LITMIR.BIZ

      Thaliard,

      You are of our chamber, and our mind partakes

      Her private actions to your secrecy;

      And for your faithfulness we will advance you.

      Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold;

      We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:

      It fits thee not to ask the reason why,

      Because we Bid it. Say, is it done?

      My lord,

      Tis done.

      Enough.

      Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.

      My lord, prlnce Pericles is fled.

      As thou

      Wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot

      From a well-experienced archer hits the mark

      His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return

      Unless thou say 'Prince Pericles is dead.'

      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.

      Let none disturb us. – Why should this change of thoughts,

      The sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy,

      Be my so used a guest as not an hour,

      In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night,

      The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet?

      Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,

      And danger, which I fear'd, is at Antioch,

      Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here:

      Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits,

      Nor yet the other's distance comfort me.

      Then it is thus: the passions of the mind,

      That have their first conception by mis-dread

      Have after-nourishment and life by care;

      And what was first but fear what might he done,

      Grows elder now and cares it be not done.

      And so with me: the great Antiochus,

      'Gainst whom I am too little to contend,

      Since he 's so great can make his will his act,

      Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence;

      Nor boots it me to say I honour him.

      If he suspect I may dishonour him:

      And what may make him blush in being known,

      He'll stop the course by which it might be known;

      With hostile forces he'11 o'erspread the land,

      And with the ostent of war will look so huge,

      Amazement shall drive courage from the state;

      Our men be vanquish'd ere they do resist,

      And subjects punish'd that ne'er thought offence:

      Which care of them, not pity of myself,

      Who am no more but as the tops of trees,

      Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them,

      Makes both my body pine and soul to languish,

      And punish that before that he would punish.

      Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast!

      And keep your mind, till you return to us,

      Peaceful and comfortable!

      Peace, peace, and give experience tongue.

      They do abuse the king that flatter him:

      For flattery is the bellows blows up sin;

      The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark,

      To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing:

      Whereas reproof, obedient and in order,

      Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err.

      When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace,

      He flatters you, makes war upon your life.

      Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;

      I cannot be much lower than my knees.

      All leave us else; but let your cares o'erlook

      What shipping and what lading is in our haven,

      And then return to us.

      Helicanus, thou

      Hast moved us: what seest thou in our looks?

      An angry brow, dread lord.

      If there be such a dart in princes' frowns,

      How durst thy tongue move anger to our face?

      How dare the plants look up to heaven, from whence

      They have their nourishment?

      Thou know'st I have power

      To take thy life from thee.

      I have ground the axe myself;

      Do you but strike the blow.

      Rise, prithee, rise.

      Sit down: thou art no flatterer:

      I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid

      That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid!

      Fit counsellor and servant for a prince,

      Who by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant,

      What wouldst thou have me do?

      To bear with patience

      Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.

      Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus,

      That minister'st a potion unto me

      That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.

      Attend

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