Reference > William Shakespeare > The Oxford Shakespeare > Pericles, Prince of Tyre
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William Shakespeare (1564–1616).  The Oxford Shakespeare.  1914.
 
Pericles, Prince of Tyre
 
Act III. Scene III.
 
Tarsus.  A Room in CLEON’S House.
 
Enter PERICLES, CLEON, DIONYZA, and LYCHORIDA, with MARINA in her arms.
  Per.  Most honour’d Cleon, I must needs be gone;
My twelve months are expir’d, and Tyrus stands
In a litigious peace. You and your lady        5
Take from my heart all thankfulness; the gods
Make up the rest upon you!
  Cle.  Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,
Yet glance full wanderingly on us.
  Dion.        O your sweet queen!        10
That the strict fates had pleas’d you had brought her hither,
To have bless’d mine eyes with her!
  Per.        We cannot but obey
The powers above us. Could I rage and roar
As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end        15
Must be as ’tis. My gentle babe Marina—whom,
For she was born at sea, I have nam’d so—here
I charge your charity withal, and leave her
The infant of your care, beseeching you
To give her princely training, that she may be        20
Manner’d as she is born.
  Cle.        Fear not, my lord, but think
Your Grace, that fed my country with your corn—
For which the people’s prayers still fall upon you—
Must in your child be thought on. If neglection        25
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!        30
  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,        35
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        40
Than yours, my lord.
  Per.        Madam, my thanks and prayers.
  Cle.  We’ll 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.        45
  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.  [Exeunt.        50
 
 
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