves of Neptune; they've sailed Half the voyage when fortune's mood Changes again; the grim, gray north Throws out such a violent storm That the poor ship is tossed up and down Like a duck diving to save its life: The lady screams, and very nearly Goes into labor from her terror: And what happens in this cruel storm Will act itself out for you. I won't tell it; acting can Show the rest more suitably Than my telling ever could. In your imagination, picture This stage as the ship, on whose deck The storm-tossed Pericles appears and speaks. You god of this enormous ocean, scold these waves That crash against both heaven and hell; and you who Command the winds, lock them up in brass Now that you've summoned them from the depths! Oh, silence Your deafening, terrible thunder; gently put out Your quick, sulfur-smelling lightning! Oh, Lychorida, How is my queen? Storm, you rage so poisonously; Are you going to spit yourself out entirely? The sailor's whistle Is like a whisper in the ears of death, Not heard at all. Lychorida! Lucina, oh! Holy protector and gentle midwife To women who cry out in labor at night, bring your divine power Aboard our tossing boat; make my queen's Labor pains pass quickly! Well, Lychorida? Here is something too young for a place like this, Which, if it could understand, would die, as I Probably will: take into your arms this little piece Of your dead queen. What? What are you saying, Lychorida? Calm yourself, good sir; don't add to the storm. This is all that's left alive of your queen, A little daughter: for her sake, Be strong, and take comfort. Oh, you gods! Why do you make us love your wonderful gifts And then snatch them right back? We mortals here below Don't take back what we give, and in that way We could compete with you in honor. Calm yourself, good sir, If only for the sake of this child. Now, may your life be gentle! No baby was ever born in a wilder storm: May your nature be calm and mild! For You've had the roughest welcome into this world Of any prince's child ever. May what comes next be happy! You've had as stormy a birth As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven could produce To announce your coming from the womb. Right from the start, your loss is greater than Everything you'll find in life could ever repay. Now may the good gods look on it with their kindest eyes! Hold up, sir! God protect you! I have courage enough: I'm not afraid of the gale; It has already done its worst to me. Still, for the love Of this poor baby, this brand-new sailor, I wish it would calm down. Loosen the bowlines there! You won't stop, will you? Then blow until you burst. As long as we have open water, I don't care if the salt spray and the dark waves kiss the moon. Sir, your queen has to go overboard: the sea is rising, the wind is loud, and it won't die down until the ship is cleared of the dead. That's just your superstition. Forgive us, sir; at sea we've always kept to this rule, and we hold firmly to our customs. So hand her over quickly; she has to go overboard at once. Do what you think is right. My poor, poor queen! Here she is, sir. You've had a terrible labor, my dear; No light, no fire: the cruel elements Forgot you completely; and I don't have time To give you a holy burial, but instead Must throw you, barely in a coffin, into the mud of the seabed; Where, instead of a monument over your bones And lamps that burn forever, the spouting whale And roaring waters will cover your body, As you lie among plain seashells. Oh, Lychorida, Tell Nestor to bring me spices, ink and paper, My small chest and my jewels; and tell Nicander To bring me the satin-lined box: lay the baby On the pillow: hurry, while I say A holy farewell to her: quickly, woman. Sir, we have a chest below deck, sealed with tar and ready. Thank you. Sailor, tell me, what coast is this? We're near Tarsus. Head there, good sailor, Turn away from Tyre. When can you reach it? By dawn, if the wind dies down. Oh, head for Tarsus! I'll visit Cleon there, because the baby Won't survive the trip to Tyre. I'll leave her there To be carefully looked after. Go on, good sailor: I'll bring the body in a moment.
