like this maid, and such a one might my daughter have been.  My queen’s square brows, her stature to an inch, as wand-like straight, as silver-voiced, her eyes as jewel-like.  Where do you live, young maid?  Report your parentage.  I think you said you had been tossed from wrong to injury, and that you thought your griefs would equal mine, if both were opened.”  “Some such thing I said,” replied Marina, “and said no more than what my thoughts did warrant me as likely.”  “Tell me your story,” answered Pericles; “if I find you have known the thousandth part of my endurance, you have borne your sorrows like a man, and I have suffered like a girl; yet you do look like Patience gazing on kings’ graves, and smiling Extremity out of act.  Tell me your name, my most kind virgin?  Recount your story, I beseech you.  Come, sit by me.”  How was Pericles surprised when she said her name was Marina, for he knew it was no usual name, but had been invented by himself for his own child to signify sea-born:  “O, I am mocked,” said he, “and you are sent hither by some incensed god to make the world laugh at me.”  “Patience, good sir,” said Marina, “or I must cease here.”  “Nay,” said Pericles, “I will be patient; you little know how you do startle me, to call yourself Marina.”  “The name,” she replied, “was given me by one that had some power, my father, and a king.”  “How, a king’s daughter!” said Pericles, “and called Marina!  But are you flesh and blood?  Are you no fairy?  Speak on; where were you born? and wherefore called Marina?” She replied, “I was called Marina, because I was born at sea.  My mother was the daughter of a king; she died the minute I was born, as my good nurse Lychorida has often told me weeping.  The king my father left me at Tharsus, till the cruel wife of Cleon sought to murder me.  A crew of pirates came and rescued me, and brought me here to Metaline.  But, good sir, why do you weep?  It may be, you think me an impostor.  But indeed, sir, I am the daughter to king Pericles, if good king Pericles be living.”  Then Pericles, terrified as it seemed at his own sudden joy, and doubtful if this could be real, loudly called for his attendants, who rejoiced at the sound of their beloved king’s voice; and he said to Hellicanus, “O Hellicanus, strike me, give me a gash, put me to present pain, lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me overbear the shores of my mortality.  O, come hither, thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus, and found at sea again.  O Hellicanus, down on your knees, thank the holy gods!  This is Marina.  Now blessings on thee, my child!  Give me fresh garments, mine own Hellicanus!  She is not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been by the savage Dionysia.  She shall tell you all, when you shall kneel to her, and call her your very princess.  Who is this?” (observing Lysimachus for the first time).  “Sir,” said Hellicanus, “it is the governor of Metaline, who, hearing of your melancholy, came to see you.”