And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave ;
For why I craved nothing of thee still :
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him :
She told the youngling how god Mars did try
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
' Even thus,' quoth she, ' the warlike god em-
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms ;
' Even thus,' quoth she, ' the warlike god un-
As if the boy should use like loving charms ;
' Even thus,' quoth she, ' he seized on my lips,'
And with her lips on his did act the seizure :
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her plea-
Ah, that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away !
Crabbed age and youth cannot live together :
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care ;
Youth like summer morn, age like winter
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short ;
Youth is nimble, aare is lame ;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold ;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee ; youth, I do adore thee ;
O, my love, my love is young !
Age, I do defy thee : 0, sweet shepherd, hie
For methinks thou stay'st too long.
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good ;
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly ;
A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud ;
A brittle glass that 's broken presently :
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither' d on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty blemish'd once's for ever lost,
In spite of physic, painting pain, and cost.
THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my
She bade good night that kept my rest away ;
And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
' Farewell,' quoth she, ' and come again to-
morrow : '
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether :
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
'T may be, again to make me wander thither :
' Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east !
My heart doth charge the watch ; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ;
For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night :
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight ;
Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with
For why, she sigh'd and bade me come to-
Were I with her, the night would post too soon ;
But now are minutes added to the hours ;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers !
Pack night, peep day ; good day, of night now borrow :
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.
SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC.
IT was a lording' s daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that
eye could see,
Her fancy fell a-turning.
Long was the combat doubtful that love with lore
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant
To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite
Unto the silly damsel !
But one must be refused ; more mickle was the
That nothing could be used to turn them both to
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded
with disdain :
Alas, she could not help it !
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid
Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady
For now my song is ended.
On a day. alack the day !
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air :
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find ;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath,
'Air,' quoth he, ' thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so !
But, alas ! my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn i
Vow, alack ! for youth unmeet :
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were ;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love. 1
My flocks feed not,
My ewes breed not,
My rams speed not,
All is amiss :
Causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost, God wot :
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is placed without remove.
One silly cross
Wrought all my loss ;
O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame !
For now I see
More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me,
Living in thrall :
Heart is bleeding,
All help needing,
O cruel speeding,
Fraughted with gall.
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal,
My wether's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid ;
My sighs so deep
Procure to weep,
In howling wise, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound
Through heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody
Clear well spring not,
Sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not
Forth their dye ;
Herds stand weeping,
Flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs back peeping
All our pleasure known to us poor s\vains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for Love is dead.
Farewell, sweet lass,
Thy like ne'er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all my
Must live alone ;
Other help for him I see that there is none.
Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall' d the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy partial might :
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too yoxing nor yet unwed.
And when thou comest thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell,
A cripple soon can find a halt
But plainly say thou lovest her well,
And set thy person forth to sell.
ACT IV., So. 1.
Cer. 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
Do appear, to make the world twice rich. Live,
And make us weep to hear your fate, fair crea-
Kare as you seem to be. Slie moves.
Thai. O dear Diana,
Where am I ? Where 's my lord ? What world
is this ?
2 Gent. Is not this strange ?
1 Gent. Most rare.
Cer. Hush, my gentle neighbours !
Lend me your hands ; to the next chamber bear
Get linen : now this matter must be look'd to,
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come ;
And _<3ijsculapius guide us !
Exeunt, carrying Thaisa away.
Sc&ne III. Tarsus. A Room in Cleoris
Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, and Lychorida
with Marina in her arms.
Per. Most honour' d Cleon, I must needs be
My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands
In a litigious peace. You, and your lady,
Take from my heart all thankfulness ! the gods
Make up the rest upon you !
Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt
Yet glance full wanderingly on us.
Dion. O your sweet queen !
That the strict fates had pleased you had brought
To have bless 'd mine eyes with her !
Per. We cannot but obey
The powers above ns. Could I rage and roar
As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end
Must be as 'tis. My gentle babe Marina, whom,
For she was born at sea, I have named so, here
I charge your charity withal, leaving her
The infant of your care ; beseeching you
To give her princely training, that she may be
Manner' d as she is born.
Cle. Fear not, my lord, but think
Your grace, that fed my country with your
For which the people's prayers still fall upon
Must in your child be thought on. If neglection
Should therein make me vile, the common body,
By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty :
But if to that my nature need a spur,
The gods revenge it upon me and mine,
To the end of generation !
