The Complete Works of Shakespeare. William Shakespeare

      My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,

      Made daily motions for our home return:

      Unwilling I agreed. Alas! too soon

      We came aboard.

      A league from Epidamium had we sail’d

      Before the always-wind-obeying deep

      Gave any tragic instance of our harm:

      But longer did we not retain much hope;

      For what obscured light the heavens did grant

      Did but convey unto our fearful minds

      A doubtful warrant of immediate death,

      Which though myself would gladly have embrac’d,

      Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,

      Weeping before for what she saw must come,

      And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,

      That mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear,

      Forc’d me to seek delays for them and me.

      And this it was (for other means was none):

      The sailors sought for safety by our boat,

      And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us.

      My wife, more careful for the latter-born,

      Had fast’ned him unto a small spare mast,

      Such as sea-faring men provide for storms;

      To him one of the other twins was bound,

      Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.

      The children thus dispos’d, my wife and I,

      Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d,

      Fast’ned ourselves at either end the mast,

      And floating straight, obedient to the stream,

      Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.

      At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,

      Dispers’d those vapors that offended us,

      And by the benefit of his wished light

      The seas wax’d calm, and we discovered

      Two ships from far, making amain to us,

      Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this.

      But ere they came—O, let me say no more!

      Gather the sequel by that went before.

       Duke.

      Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so,

      For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

       Ege.

      O, had the gods done so, I had not now

      Worthily term’d them merciless to us!

      For ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,

      We were encount’red by a mighty rock,

      Which being violently borne [upon],

      Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;

      So that, in this unjust divorce of us,

      Fortune had left to both of us alike

      What to delight in, what to sorrow for.

      Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened

      With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,

      Was carried with more speed before the wind,

      And in our sight they three were taken up

      By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.

      At length, another ship had seiz’d on us,

      And knowing whom it was their hap to save,

      Gave healthful welcome to their shipwrack’d guests,

      And would have reft the fishers of their prey,

      Had not their [bark] been very slow of sail;

      And therefore homeward did they bend their course.

      Thus have you heard me sever’d from my bliss,

      That by misfortunes was my life prolong’d,

      To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

       Duke.

      And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,

      Do me the favor to dilate at full

      What have befall’n of them and [thee] till now.

       Ege.

      My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,

      At eighteen years became inquisitive

      After his brother; and importun’d me

      That his attendant—so his case was like,

      Reft of his brother, but retain’d his name—

      Might bear him company in the quest of him:

      Whom whilst I labored of a love to see,

      I hazarded the loss of whom I lov’d.

      Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece,

      Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,

      And coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;

      Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought

      Or that, or any place that harbors men.

      But here must end the story of my life,

      And happy were I in my timely death,

      Could all my travels warrant me they live.

       Duke.

      Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have mark’d

      To bear the extremity of dire mishap!

      Now trust me, were it not against our laws,

      Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,

      Which princes, would they, may not disannul,

      My soul should sue as advocate for thee:

      But though thou art adjudged to the death,

      And passed sentence may not be recall’d

      But to our honor’s great disparagement,

      Yet will I favor thee in what I can;

      Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day

      To seek thy [health] by beneficial help.

      Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;

      Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,

      And live: if no, then thou art doom’d to die.

      Jailer, take him to thy custody.

       Jail.

      I will, my lord.

       Ege.

      Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend,

      But to procrastinate his liveless end.

       Exeunt.

       ¶