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My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander
[Exit LYCHORIDA. 2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulk'd and bitúmed ready.
Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this? 2 Sail. We are near Tharsus.
Per. Thither, gentle mariner, Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?
2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease.
Per. O make for Tharsus.
Ephesus. A Rooin in Cerimon's House.
Enter CERIMON, a Servant, and some persons who
have been shipwrecked, Cer. Philemon, ho!
lord call ? Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men ; It has been a turbulent and stormy night.
Serv. I have been in many; hut such a night as this, Till now I ne'er endur'd.
Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return;
There's nothing can be minister'd to nature,
Enter Two Gentlemen.
Good morrow, sir.
Gentlemen, Why do you stir so early?
1 Gent. Sir,
2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so early ; "Tis not our husbandry. 8 Cer.
O, you say
I held it ever,
• The principals are the strongest rafters in the roof of a building. 7 Tumbie. 8 ise. Economical prudence, early rising,
9 Attire, I Knowledge.
Tha» nobleness and riches : careless heirs
open, hath built lord Cerimon Such strong renown as time shall never
Enter Two Servants with a chest.
Serv. So; lift there.
What is that?
Sir, even now Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest; 'Tis of some wreck. Cer.
Set 't down, let's look on it. 2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. Cer,
Whate'er it be
'Tis so, my
'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight;
Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, As toss'd it
upon shore. Cer.
Come, wrench it open; Soft, soft!--it smells most sweetly in my sense.
2 Gent. A delicate odour.
Cer. As ever hit my nostril; so,-up with it. O you most potent god! what's here? a corse!
i Gent. Most strange! Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'd and en
treasur'd With bags of spices full ! A passport too! Apollo, perfect me i'the characters!
[Unfolds a scrolla Here I give to understand,
[Reads. (If e'er this coffin drive 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 liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart That even cracks for woe!This chanc'd to-night.
2 Gent. Most likely, sir. Cer.
Nay, certainly to-night; For look, how fresh she looks - They were too rough, That threw her in the sea. Make fire within ; Fetch hither all the boxes in
Enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, and fire. Well said, well said ; the fire and the cloths. The rough and woful musick that we have, Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. The vial once more;-How thou stirrist, thou block? The musick there. I pray you, give her air :Gentlemen, This queen will live: nature awakes
The heavens, sir,
She is alive ; behold,