Pericles, Prince of Tyre

by William Shakespeare

Enter Thaliard.

THALIARD.
Doth your highness call?

ANTIOCHUS.
Thaliard, you are of our chamber,
And our mind partakes her private actions
To your secrecy; and for your faithfulness
We will advance you. Thaliard,
Behold, here’s poison, and here’s gold;
We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:
It fits thee not to ask the reason why,
Because we bid it. Say, is it done?

THALIARD.
My lord, ’tis done.

ANTIOCHUS.
Enough.

Enter a Messenger.

Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.

MESSENGER.
My lord, Prince Pericles is fled.

[Exit.]

ANTIOCHUS.
As thou wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot
From a well-experienced archer hits the mark
His eye doth level at, so thou ne’er return
Unless thou say ‘Prince Pericles is dead.’