Original
Modern English
Philemon, ho!
Philemon, hey!
Doth my lord call?
Does my lord call?
Get fire and meat for these poor men: ’T has been a turbulent and stormy night.
Get some fire and food for these poor men: It’s been a rough and stormy night.
I have been in many; but such a night as this, Till now, I ne’er endured.
I’ve been through many storms; but a night like this, I’ve never experienced before.
Your master will be dead ere you return; There’s nothing can be minister’d to nature That can recover him.
Your master will be dead by the time you get back; There’s nothing that can be done for him That will bring him back to life.
Give this to the ’pothecary, And tell me how it works.
Take this to the apothecary, And let me know how it works.
Good morrow.
Good morning.
Good morrow to your lordship.
Good morning, my lord.
Gentlemen, Why do you stir so early?
Gentlemen, Why are you up so early?
Sir, Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, Shook as the earth did quake; The very principals did seem to rend, And all-to topple: pure surprise and fear Made me to quit the house.
Sir, Our house, which is right by the sea, Shook as if there was an earthquake; Even the foundation seemed to break apart, And everything was about to fall down: pure shock and fear Made me leave the house.
That is the cause we trouble you so early; ’Tis not our husbandry.
That’s why we’re troubling you so early; It’s not because of our work.
O, you say well.
Oh, you speak wisely.
But I much marvel that your lordship, having Rich tire about you, should at these early hours Shake off the golden slumber of repose. ’Tis most strange, Nature should be so conversant with pain, Being thereto not compell’d.
But I’m surprised that you, my lord, With your fine clothes on, should be awake at this early hour, Giving up the peaceful sleep you could enjoy. It’s very strange, That nature should be so familiar with pain, When it’s not forced to be.
I hold it ever, Virtue and cunning were endowments greater Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs May the two latter darken and expend; But immortality attends the former. Making a man a god. ’Tis known, I ever Have studied physic, through which secret art, By turning o’er authorities, I have, Together with my practise, made familiar To me and to my aid the blest infusions That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones; And I can speak of the disturbances That nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me A more content in course of true delight Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, To please the fool and death.
I’ve always believed, That virtue and knowledge are greater gifts Than nobility and wealth: careless heirs May waste and ruin the latter; But immortality belongs to the former. Making a man like a god. It’s known that I’ve always Studied medicine, through which secret skill, By reading texts, I have, Along with my practice, become familiar With the blessed remedies That come from plants, metals, and stones; And I can speak of the disturbances That nature causes, and the cures she offers; which gives me More content in the true path of happiness Than to thirst after fleeting honor, Or tie up my wealth in silk bags, Just to satisfy the foolish and death.
Your honour has through Ephesus pour’d forth Your charity, and hundreds call themselves Your creatures, who by you have been restored: And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon Such strong renown as time shall ne’er decay.
Your honor has spread your generosity all through Ephesus, And hundreds call themselves Your servants, who have been saved by you: And not just your knowledge, your personal effort, but even Your money, always open, has earned Lord Cerimon A reputation so strong that time will never erase it.
So; lift there.
Right here; lift it up.
What is that?
What’s this?
Sir, even now Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest: ’Tis of some wreck.
Sir, just now The sea washed this chest up on our shore: It’s from some shipwreck.
Set ’t down, let’s look upon’t.
Set it down, let’s take a look at it.
’Tis like a coffin, sir.
It looks like a coffin, sir.
Whate’er it be, ’Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight: If the sea’s stomach be o’ercharged with gold, ’Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.
Whatever it is, It’s incredibly heavy. Open it quickly: If the sea is overflowing with gold, It’s a fortunate twist of fate that it’s washed up for us.
’Tis so, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
How close ’tis caulk’d and bitumed! Did the sea cast it up?
How tightly it’s sealed and covered in tar! Did the sea wash it ashore?
I never saw so huge a billow, sir, As toss’d it upon shore.
I’ve never seen such a big wave, sir, That tossed it onto the shore.
Wrench it open; Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.
Pull it open; Wait! it smells so sweet to me.
A delicate odour.
A lovely scent.
As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it. O you most potent gods! what’s here? a corse!
The sweetest I’ve ever smelled. Now, lift it. Oh, powerful gods! What’s this? A dead body!
Most strange!
How strange!
Shrouded in cloth of state; balm’d and entreasured With full bags of spices! A passport too! Apollo, perfect me in the characters!
Wrapped in royal cloth; covered in balm And filled with bags of spices! And a letter too! Apollo, help me understand this!
’Here I give to understand, If e’er this coffin drive 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 even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.
’I hereby declare, If this coffin ever washes ashore, I, King Pericles, have lost This queen, worth more than all the world. Whoever finds her, bury her; She was the daughter of a king: And in addition to this treasure, The gods will reward your kindness!’ If you’re alive, Pericles, your heart Must be breaking with grief! This happened tonight.
Most likely, sir.
Most likely, sir.
Nay, certainly to-night; 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.
No, definitely tonight; Look how fresh she looks! They were too rough Those who threw her in the sea. Build a fire inside: Bring me all my boxes from 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.
Death may take its time with nature, But the fire of life can reignite The spirit. I heard of an Egyptian Who was dead for nine hours, But was revived with proper care.
Well said, well said; the fire and cloths. The rough and woeful music that we have, Cause it to sound, beseech you. The viol once more: how thou stirr’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 entranced Above five hours: see how she gins to blow Into life’s flower again!
Well done, well done; the fire and cloths. The sad and rough music we have, Please make it play. The violin again: how you play, you fool! The music there!--Please, give her some air. Gentlemen. This queen will live: nature is stirring; warmth Is coming from her: she hasn’t been dead For more than five hours: see how she begins to breathe Back into life!
The heavens, Through you, increase our wonder and set up Your fame forever.
The heavens, Through you, increase our wonder and set up Your fame forever.
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 Do appear, to make the world twice rich. Live, And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature, Rare as you seem to be.
She’s alive; look, Her eyelids, the coverings of those heavenly eyes Which Pericles has lost, Start to open, showing their bright golden edges; The diamonds of a highly praised water Appear, making the world twice as rich. Live, And make us cry to hear your story, beautiful one, As rare as you seem to be.
O dear Diana, Where am I? Where’s my lord? What world is this?
Oh dear Diana, Where am I? Where’s my lord? What world is this?
Is not this strange?
Isn’t this amazing?
Most rare.
Most incredible.
Hush, my gentle neighbours! Lend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her. Get linen: now this matter must be look’d to, For her relapse is mortal. Come, come; And AEsculapius guide us!
Quiet, my gentle friends! Lend me your help; take her to the next room. Get some linen: we must tend to her now, For if she relapses, it will be fatal. Come, come; And may AEsculapius guide us!