SECOND SAILOR.
But sea-room, and the brine and cloudy 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.
FIRST SAILOR.
Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it has been still observed; and we are strong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard straight.
PERICLES.
As you think meet. Most wretched queen!
LYCHORIDA.
Here she lies, sir.
PERICLES.
A terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;
No light, no fire: th’unfriendly elements
Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time
To give thee hallow’d to thy grave, but straight
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin’d, in the ooze;
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,
My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander
Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe
Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say
A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.
[Exit Lychorida.]
SECOND SAILOR.
Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready.
PERICLES.
I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?