Page 185 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Slack the bolins there! − Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow and split thyself.

SECOND SAILOR
But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy [45] billow kiss the moon, I care not.

FIRST SAILOR
Sir, your queen must overboard. The sea works high, the wind is loud, and
will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead.

PERICLES
That’s your superstition. [50]

FIRST SAILOR
Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it hath been still observed, and we are strong in

custom. Therefore briefly yield ’er, for she must overboard straight.

PERICLES
As you think meet. Most wretched queen!

LYCHORIDA
Here she lies, sir. [55]

She reveals the body of Thaisa.

PERICLES
A terrible childbed hast thou bad, my dear;
No light, no fire; th’unfriendly elements

Forgot thee utterly. Nor have I time
To give thee hallowed to thy grave, but straight
Must cast thee, scarcely coffined, in the ooze, [60]
Where, for a monument upon thy bones,

And e’er-remaining lamps, the belching whale
And humming water must o’erwhelm thy corpse,
Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida,
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper, [65]

My casket and my jewels. And bid Nicander
Bring me the satin coffer. Lay the babe