PERICLES.
I did but crave.
SECOND FISHERMAN.
But crave! Then I’ll turn craver too, and so I shall ’scape whipping.
PERICLES.
Why, are your beggars whipped, then?
SECOND FISHERMAN.
O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your beggars were whipped, I would wish no better office than to be beadle. But, master, I’ll go draw up the net.
[Exit with Third Fisherman.]
PERICLES.
[Aside.] How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!
FIRST FISHERMAN.
Hark you, sir, do you know where ye are?
PERICLES.
Not well.
FIRST FISHERMAN.
Why, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our King, the good Simonides.
PERICLES.
The good Simonides, do you call him?