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Sailing from Tarsus to Tyre, the ship in its course passed by Mitylene, where Marina dwelt; the governor of which place, Lysimachus, observing this royal vessel from the shore, and desirous of knowing who was on board, went in a barge to the side of the ship, to satisfy his curiosity. Helicanus received him very courteously and told him that the ship came from Tyre, and that they were conducting thither Pericles, their prince; “A man, sir,” said Helicanus, “who has not spoken to any one these three months, nor taken any sustenance, but just to prolong his grief; it would be tedious to repeat the whole ground of his distemper, but the main springs from the loss of a beloved daughter and a wife.” Lysimachus begged to see this afflicted prince, and when he beheld Pericles, he saw he had been once a goodly person, and he said to him, “Sir king, all hail, the gods preserve you, hail, royal sir!” But in vain Lysimachus spoke to him; Pericles made no answer, nor did he appear to perceive any stranger approached. And then Lysimachus bethought him of the peerless maid Marina, that haply with her sweet tongue she might win some answer from the silent prince: and with the consent of Helicanus he sent for Marina, and when she entered the ship in which her own father sat motionless with grief, they welcomed her on board as if they had known she was their princess; and they cried, “She is a gallant lady.” Lysimachus was well pleased to hear their commendations, and he said, “She is such a one, that were I well assured she came of noble birth, I would wish no better choice, and think me rarely blessed in a wife.” And then he addressed her in courtly terms, as if the lowly-seeming maid had been the high-born lady he wished to find her, calling her Fair and beautiful Marina, telling her a great prince on board that ship had fallen into a sad and mournful silence; and, as if Marina had the power of conferring health and felicity, he begged she would undertake to cure the royal stranger of his melancholy. “Sir,” said Marina, “I will use my utmost skill in his recovery, provided none but I and my maid be suffered to come near him.”

She, who at Mitylene had so carefully concealed her birth, ashamed to tell that one of royal ancestry was now a slave, first began to speak to Pericles of the wayward changes in her own fate, telling him from what a high estate herself had fallen. As if she had known it was her royal father she stood before, all the words she spoke were of her own sorrows; but her reason for so doing was, that she knew nothing more wins the attention of the unfortunate than the recital of some sad calamity to match their own. The sound of her sweet voice aroused the drooping prince; he lifted up his eyes, which had been so long fixed and motionless; and Marina, who was the perfect image of her mother, presented to his amazed sight the features of his dead queen. The long-silent prince was once more heard to speak. “My dearest wife,” said the awakened Pericles, “was like this maid, and such a one might my daughter have been. My queen’s square brows, her stature to an inch, as wand-like straight, as silver-voiced, her eyes as jewel-like. Where do you live, young maid? Report your parentage. I think you said you had been tossed from wrong to injury, and that you thought your griefs would equal mine, if both were opened.” “Some such thing I said,” replied Marina, “and said no more than what my thoughts did warrant me as likely.” “Tell me your story,” answered Pericles; “if I find you have known the thousandth part of my endurance, you have borne your sorrows like a man, and I have suffered like a girl; yet you do look like Patience gazing on kings’ graves, and smiling extremity out of act. How lost you your name, my most kind virgin? Recount your story I beseech you. Come, sit by me.” How was Pericles surprised when she said her name was Marina, for he knew it was no usual name, but had been invented by himself for his own child to signify seaborn: “O, I am mocked,” said he, “and you are sent hither by some incensed god to make the world laugh at me.” “Patience, good sir,” said Marina, “or I must cease here.” “Nay,” said Pericles, “I will be patient; you little know how you do startle me, to call yourself Marina.” “The name,” she replied, “was given me by one that had some power, my father, and a king.” “How, a king’s daughter!” said Pericles, “and called Marina! But are you flesh and blood? Are you no fairy? Speak on; where were you born? and wherefore called Marina?” She replied, “I was called Marina, because I was born at sea. My mother was the daughter of a king; she died the minute I was born, as my good nurse Lychorida has often told me weeping. The king, my father, left me at Tarsus, till the cruel wife of Cleon sought to murder me. A crew of pirates came and rescued me, and brought me here to Mitylene. But, good sir, why do you weep? It may be, you think me an impostor. But, indeed, sir, I am the daughter to King Pericles, if good King Pericles be living.” Then Pericles, terrified as he seemed at his own sudden joy, and doubtful if this could be real, loudly called for his attendants, who rejoiced at the sound of their beloved king’s voice; and he said to Helicanus, “O Helicanus, strike me, give me a gash, put me to present pain, lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, overbear the shores of my mortality. O come hither, thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus, and found at sea again. O Helicanus, down on your knees, thank the holy gods! This is Marina. Now blessings on thee, my child! Give me fresh garments, mine own Helicanus! She is not dead at Tarsus as she should have been by the savage Dionysia. She shall tell you all, when you shall kneel to her and call her your very princess. Who is this?” (observing Lysimachus for the first time). “Sir,” said Helicanus, “it is the governor of Mitylene, who, hearing of your melancholy, came to see you.” “I embrace you, sir,” said Pericles. “Give me my robes! I am well with beholding—-O heaven bless my girl! But hark, what music is that?”–for now, either sent by some kind god, or by his own delighted fancy deceived, he seemed to hear soft music. “My lord, I hear none,” replied Helicanus. “None?” said Pericles; “why it is the music of the spheres.” As there was no music to be heard, Lysimachus concluded that the sudden joy had unsettled the prince’s understanding; and he said, “It is not good to cross him: let him have his way:” and then they told him they heard the music; and he now complaining of a drowsy slumber coming over him, Lysimachus persuaded him to rest on a couch, and placing a pillow under his head, he, quite overpowered with excess of joy, sank into a sound sleep, and Marina watched in silence by the couch of her sleeping parent.