# Result number

Work The work is either a play, poem, or sonnet. The sonnets are treated as single work with 154 parts.

Character Indicates who said the line. If it's a play or sonnet, the character name is "Poet."

Line Shows where the line falls within the work.

The numbering is not keyed to any copyrighted numbering system found in a volume of collected works (Arden, Oxford, etc.) The numbering starts at the beginning of the work, and does not restart for each scene.

Text The line's full text, with keywords highlighted within it, unless highlighting has been disabled by the user.

1

Pericles
[II, 1]

Pericles

616

[Aside] A pretty moral.

2

Pericles
[II, 2]

Simonides

802

A pretty moral;
From the dejected state wherein he is,
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.

3

Pericles
[IV, 2]

Pandar

1691

Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a
proportion to live quietly, and so give over.

4

Pericles
[IV, 2]

Pandar

1695

O, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor
the commodity wages not with the danger: therefore,
if in our youths we could pick up some pretty
estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatched.
Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods
will be strong with us for giving over.

5

Pericles
[IV, 2]

Bawd

1734

Why lament you, pretty one?

6

Pericles
[IV, 2]

Marina

1735

That I am pretty.

7

Pericles
[IV, 6]

Lysimachus

2008

Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?

8

Pericles
[IV, 6]

Lysimachus

2024

Why, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots
of shame and iniquity. O, you have heard something
of my power, and so stand aloof for more serious
wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my
authority shall not see thee, or else look friendly
upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place:
come, come.

9

Pericles
[V, 2]

Gower

2495

Now our sands are almost run;
More a little, and then dumb.
This, my last boon, give me,
For such kindness must relieve me,
That you aptly will suppose
What pageantry, what feats, what shows,
What minstrelsy, and pretty din,
The regent made in Mytilene
To greet the king. So he thrived,
That he is promised to be wived
To fair Marina; but in no wise
Till he had done his sacrifice,
As Dian bade: whereto being bound,
The interim, pray you, all confound.
In feather'd 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.
That he can hither come so soon,
Is by your fancy's thankful doom.