Per. I believe you ;
Your honour and your goodness teach me to 't,
Without your vows. Till she be married, madam,
By bright Diana, whom we honour, all
Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain,
Though I show ill in 't. So I take my leave.
Good madam, make me blessed in your care
In bringing up my child.
Dion. I have one myself,
Who shall not be more dear to my respect
Than yours, my lord.
Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers.
Cle. We '11 bring your grace e'en to the edge
o' the shore,
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune and
The gentlest winds of heaven.
Per. I will embrace
Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no tears,
Lychorida, no tears :
Look to your little mistress, on whose grace
You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.
Scene IV. Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's
Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.
Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain
Lay with you in your coffer : which are no-w
At your command. Know you the character ?
Thai. It is my lord's.
That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember,
Even on my eaning time ; but whether there
Deliver' d, by the holy gods,
I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,
My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again,
A vestal livery will I take me to,
And never more have joy.
Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as ye
Diana's temple is not distant far,
Where you may abide till your date expire.
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine
Shall there attend you.
Thai. My recompense is thanks, that 's all ;
Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.
Gow. Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,
Welcomed and settled to his own desire.
His woeful queen ice leave at Ephesus,
Unto Diana there a votaress.
Now to Marina bend your mind,
Whom our fast-growing scene must find
At Tarsus, and by Cleon train' d
In music, letters ; who hath gain'd
Of education all the grace,
Which makes her both the heart and place
Of general wonder. But, alack,
That monster envy, oft the wrack
Of earned praise, Marina's life
Seeks to take off by treason'* knife.
And in this kind hath our Cleon
One daughter, and a wench full grown,
Even ripe for marriage-rite ; this maid
Hight Philoten : and it is xaid
For certain in our story, she
Would ever with Marina be :
Be 't ivhen she weaved the sleided silk
With fingers long, small, white as milk ;
Or when the would with .<Jinrp needle icound
The cambric, which she made more sound
ACT IV., Sc. 1.
By hurting it ; or when to the lute
She sung, and made the night-bird mute,
That still records with moan ; or when
She would with rich and constant pen
Vail to her mistress Dian ; stiLl
This Philoten contends in skill
With absolute Marina : so
With the dove of Paphos might the croiv
Vie feathers white. Marina gets
All praises, which are paid as debts,
And not as given. This so darks
In Philoten ail graceful marks,
That Clean's wife, with envy rare,
A present murderer does prepare
For good Marina, that her daughter
Might stand peerless by this slaughter.
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
Lychorida, our nurse, is dead :
And cursed Dionyza hath
The pregnant instrument of wrath
Prest for this blow. The unborn event
I do commend to your content :
Only I carry winged time
Post on the lame feet of my rhyme ;
Which never could I so convey,
Unless your thoughts went on my way.
Dionyza doth appear,
With Leonine, a murderer. Exit.
Soene I. Tarsus. An open Place near the
Enter Dionyza and Leonine.
Dion. Thy oatli remember ; thou hast sworn
to do 't :
"Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.
Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,
Which is but cold, inflaming love i' thy bosom,
Inflame too nicely ; nor let pity, which
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be
A soldier to thy purpose.
Leon. I '11 do 't ; but yet she is a goodly
Dion. The fitter, then, the gods should have
She comes weeping for her only mistress' death.
Thou art resolved ?
Leon. I am resolved.
Enter Marina, with a basket of flowers.
Mar. No, I will rob Tellus of her weed,
To strew thy green with flowers : the yellows,
The purple violets, and marigolds,
Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave,
While summer-days do last. Ay me ! poor maid,
Born in a tempest, when my mother died,
This world to me is like a lasting storm,
Whirring me from my friends.
Dion. How now, Marina! why do yon keep
How chance my daughter is not with you ? Do
Consume your blood with sorrowing : you have
A nurse of me. Lord, how your favour 's
With this unprofitable woe ! Come,
Give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.
Walk with Leonine ; the air is quick there,
And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come,
Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.
Mar. No, I pray you ;
I '11 not bereave you of your servant.
Dion. Come, come;
I love the king your father, and yourself,
With more than foreign heart. We every day
Expect him here : when he shall come and find
Our paragon to all reports thus blasted,
He will repent the breadth of his great voyage ;
Blame both my lord and me, that we have taken
No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,
Walk, and be cheerful once again ; reserve
That excellent complexion, which did steal
The eyes of young and old. Care not for me ;
I can go home alone.
