| CLEON | |
O Dionyza, | 10 |
| | Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, | |
| | Or can conceal his hunger till he famish? | |
| | Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep | |
| | Our woes into the air; our eyes do weep, | |
| | Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder; | 15 |
| | That, if heaven slumber while their creatures want, | |
| | They may awake their helps to comfort them. | |
| | I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years, | |
| | And wanting breath to speak help me with tears. | |
| CLEON | |
This Tarsus, o'er which I have the government, | |
| | A city on whom plenty held full hand, | |
| | For riches strew'd herself even in the streets; | |
| | Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss'd the clouds, | |
| | And strangers ne'er beheld but wondered at; | 25 |
| | Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd, | |
| | Like one another's glass to trim them by: | |
| | Their tables were stored full, to glad the sight, | |
| | And not so much to feed on as delight; | |
| | All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great, | 30 |
| | The name of help grew odious to repeat. | |
| CLEON | |
But see what heaven can do! By this our change, | |
| | These mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air, | |
| | Were all too little to content and please, | 35 |
| | Although they gave their creatures in abundance, | |
| | As houses are defiled for want of use, | |
| | They are now starved for want of exercise: | |
| | Those palates who, not yet two summers younger, | |
| | Must have inventions to delight the taste, | 40 |
| | Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it: | |
| | Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes, | |
| | Thought nought too curious, are ready now | |
| | To eat those little darlings whom they loved. | |
| | So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife | 45 |
| | Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life: | |
| | Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping; | |
| | Here many sink, yet those which see them fall | |
| | Have scarce strength left to give them burial. | |
| | Is not this true? | 50 |
| CLEON | |
I thought as much. | |
| | One sorrow never comes but brings an heir, | |
| | That may succeed as his inheritor; | |
| | And so in ours: some neighbouring nation, | 65 |
| | Taking advantage of our misery, | |
| | Hath stuff'd these hollow vessels with their power, | |
| | To beat us down, the which are down already; | |
| | And make a conquest of unhappy me, | |
| | Whereas no glory's got to overcome. | 70 |
| PERICLES | |
Lord governor, for so we hear you are, | 85 |
| | Let not our ships and number of our men | |
| | Be like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes. | |
| | We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, | |
| | And seen the desolation of your streets: | |
| | Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, | 90 |
| | But to relieve them of their heavy load; | |
| | And these our ships, you happily may think | |
| | Are like the Trojan horse was stuff'd within | |
| | With bloody veins, expecting overthrow, | |
| | Are stored with corn to make your needy bread, | 95 |
| | And give them life whom hunger starved half dead. | |
| CLEON | |
The which when any shall not gratify, | |
| | Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, | |
| | Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, | |
| | The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils! | 105 |
| | Till when,--the which I hope shall ne'er be seen,-- | |
| | Your grace is welcome to our town and us. | |
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