So the party's over and everyone's crashed; the whole house is just snoring, extra loud because they all stuffed themselves at that fancy wedding banquet. The cat, eyes glowing like hot coals, is hunkered down by the mouse hole, and the crickets chirping by the oven are loving the warmth. The god of marriage has tucked the bride into bed, and once she's lost her virginity, a baby's on the way. Stay with me, and use your imaginations to fill in the time that's flying by: whatever I show you without words, I'll explain. Silent scene. Pericles and Simonides come in one door with servants; a messenger meets them, kneels, and hands Pericles a letter. Pericles shows it to Simonides; the lords kneel to Pericles. Then Thaisa comes in, pregnant, with her nurse Lychorida. The King shows her the letter; she's thrilled. She and Pericles say bye to her dad and head off with Lychorida and the servants. Then Simonides and everyone else leave. Meanwhile, people have been searching for Pericles through tons of rough, dark country, to every far corner of the earth, throwing horses, ships and serious money at the job. Finally, from Tyre, since word got around about the search, letters show up at King Simonides' court, and here's the gist: Antiochus and his daughter are dead. The people of Tyre want to put the crown on Helicanus instead, but he won't take it. He rushes to shut down the rebellion and tells them: if King Pericles isn't home in a year, fine, he'll do what they want and be king. When all this news hits Pentapolis, the whole area goes wild, everyone clapping and shouting, "Our future king's already a king! Who saw that coming?" Long story short, he has to go back to Tyre. His pregnant wife wants to come, and who's going to say no to her? We'll skip all the crying and goodbyes. She brings her nurse Lychorida and off they sail. The ship's rocking on the waves; they're halfway there when luck turns on them again: the nasty north wind blows up a massive storm, and the poor ship gets thrown up and down like a duck ducking under to save itself. The queen screams, and the fear basically sends her into labor. What happens in this brutal storm you'll get to see for yourselves. I'm not going to narrate it; acting it out works way better than me just telling you. So picture this stage as the ship, and on the deck there's Pericles, soaked and battered, about to speak. Hey, god of this huge ocean, tell these waves to back off, they're smashing into heaven and hell both! And you, the one who runs the winds, lock them up tight now that you've dragged them up from the deep! Please, shut off that ear-splitting thunder; tone down the fast, sulfur-reeking lightning! Lychorida, how's my wife doing? Storm, you're so vicious; are you trying to blow yourself out completely? The sailors' whistles might as well be whispers to a dead man, nobody can hear them. Lychorida! Lucina, please! Holy goddess, kind midwife to women screaming in labor at night, come down onto our bouncing little boat and make my wife's labor go fast! Lychorida, what's happening? Here's someone way too tiny for a place like this, who'd die if she understood what's going on, like I probably will. Hold this little piece of your dead wife. What? What are you telling me, Lychorida? Easy, sir, don't make the storm any worse. This is all that's left alive of your wife: a little girl. For her sake, be strong and pull yourself together. God, why? Why do you make us love the great things you give us and then rip them right away? Down here, we don't take back our gifts, so honestly we might be more honorable than you. Easy, sir, if only for this baby. Well, little one, I hope your life is calm! No baby was ever born into a crazier storm. I hope you turn out quiet and sweet, because no prince's kid has ever had a rougher welcome to the world. May it all get better from here! Your birth was as wild as fire, air, water, earth and sky could make it, announcing you as you came out. Right from day one you've lost more than anything in this world could ever make up for. May the gods look after her with all their kindness! Hang in there, sir! God help you! I'm hanging in. I'm not scared of this storm; it's already done the worst thing it could to me. But for the sake of this poor baby, this brand-new little sailor, I wish it would calm down. Loosen those ropes! Still not stopping, huh? Fine, blow till you burst. If we've got room to move, I don't care if the waves hit the moon. Sir, your wife has to go overboard. The sea's getting wild and the wind's howling, and it won't calm down until there are no dead bodies on board. That's just a superstition. Sorry, sir, but out here we've always done it this way, and we stick to our traditions. So please let her go quickly; she has to go over right now. Do what you think you have to. My poor wife! Here she is, sir. What a horrible way to give birth, my love: no light, no fire; the weather was brutal and totally forgot about you. And I don't even have time to give you a proper holy burial. I have to throw you, barely in a coffin, down into the muck at the bottom, where instead of a gravestone over your bones and candles that never go out, you'll get the spouting whale and churning water crashing over you while you lie there with the seashells. Lychorida, get Nestor to bring me spices, ink and paper, my jewelry box and my jewels, and tell Nicander to bring the satin case. Put the baby on the pillow. Go, hurry, while I say a proper goodbye to her. Now, quick. Sir, there's a chest below deck, sealed with tar and good to go. Thanks. Sailor, where are we? What coast is that? We're close to Tarsus. Head there, then, forget Tyre for now. When can we get there? By sunrise, if the wind dies down. Yes, go to Tarsus! I'll see Cleon there, because the baby won't make it all the way to Tyre. I'll leave her with people who'll take good care of her. Go on, sailor, I'll bring the body in a sec.
wedding's over, pericles + thaisa, baby on the way letter: helicanus won't take the crown, pericles gotta come home to tyre thaisa's coming too huge storm at sea she died giving birth 😭 baby girl survived sailors: body has to go overboard he says goodbye, throws her in a chest we're going to tarsus, baby won't make it to tyre
Cerimon is the play's ideal of practical wisdom. He has wealth and standing, but devotes both to medicine and learning. He's awake at midnight tending to storm survivors. He acts quickly, correctly, without drama. When he brings Thaisa back to life, he does it not with mystical invocation but with fire, warmth, music, and knowledge of Egyptian precedent. He is Helicanus's counterpart in a different domain: both choose learning and service over status.
Philemon, ho!
Philemon, hey!
Philemon!
philemon!
Doth my lord call?
Does my lord call me?
Yes, sir?
yes?
Get fire and meat for these poor men:
’T has been a turbulent and stormy night.
Get fire and food for these poor men. There's been a terrible and violent storm.
Get these guys some heat and food. Hell of a storm last night.
fire. food. for them.
I have been in many; but such a night as this,
Till now, I ne’er endured.
I've been in many storms, but never one like this until now.
I've seen bad storms, but nothing like that.
worst storm ever.
Your master will be dead ere you return;
There’s nothing can be minister’d to nature
That can recover him. [_To Philemon._] Give this to the ’pothecary,
And tell me how it works.
Your master will be dead by the time you get back. Nothing can be given to nature that can bring him back. Give this medicine to the apothecary and tell me how it works.
The guy won't make it. There's no medicine that'll save him. Give this to the pharmacist and tell me if it helps.
he'll die. nothing saves him. try this medicine.
Good morrow.
Good morning.
Morning.
morning.
Good morrow to your lordship.
Good morning to your lordship.
Good morning, sir.
morning, sir.
Gentlemen, why do you stir so early?
Gentlemen, why are you awake so early?
Why are you guys up so early?
why up so early?
Sir, our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,
Shook as the earth did quake;
The very principals did seem to rend,
And all to topple: pure surprise and fear
Made me to quit the house.
Sir, our lodgings stand exposed on the sea. They shook as if the earth quaked. The whole building seemed about to collapse. Pure terror made me flee the house.
Sir, our rooms are right on the beach. They shook like an earthquake. Everything was falling apart. I ran out of there.
lodgings shook. like earthquake. everything falling. ran out.
That is the cause we trouble you so early;
’Tis not our husbandry.
That's why we trouble you so early. It's not our carelessness or poor housekeeping.
That's why we're bothering you. We're not just being lazy.
that's why. storm woke us.
O, you say well.
You speak well.
I understand.
understood.
The text gives us the mechanics without making them feel mechanical: fire, warmth, linen, music, an apothecary's medicine, and the reference to an Egyptian who lay dead nine hours and was recovered. This last detail is crucial. Cerimon isn't performing a miracle — he's applying a known precedent from medical literature. He tells his audience that death can usurp on nature many hours and yet the fire of life can rekindle. The play presents this as medicine, not magic. The spices in the coffin (Pericles had her packed with them before sealing the chest) acted as preservatives; the sealed, bituminized chest kept water out; the cold of the sea may have slowed her metabolic processes. By modern understanding, she may have been in suspended animation from hypothermia. Cerimon, with heat, warming cloths, and what was then considered restorative music, essentially revives her. The play doesn't present this as supernatural. It presents it as what a good enough physician, adequately prepared, can do.
