ACT I
SCENE I. Antioch. A room in the palace.
Prince Pericles,—
That would be son to great Antiochus.
I am no viper, yet I feed On mother’s flesh which did me breed. I sought a husband, in which labour I found that kindness in a father: He’s father, son, and husband mild; I mother, wife, and yet his child. How they may be, and yet in two, As you will live resolve it you.
Sharp physic is the last: but, O you powers That give heaven countless eyes to view men’s acts, Why cloud they not their sights perpetually, If this be true, which makes me pale to read it? Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,
Were not this glorious casket stored with ill: But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt; For he’s no man on whom perfections wait That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate, You are a fair viol, and your sense the strings; Who, finger’d to make man his lawful music, Would draw heaven down, and all the gods to hearken; But being play’d upon before your time, Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime. Good sooth, I care not for you.
Doth your highness call?
My lord, ’tis done.
Enough.
Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.
My lord, Prince Pericles is fled.
My lord, if I can get him within my pistol’s length, I’ll make him sure enough: so, farewell to your highness.
Thaliard! adieu!
Till Pericles be dead, My heart can lend no succour to my head.