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Start:

MARINA: Hail, sir! my lord, lend ear.

PERICLES: Hum, ha!

MARINA: I am a maid,

My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes,

But have been gazed on like a comet: she speaks,

My lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief

Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd.

Though wayward fortune did malign my state,

My derivation was from ancestors

Who stood equivalent with mighty kings:

But time hath rooted out my parentage,

And to the world and awkward casualties

Bound me in servitude.

Aside

I will desist;

But there is something glows upon my cheek,

And whispers in mine ear, 'Go not till he speak.'

PERICLES: My fortunes--parentage--good parentage--

To equal mine!--was it not thus? what say you?

MARINA: I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage,

You would not do me violence.

PERICLES: I do