Gower in Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Gower is not a character in the action of Pericles but rather the living embodiment of the story itself—a medieval poet resurrected to frame, narrate, and mediate the audience’s experience of the play. He enters before the first scene and appears between acts, speaking directly to the audience and often employing a dumb show (silent pantomime) to convey events too vast, distant, or time-consuming to dramatize fully. His presence is the play’s most distinctive formal feature: where other Shakespeare plays move through scenes with mimetic immediacy, Pericles asks us to imagine journeys across the Mediterranean, the passage of sixteen years, and the transformation of characters separated by time and geography. Gower makes this imaginative work possible by asking for our patience and cooperation.

As chorus, Gower speaks with the voice of tested authority. He opens by reminding the audience that this is an old story—one sung at festivals, read by lords and ladies, proven by time to have worth. He positions the play not as contemporary drama but as mythological narrative, ancient material given new voice. He announces the story’s moral frame early: he tells us of Antiochus’s incest and its punishment, of Pericles’ virtue and his suffering, of Marina’s chastity and its testing. Yet he does not impose judgment; instead, he creates space for the audience to witness and decide. When he appears between acts, he measures time in leaps—“sixteen years” pass in a speech—collapsing duration to move the narrative forward. He is patient with the audience’s confusion and loss; he reminds us what has happened, where characters are, and why we should care.

What distinguishes Gower from a mere expository device is his emotional investment in the story. He grieves for Marina’s danger, celebrates Pericles’ reunion with his daughter, and blesses the audience at play’s end. He speaks as someone who has told this story many times and trusts its truth. His final words—“In Antiochus and his daughter you have heard / Of monstrous lust the due and just reward”—frame the entire action as moral instruction, yet without condescension. He trusts that the audience, like him, will see in this ancient tale something that speaks to the human experience of loss, time, and grace. Gower is the play’s conscience and its keeper, the voice that asks us to slow down, imagine, and believe.