What’s that? Set’t down, let’s look upon’t.
’Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight.
If the sea’s stomach be o’ercharg’d with gold,
’Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.
Wrench it open.
Soft! It smells most sweetly in my sense.
O you most potent gods! what’s here? a corse?
Shrouded in cloth of state, balm’d and entreasur’d
With full bags of spices! A passport too!
Apollo, perfect me in the characters!
“Here I give to understand,
If e’er this coffin drives 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 livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart
That ever cracks for woe! This chanc’d tonight,
For look how fresh she looks! They were too rough
That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within.
Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet.
Death may usurp on nature many hours,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The o’erpress’d spirits. I heard of an Egyptian
That had nine hours lien dead,
Who was by good appliance recovered.
Well said, well said. The fire and cloths.
The rough and woeful music that we have,
Cause it to sound, beseech you.
The vial once more. How thou stir’st, thou block!
The music there! I pray you give her air.
Gentlemen, this queen will live. Nature awakes,
A warmth breathes out of her. She hath not been
Entranc’d above five hours. See how she gins
To blow into life’s flower again!
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 doth appear,
To make the world twice rich. Live, and make
Us weep to hear your fate, fair creature,
Rare as you seem to be.