Mar. Well, I will go ;
But yet I have no desire to it.
Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you.
Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least :
Remember what I have said.
Leon. I warrant you, madam.
Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a
Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood :
What ! I must have a care of you.
Mar. My thanks, sweet madam.
Is the wind westerly that blows ?
Mar. When I was born, the wind was north.
Leon. Was 't so?
Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear,
But cried ' Good seamen ! ' to the sailors, galling
His kingly hands, haling ropes ;
And, clasping to the mast, endured a sea
That almost burst the deck.
Leon. When was this ?
Mar. When I was born :
Never was waves nor wind more violent ;
And from the ladder-tackle washes off
A canvas-climber. ' Ha ! ' says one, ' wilt out ? '
And with a dropping industry they skip
From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and
The master calls, and trebles their confusion.
Leon. Come, say your prayers.
Mar. What mean you ?
Leon. If you require a little space for prayer,
I grant it : pray ; but be not tedious,
For the gods are quick of ear, and I am swcwn
To do my work with haste.
Mar. Why will you Mil me ?
Leon. To satisfy my lady.
Mar. Why would she have me kill'd ?
Now, as I can remember, by my troth,
I never did her hurt in all my life :
I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn
To any living creature : believe me, la,
I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly :
I trod upon a worm against my will,
But I wept for it. How have I offended,
Wherein my death might yield her any profit,
Or my life imply her any danger ?
Leon. My commission
Is not to reason of the deed, but do it.
Mar. You will not do 't for all the world, I hope.
You are well favour' d, and your looks foreshow
You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,
ACT IV., Sc. 2.
When you caught hurt in parting two that
Good sooth, it show'd well in you : do so now :
Yoar lady seeks my life ; come you between,
And save poor me, the weaker.
Leon. I am sworn,
And will dispatch. He seizes her.
1 Pirate. Hold, villain !
Leonine runs away.
2 Pirate. A prize ! a prize !
3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part.
Come, let 's have her aboard suddenly.
Exeunt Pirates with Marina.
Leon. These roguing thieves serve the great
pirate Valdes ;
And they have seized Marina. Let her go :
There 's no hope she will return. I '11 swear she 's
And thrown into the sea. But I '11 see further :
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her,
Not carry her aboard. If she remain,
Whom they have ravish' d must by me be slain.
Scene II. Mitylene. A Boom in a Brothel.
Enter Pandar, Bawd, and Boult.
Pand. Boult !
Pand. Search the market narrowly; Mitylene
is full of gallants. We lost too much money this
mart by being too wenchless.
Baivd. We were never so much out of crea-
tures. We have but poor three, and they can
do no more than they can do ; and they with
eontinual action are even as good as rotten.
Pand. Therefore let's have fresh ones, what-
e'er we pay for them. If there be not a con-
science to be used in every trade, we shall never
Bawd. Thou say'st true : 'tis not the bringing
up of poor bastards, as, I think, I have brought
up some eleven
Boult. Ay, to eleven ; and brought them down
again. But shall I search the market ?
Bawd. What else, man? The stuff we have,
a strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are
BO pitifully sodden.
Pand. Thou sayest true ; they 're too unwhole-
some, o* conscience. The poor Transylvanian is
dead, that lay with the little baggage.
Boult. Ay, she quickly pooped him, she made
him roast-meat for worms. But I '11 go search
the market. Exit.
Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were
as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give
Bawd. Why to give over, I pray you ? is it a
shame to get when we are old?
Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the
commodity, nor the commodity wages not with
the danger : therefore, if in our youths we could
pick up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to
keep our door hatched. Besides, the sore terms
we stand upon with the gods will be strong with
us for giving over.
Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we.
Pand. As well as we ! ay, and better too ; we
offend worse . Neither is our profession any trade ;
it's no calling. But here comes Boult.
Re-enter Boult, with the Pirates and Marina.
Boult. [To Marina'] Come your ways. My
masters, you say she 's a virgin ?
1 Pirate. O ! sir, we doubt it not.
Boult. Master, I have gone through for this
piece, you see : if you like her, so ; if not, I have
lost my earnest.
Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities ?
Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and
has excellent good clothes: there's no further
necessity of qualities can make her be refused.