But I much marvel that your lordship, having
Rich tire about you, should at these early hours
Shake off the golden slumber of repose.
’Tis most strange,
Nature should be so conversant with pain.
Being thereto not compell’d.
But I'm amazed that your lordship, being wealthy with fine clothes, would be awake at these early hours shaking from fear as we are.
But I'm surprised a rich guy like you is up here shaking like us poor guys.
surprised you're scared too. rich guy.
I hold it ever,
Virtue and cunning were endowments greater
Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs
May the two latter darken and expend;
But immortality attends the former,
Making a man a god. ’Tis known, I ever
Have studied physic, through which secret art,
By turning o’er authorities, I have,
Together with my practice, made familiar
To me and to my aid the blest infusions
That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones;
And I can speak of the disturbances
That nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me
A more content in course of true delight
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,
Or tie my pleasure up in silken bags,
To please the fool and death.
I have always believed that virtue and skill were greater gifts than nobility and riches. Careless heirs may waste both nobility and wealth, but immortality belongs to those with virtue and skill, making them like gods. It's known that I have always studied medicine. Through this secret art, by studying authorities and combining that with practice, I have become familiar with all the blessed substances that live in plants, metals, and stones. I can explain the disturbances that nature causes and how to cure them. This gives me more true joy than chasing empty honors or putting my pleasure in wealth to please fools before death comes.
I've always thought that being good and having real skill matter way more than being born rich or noble. You can inherit money and titles and just waste them, but the people with real virtue and knowledge—they live forever. They become almost like gods. I've studied medicine my whole life. Through that work, I've learned about all the healing powers hidden in plants and metals and stones. I can explain how nature breaks down and how to fix it. And honestly, that gives me more real happiness than chasing after honors or stacking up money to impress people before you die.
virtue and skill matter more than wealth or noble birth careless heirs waste riches but skill makes you immortal i studied medicine plants metals stones i know nature's cures that makes me happier than chasing honors or money
Your honour has through Ephesus pour’d forth
Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
Your creatures, who by you have been restored:
And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even
Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon
Such strong renown as time shall never—
Your lordship has poured out charity through Ephesus, and hundreds call themselves your creations, restored to life by you. Not just your knowledge and personal effort, but even your open purse has built Lord Cerimon such a great reputation that time will never erase it.
You've given so much to people in Ephesus that hundreds of them owe their lives to you. You didn't just use your medical knowledge and hard work—you also spent your own money helping them. That's made your name so great that nobody will ever forget it.
you gave to ephesus hundreds owe you their lives your knowledge your work your money that's made you immortal
So, lift there.
Come on, lift!
Lift!
lift!
What’s that?
What's that?
What is it?
what?
Sir, even now
Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest:
’Tis of some wreck.
Sir, the sea just threw this chest on shore. It's from some wreck.
Sir, the ocean just washed this chest up. It's from a shipwreck.
sea washed it up. wreck.
Set’t down, let’s look upon’t.
Set it down. Let's examine it.
Put it down. Let's look at it.
put down. look.
’Tis like a coffin, sir.
It looks like a coffin, sir.
Looks like a coffin.
looks like coffin.
Whate’er it be,
’Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:
If the sea’s stomach be o’ercharged with gold,
’Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.
Whatever it is, it's wonderfully heavy. Wrench it open now. If the sea brought it up from a shipwreck's belly, we should open it.
Whatever it is, it's heavy. Pry it open. If it washed up from a wreck, let's see what's inside.
heavy. pry open. see inside.
’Tis so, my lord.
It is, my lord.
Yes, sir.
yes.
How close ’tis caulk’d and bitumed!
Did the sea cast it up?
How tightly sealed and waterproofed it is! Did the sea cast it up?
It's sealed tight. The ocean brought it up?
sealed tight. from sea.
I never saw so huge a billow, sir,
As toss’d it upon shore.
I never saw a wave so huge that it threw this on shore.
I've never seen a wave big enough to throw this up.
never saw wave that big.
Wrench it open;
Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.
Pry it open. Wait—it smells so sweet to me.
Get it open. Wait—it smells nice.
smells sweet.
A delicate odour.
A delicate smell.
Smells good.
good smell.
As ever hit my nostril. So up with it.
O you most potent gods! what’s here? a corpse!
As sweet as I've ever smelled. Open it up. Oh gods! What's this? A body!
Best smell I've ever got. Pry it open. Oh my god! There's a body in here!
open. body! corpse!
Most strange!
Most strange!
Incredible!
what?!
By this scene, the sea has done two things: it shipwrecked Pericles and led him to Thaisa (Act 2), and it has now separated Pericles and Thaisa by what everyone thinks is death. But notice what the sea has also done: it delivered Thaisa, in her sealed chest, to the one physician in the Mediterranean world capable of reviving her. The sea, which seemed to take her, is the very mechanism by which she is preserved and returned. The play's cosmology is not cruel: fortune's reversals carry within them the seeds of their own undoing. The storm that killed Thaisa also sealed her in a waterproof chest and cast her on the shore of a man who could bring her back. This is the play's version of divine providence: not a God who prevents suffering, but a universe that carries within its disasters the instruments of their remedy.
Shrouded in cloth of state; balm’d and entreasured
With full bags of spices! A passport too!
Apollo, perfect me in the characters!
Wrapped in royal fabric, embalmed, and laid in like treasure with whole sacks of spices! And a written document as well! Apollo, help me make out what these letters say!
She's wrapped in fancy royal cloth, embalmed, and packed with bags full of spices like she's precious cargo! And there's a note too! Apollo, please help me read this handwriting!
body wrapped in royal cloth bags of spices everywhere there's a note too god help me read this
_Here I give to understand,
If e’er this coffin drives a-land,
I, King Pericles, have lost
This queen, worth all our mundane cost.
Who finds her, give her burying;
She was the daughter of a king:
Besides this treasure for a fee,
The gods requite his charity._
If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart
That even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.
Let it be understood: If ever this coffin washes ashore, I, King Pericles, have lost This queen, worth all our worldly wealth. Whoever finds her, give her a burial; She was the daughter of a king: Besides this treasure as a reward, May the gods repay your kindness. If you live, Pericles, you must have a heart That breaks with grief! This happened tonight.
I want to be clear: If this coffin ever washes up on shore, I'm King Pericles, and I've lost This queen—she's worth more than all our money. Whoever finds her, please give her a proper burial; She was a king's daughter: There's also this treasure as a reward, And I hope the gods bless you for your kindness. If you're out there, Pericles, your heart must be Shattering with grief! This just happened tonight.
if this coffin washes up - i'm king pericles i lost this queen - she was worth everything please bury her - she was a king's daughter there's treasure here as thanks may the gods reward you if you're alive pericles - your heart must be broken this just happened
Most likely, sir.
Most likely, sir.
Probably, sir.
probably.
Nay, certainly tonight;
For look how fresh she looks! They were too rough
That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within
Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet.
No, certainly it happened tonight; for look how fresh she looks! They were too rough, they who threw her in the sea. Start a fire inside and fetch all my boxes from my closet.
This happened tonight, definitely—look how fresh her skin is! Whoever threw her in the water treated her body badly. Get a fire going in here and bring me all my medicine boxes from my room.
happened tonight her skin is still fresh they were rough throwing her in light a fire get my medicine boxes
Death may usurp on nature many hours,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The o’erpress’d spirits. I heard of an Egyptian
That had nine hours lain dead,
Who was by good appliance recovered.
Death can control the body for many hours, and yet the spark of life can kindle again the suffocated spirits. I heard of an Egyptian who lay dead for nine hours, who was recovered through proper medical treatment.
Death can take over the body for hours, but the spark of life can still come back and revive the spirit. I once heard of an Egyptian who had been dead for nine hours, but was brought back to life through skilled medical care.
death can control body for hours but lifes spark can return i heard of an egyptian who was dead 9 hours but recovered w treatment
Well said, well said; the fire and cloths.
The rough and woeful music that we have,
Cause it to sound, beseech you
The viol once more: how thou stirr’st, thou block!
The music there!—I pray you, give her air.
Gentlemen, this queen will live.
Nature awakes; a warmth breathes out of her.
She hath not been entranced above five hours.
See how she ’gins to blow into life’s flower again!
Good, the fire and cloths! The rough and mournful music we have, make it sound. The stringed instrument again! Come on, move! The music there! Give her air, I beg you. Gentlemen, this queen will live. Nature is awakening; warmth breathes from her. She has not been in death's grip for more than five hours. See how she begins to blossom back into life!
Good, bring the fire and cloths! Play that sad, rough music we have. The strings again! Move faster! The music now! Give her air, please. Gentlemen, she's going to live. Nature is waking up; warmth is coming back to her. She's only been dead for five hours. Look, she's starting to come back to life like a flower blooming!
bring fire and cloths play the rough music play the strings again move faster the music now give her air please she will live nature is waking shes only been dead 5 hours shes coming back to life
The heavens, through you, increase our wonder
And sets up your fame for ever.
The heavens, through you, increase our wonder and establish your fame forever.
The gods work through you. You'll be remembered forever.
gods work through you. famous forever.
She is alive; behold, her eyelids,
Cases to those heavenly jewels which Pericles hath lost,
Begin to part their fringes of bright gold;
The diamonds of a most praised water doth appear,
To make the world twice rich. Live, and make us weep
To hear your fate, fair creature, rare as you seem to be.
She's alive! Look at her eyelids, those cases for the heavenly jewels that Pericles lost. They're beginning to open, showing the brightness of her eyes. Her eyes are like priceless diamonds, the rarest quality, appearing to make the world twice as rich. Live, and let us weep to hear your fate, beautiful creature, as rare as you seem to be.
She's alive! Look—her eyes are opening. Those eyes are like jewels that Pericles thought he'd lost forever. Her eyes are like the most perfect diamonds—just seeing them makes the world seem twice as beautiful. Live! Tell us your story, and let us cry hearing what happened to someone as rare and beautiful as you.
she's alive her eyes opening like jewels like perfect diamonds make the world twice as rich live tell us your story
O dear Diana,
Where am I? Where’s my lord? What world is this?
Oh Diana! Where am I? Where's my husband? What world is this?
Diana! Where am I? Where's my husband? What's happening?
where am i? where's my husband? what happened?
Is not this strange?
Isn't that strange?
That's crazy!
insane!
Most rare.
Most remarkable.
Incredible.
incredible.
Hush, my gentle neighbours!
Lend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.
Get linen: now this matter must be look’d to,
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come;
And Aesculapius guide us!
Quiet, my gentle neighbors! Lend me your hands; take her to the next room. Get linen: this situation needs attention now, because a relapse would be fatal. Come, come; and may Aesculapius guide us!
Be quiet, everyone! Give me a hand moving her to the next room. Get some clean cloth—we need to be careful because if she gets worse, it could kill her. Come on; let's hope the healing god helps us out.
quiet everyone help me move her to the next room get clean fabric a relapse could be fatal we have to be careful let the god of medicine guide us
The Reckoning
This scene is the hinge of the whole play. Everything before it has been about Pericles losing things — his courage, his country, his armor, his bearings. Now he loses his wife in the most brutal way imaginable: on a ship in a storm, no fire, no light, the sailors superstitious, the body committed to the sea scarcely coffined. And then — in the same scene, without pause — Cerimon cracks open that chest and brings her back. The play doesn't let us mourn. It pivots from catastrophe to miracle in the span of a few lines. That is entirely deliberate. This is a play about the patience of Fortune's wheel, and the wheel keeps turning.
If this happened today…
A man gets the call he's been dreading: his company is on the verge of collapse without him, he has to fly back immediately. His wife insists on coming, even though she's nine months pregnant. She goes into labor mid-flight over the Atlantic during a severe storm. She survives the birth but goes into cardiac arrest and can't be revived. They land the plane, emergency services pronounce her dead. Miles away, a brilliant emergency physician gets the body with a note in the pocket. He finds vital signs no one else caught. He brings her back.