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GOWER

Now our sands are almost run.

A little more, and then we’re done.

I beg you, one last boon to give,

For by such kindness do I live:

That you, aptly, will suppose

The pageantry, the feats, the shows,

The minstrelsy, the pretty din

Lysimechus made in Mytaline

To greet the King. And he so thrived

That he is promised to be wived

To fair Marina. But in no wise

‘Til Pericles, his sacrifice

Is done as Dian bade. Thus bound,

One final thread to be unwound.

In feathered briefness, sails are fill’d,

And wishes fall out as they’re will’d.

At Ephesus, the temple, see

Our King and all his company.

They could only come so soon

Because you wished them. Thank you.

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