Bawd. What 's her price, Boult ?
Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thou-
Pand. Well, follow me, my masters, you shall
have your money presently. Wife, take her in ;
instruct her what she has to do, that she may not
be raw in her entertainment.
Exeunt Pandar and Pirates.
Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her, the
colour of her hair, complexion, height, age, with
warrant of her virginity ; and cry ' He that will
give most shall have her first.' Such a maiden-
head were no cheap thing, if men were as they
have been. Get this done as I command you.
Boult. Performance shall follow. Exit.
Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow !
He should have struck, not spoke ; or that these
Not enough barbarous, had not o'erboard thrown
For to seek my mother !
Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one ?
Mar. That I am pretty.
Bawd.Gome, the gods have done their part in yom.
Mar. I accuse them not.
Bawd. You are light into my hands, where you
are like to live.
Mar. The more my fault.
To 'scape his hands where I was like to die.
Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure.
Bawd. Yes, indeed shall you, and taste gentle-
men of all fashions : you shall fare well ; you
shall have the difference of all complexions.
What ! do you stop your ears ?
Mar. Are you a woman ?
Bawd. What would you have me be, an I be
not a woman ?
Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman.
Bawd. Marry, whip thee. gosling : I think I
shall have something to do with you. Come,
you 're a young foolish sapling, and must be
bowed as I would have you.
Mar. The gods defend me !
Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by
men, then men must comfort you, men must feed
you, men must stir you up. Boult 's returned.
Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market ?
Boult. I have cried her almost to the number
of her hairs ; I have drawn her picture with my
ACT IV., Sc. 4.
Bawd. And I prithee tell me, how dost thou
find the inclination of the people, especially of the
younger sort ?
Boult. 'Faith, they listened to me as they
would have hearkened to their father' s testament.
There was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that
he went to bed to her very description.
Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow with
his best ruff on.
Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do
you know the French knight that cowers i' the
Bawd. Who? Monsieur Veroles ?
Boult. Ay, he offered to cut a caper at the
proclamation ; but he made a groan at it, and
swore he would see her to-morrow.
Bawd. Well, well ; as for him, he brought his
disease hither : here he does but repair it. I
know he will come in our shadow, to scatter his
crowns in the sun.
Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a tra-
veller, we should lodge them with this sign.
Bawd. [To Marina] Pray you, come hither
awhile. You have fortunes coming upon you.
Mark me : you must seem to do that fearfully
which you commit willingly, despise profit
where you have most gain. To weep that you
live as ye do makes pity in your lovers : seldom
but that pity begets you a good opinion, and that
opinion a mere profit.
Mar. I understand you not.
Boult. 0, take her home, mistress, take her
home : these blushes of hers must be quenched
with some present practice.
Bawd. Thou sayest true, i' faith, so they must ;
for your bride goes to that with shame which is
her way to go with warrant.
Boult. 'Faith, some do, and some do not. But,
mistress, if I have bargained for the joint,
Bawd. Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.
Boult. I may so.
Bawd. Who should deny it? Come, young
one, I like the manner of your garments well.
Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be
Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town :
report what a sojourner we have; you'll lose
nothing by custom. When nature framed this
piece, she meant thee a good turn ; therefore say
what a paragon she is, and thou hast the harvest
out of thine own report.
Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall
not so awake the beds of eels as my giving put
her beauty stir up the lewdly-inclined. I '11 bring
home some to-night.
Baifd. Come your ways ; follow me.
Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep.
Diana, aid my purpose !
Bawd. What have we to do with Diana ? Pray
you, will you go with us ? Exeunt.
Scene III. Tarsus. A Room in Cleon's House.
Enter Cleon and Dionyza.
Dion. Why, are you foolish ? Can it be undone ?
Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter
The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon !
Dion. I think
You '11 turn a child again.
Cle. Were I chief lord of all this spacious world,
I 'Id give it to undo the deed. O lady,
Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess
To equal any single crown o' the earth
I' the justice of compare ! O villain Leonine !
Whom thou hast poison' d too :
If thou hadst drunk to him, 't had been a kindness
Becoming well thy fact : what canst thou say
When noble Pericles shall demand his child ?
Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the
To foster it, nor ever to preserve.
She died at night ; I '11 say so. Who can cross it ?
Unless you play the pious innocent,
And for an honest attribute cry out
' She died by foul play.'
Cle. O, go to. Well, well,
Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods