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Defining ShakespearePericles as Test Case$

MacDonald P. Jackson

Print publication date: 2003

Print ISBN-13: 9780199260508

Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: January 2010

DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199260508.001.0001

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(p.218) Appendix 1: The Text of Pericles

(p.218) Appendix 1: The Text of Pericles

Defining Shakespeare
Oxford University Press

NEARLY ALL EDITORS, especially since the publication of Philip Edwards’s article in 1952,1 have believed that the 1609 quarto of Pericles suffers from a greater degree of corruption than could have originated in the printing-house, and that the manuscript serving as copy for the compositors must have been some kind of ‘report’—that it was without any direct transcriptional link to authorial papers, having either been pirated from shorthand records of theatre performances or, more likely, concocted from memory by one or more actors from the original cast. The editors of the Oxford Complete Shakespeare endorsed the common view that the quarto was based on a ‘memorial reconstruction’.2 Gary Taylor advanced the hypothesis that the reporters, relying on their memories, had been a boy actor, who doubled the roles of Lychorida and Marina, and a hired man, who had played several minor characters, perhaps including a Fisherman and the Pandar.3 He suggested also that the reporters had covertly acquired a copy of Gower’s written ‘part’, perhaps because the Marina-boy was apprenticed to the Gower-actor. Taylor’s was the first attempt to identify particular roles that actor-reporters might have taken. The details of his theory were admittedly highly conjectural, but the signs that the quarto text had been filtered through faulty memories seemed clear and were set out in detail in the Textual Companion’s notes.

Previous modern editors, despairing of recovering the authors’ original, adopted the cautious policy recommended by Fredson Bowers as appropriate for ‘bad quartos’, concentrating on the rectification of compositorial mistakes and perpetuating the reporters’ more serious confusions.4 More adventurous editing of Pericles was left largely to producers, who laboured to make dramatic sense out of a muddled script, with occasional borrowings from George Wilkins’s The Painful Adventures of Pericles Prince of Tyre (1608), a novella that claimed to be ‘the true history of the play of Pericles as it was lately presented by the worthy and ancient poet John Gower’, but in which a prose paraphrase of the play as performed was eked out by extensive borrowings from one of its sources, Laurence Twine’s The Pattern of Painful Adventures (extant in an undated edition and another of 1607). As Taylor insisted, an experienced editor, equipped with Spevack’s Shakespeare Concordance and computer-generated concordances to Wilkins’s Painful Adventures and his one unaided play, a familiarity with the workings of reporters’ memories in other bad texts, and a detailed knowledge of the dramatists’ sources in Gower’s Confessio Amantis and Twine’s The Pattern of Painful Adventures, ‘is in a far better position than the ordinary reader or actor to attempt to reconstruct something closer than Q to an authentic text of the play’.5 In collaboration with me but shouldering the main burden, he thus tackled the job that producers had hitherto been forced to do for themselves. (p.219) Wilkins’s novel of the play is essentially, like the quarto, a report, though rendered as prose narrative. The Oxford Pericles drew on it to an unprecedented degree, especially for the play’s first two acts, which Wilkins himself (it was contended) had written and so knew well, and emended the quarto liberally in the interests of ‘a reconstructed text’ that would be viable in the theatre.6 A diplomatic reprint of the quarto was included in the old-spelling volume for readers preferring unadulterated adulteration.

In writing his novelized account of the play Wilkins appears, like the quarto reporters, to have relied on recollection—of what he had seen on stage, of what he himself had written, and conceivably of glimpses of Shakespeare’s script. Past scholars had wondered why, if Wilkins were part-author of the play, he did not have in his possession a text, which he could have adhered to doggedly, as in his plagiarisms from Twine. Taylor pointed out that ‘the part-author of a Jacobean collaborative play need never have possessed a personal copy of the whole manuscript’ and that the King’s Men would have had good reason for requiring Wilkins to surrender his own foul papers to them, both in order to allow Shakespeare to complete, revise, and fair-copy the script and as a precaution against Wilkins’s unscrupulous re-sale of the material.7

Editorial use of Wilkins’s Painful Adventures to correct and supplement the quarto of Pericles can be justified without recourse to any particular theory of authorship, but a ‘true history of the play’ compiled by the author of the first two acts would obviously have extra credibility as a witness to the dramatic script as staged. It is necessary to stress this point, because in at least one scholarly review of the Oxford Complete Works the discussion of Pericles confused the textual and authorship issues.8 Taylor incorporated passages from (p.220) Painful Adventures into the Oxford text of Acts 3–5 not because he supposed that Wilkins had contributed them to the play but because he believed that at those points, even in Shakespearian scenes, Painful Adventures reflected more accurately than the quarto the gist of what Shakespeare intended to be enacted on stage.

While G. Blakemore Evans judged Taylor’s reconstruction work ‘fascinating’ and theatre directors have welcomed it, some scholars have been less cordial.9 It has been objected (a) that even when the quarto is defective, versified Wilkinsian prose fills the gaps with material too incongruous with its context, especially in the Shakespearian Acts 3–5, and (b) that the quarto text is basically sound, having been set from Shakespeare’s foul papers, so that ‘interventionist’ editing does more harm than good.

The first objection carries some weight. As Walter Cohen concedes in his textual introduction to Pericles in The Norton Shakespeare, based on the Oxford Complete Works, ‘The chance is nil that so many emendations, many of them major, will accurately reproduce what was originally written or performed. Yet this is to say no more than that the Oxford edition takes bigger risks than do its predecessors, but on a play where risk taking makes sense.’10 If the quarto is a reported text, no editor can confidendy claim to be presenting the original play. The Oxford editors were not ‘rewriting Shakespeare’; they were making full use of the evidence afforded by two very different types of reported text in the hope of creating a version approximating more nearly than others to the original performance script. The Norton Shakespeare allows readers to judge how effectively the policy was carried out by not only including a full record of variations from the quarto but also drawing attention to significant emendations taken from Painful Adventures.

The novella contains a great many phrases and polysyllabic words that occur at corresponding points within the quarto, so it must inevitably sometimes have preserved a word or phrase corrupted in the quarto. For example, Pericles, leaving the infant Marina in the care of Cleon and Dionyza at Tarsus, says in the quarto: ‘till she be maried, | Madame, by bright Diana, whom we honour, | All vnsisterd shall this heyre of mine remayne, | Though I shew will in’t’ (E4V, 3.3.27–30). The Cambridge editors defend this as meaning that Pericles will not marry again, so Marina, his heir, will have no sibling.11 But why ‘till she be maried’—which implies that on her marriage day a sister for her will suddenly be born? Steevens long ago saw that ‘vnsisterd’ should be ‘unscissored’ and ‘heyre’ must be modernized to ‘hair’, while Theobald recognized that ‘will’, glossed by the Cambridge editors as ‘a piece of wilfulness, a whim’, was an error for ‘ill’. This was before Painful Adventures was known to scholars. But Wilkins confirms Steevens’s and Theobald’s emendations: ‘vowing solemnely by othe to himself, his head should grow uncisserd, his beard untrimmed, himself in all uncomely… till he had married his daughter at ripe years’.12 The phrase ‘in (p.221) all uncomely’ vindicates Theobald’s ‘show ill’. Moreover, both sources, Gower and Twine, confirm the nature of Pericles’ vow. In Gower at this point in the story Pericles vows not to shave his beard till Marina’s marriage in ‘covenable tyme of age’ (p. 403, 11.1310–14). In Twine ‘hee sware a solemne othe, that he would not poule his head, clip his beard, nor pare his nailes, untill hee had married his daughter at ripe yeares’ (p. 451). Wilkins echoes the last part of Twine’s formulation and paraphrases the rest, but his ‘uncisserd’ must preserve a typical Shakespearian coinage in ‘un-’. Wilkins often provides words and phrases that seem more likely than the quarto’s to reflect the playwrights’ intentions. In the theatre, even more extensive patchwork from Painful Adventures is not glaringly at odds with the surrounding quarto dialogue.

The edition of Pericles in the Oxford Complete Works was based on the belief not that Painful Adventures ‘is essentially more reliable than Q’, as Hammond and DelVecchio state (p. 209), but that it is sometimes the more accurate witness. Hammond and DelVecchio provide a thoughtful ‘Textual Analysis’ of the quarto, in which they conclude that ‘memorial contamination’ cannot be proven and that the printed text ‘seems to have been based on very primitive, and perhaps not homogeneous, foul papers’ (p. 208).

The term ‘bad quarto’ has been challenged in recent years, and the theory that ‘bad quartos’ were printed from ‘memorially reconstructed’ manuscripts has come under attack. Yet Laurie E. Maguire, in her sceptical survey of forty suspect texts, categorizes Pericles (1609) with the first quarto of Hamlet (1603) and A Knack to Know a Knave (1594) as a text for which ‘a case can be made for memorial reconstruction’,13 citing the ‘wrecked verse’ as a possible indication of such an origin (p. 294). ‘If a reported text, it is a very good one’, she writes (p. 295). The consistency with which Acts 1–2 and 3–5 can be differentiated as Wilkinsian and Shakespearian respectively lends credence to this view. Yet signs that the text has been affected by failures of memory can hardly be ignored. The problem with the verse is not merely that much of it is printed as prose or mislined but that in places it remains unacceptable even after editorial relineation: the basic iambic pentameter structure breaks down. And metrical breakdown, defective sense, or sheer clumsiness frequently coincide with the repetition of words, phrases, or sentences. This strongly suggests that somebody has muddled different sections of the text, so as mistakenly to import into some speeches phrasing that is correctly remembered elsewhere.

The process is readily traced in Q1 (1603) of Hamlet, which Hammond and DelVecchio (p. 200) accept as likely to be based on a memorial reconstruction: the actor who played the part of Marcellus is a likely culprit. For Hamlet we have in Q2 (1604/5) an authoritative text with which to compare Q1. In Q1 when Horatio and Marcellus first meet Hamlet to tell him about the Ghost Hamlet says (1.2.166–75, B4r–B4v): (p.222)

  I am very glad to see you, good euen sirs:

But what is your affaire in Elsenoure?

Weele teach you to drinke deepe ere you depart.

HOR. A trowant disposition, my good Lord.

HAM. Nor shall you make me truster

Of your owne report against your selfe:

Sir, I know you are no trowant:

But what is your affaire in Elsenoure?

HOR. My good Lord, I came to see your fathers funerall.

The exact repetition of the second line here in the eighth is suspicious. We would expect Shakespeare to have Hamlet ask differently worded, though related questions. Q2 (C1v-C2r) shows that the first time Hamlet should ask ‘But what in faith make you from Wittenberg?’ In Q1’s first use of the line an actor-reporter has anticipated its correct later use. Also noticeable is that the last line quoted above is unmetrical. In Q2 it is a tolerable hexameter, since Horatio calls Hamlet ‘My Lord’ rather than ‘My good Lord’, which Q1 has wrongly repeated from Horatio’s previous speech—where it ought in fact to be ‘good my Lord’ (as Q2 has it), though Marcellus says ‘My good lord’ three lines earlier: if the actor who played Marcellus was the reporter, his recollection of his own three-word speech has contaminated his attempt to reproduce Horatio’s speeches.

Further evidence of Hamlet Q1’s corrupt and derivative nature is provided by Hamlet’s ‘Nor shall you make me truster…’ (line 5 above). It does not make sense as it stands: ‘Nor’ implies that he has already said something else. Turning to Q2 we find that indeed Hamlet should reply: ‘I would not heare your enemie say so, | Nor shall you doe my eare that violence | To make it truster of your owne report…. ’ Also worth noting is that none of Hamlet’s three lines ‘Nor … trowant’ is an acceptable iambic pentameter. The faulty rendition of Q2, which is perfectly metrical, has resulted in collapse of the verse.

If we had no good text of Hamlet with which to compare Q1’s version of the lines quoted, we might still deduce Q1’s nature from the appearance of repetitions—one quite striking and clumsy—within a passage that sets dubious syntax within irregular verse. The quarto of Pericles bears stigmata of this kind. Edwards cited some, the notes of Hoeniger’s and Maxwell’s editions draw attention to others, and the discussion in the Oxford Textual Companion records many more. But below I append a full list of repeated words, phrases, and sentences. Many of these need arouse no suspicion. Some may serve as characterizing mannerisms, while others may be echoes of thematic significance. A few are standard dramatic formulae. Sometimes either Shakespeare or Wilkins may have inadvertently repeated himself. But occasions on which repetitions are embedded in speeches that are dramatically awkward, metrically rough, or verbally insipid are so numerous that memorial contamination often seems the best explanation.

The repetitions run the gamut from Simonides’ sudden addiction to ‘well’ in 2.5 to Marina’s three-fold repetition, ‘Whither would you have me?… Whither wilt thou have me?… Whither will you have me?’ in 4.6 and 5.1. Clumsy overuse of the vague word ‘place’ includes the repetition of several substantial phrases: ‘place … governor of this place’ occurring at both 4.6.78–80 and 5.1.20–1, for example, and Marina following ‘plac’d… That the gods ∣ Would set me free from this unhallow’d place’ (4.6.96–9) with ‘That the gods | Would safely deliver me from this place’ (4.6.178–9). In 1.4 Cleon and Dionyza lament the devastation of their city by famine. Though Dionyza has argued against articulating their griefs, Cleon says : ‘I’ll then discourse our woes, felt several years, | And wanting breath to (p.223) speak help me with tears’ (18–19). Dionyza replies ‘I’ll do my best sir’, ludicrously responding to Cleon’s rhetoric as though it were a literal request. It seems likely that the author had Dionyza acquiescing in her husband’s desire to orate with some such response as ‘As you think best sir’ and that the phrase was contaminated by the reporter’s anticipation of ‘do their best’ (2.3.115), which would have stuck in his memory through rhyming and through ending a scene.

Repetitions tend to congregate in passages about which editors have been most suspicious. Act 3, scene 1, on the other hand, which has generally been regarded as textually sound, has very few, and those are all defensible on literary and dramatic grounds: Pericles’ calls to Lychorida and his exclamations (‘O’) are so essential to the dramatization of his plight and to the emotional heightening of his speeches that I have not recorded them. Textual errors in 3.1 can all be attributed to the compositor’s difficulties in deciphering a difficult manuscript.

It remains to consider the change, noted by Edwards, that comes over the quarto after E2V and the end of 3.1. Until that point mislineation is restricted to a few short passages. Thereafter (or at least after the first ten lines of E3r, or from 3.2.10 onwards), more than three-quarters of the blank verse is set as prose or mislined. And yet each of the three compositors who worked on the text had stints in both sections and, after initial mistakes, proved able to recognize verse and set it correctly.14 Admittedly Compositor X set all but gathering B of the text of the relatively well lined first section, continuing to the end of E4V, while Compositors Y and Z, in another printing-house, parcelled out the rest. Yet Compositor X’s performance undoubtedly deteriorates once he reaches E3r. The jog-trot, predominandy end-stopped, and often rhymed Wilkinsian verse of Acts 1–2 was no doubt much easier for any reporter, scribe, or compositor to arrange correctly than the fluid Shakespearian verse of Acts 3–5. But Compositor X set the difficult verse of 3.1 (on E1v–E2v) almost perfecdy.

Edwards’s explanation was that the text had been concocted by two reporters, who used contrasting methods: the reporter for Acts 1–2 had cobbled his fragmentary recollections of the play into verse of his own composition, whereas the reporter of Acts 3–5, whose memory for the dialogue was more retentive, had set down verbatim what he recalled, writing it out in prose form. Edwards suggested that a completely Shakespearian play may have been thus mangled in transmission so as to appear like the work of two different authors. Taylor, however, marshalled compelling arguments against Edwards’s theory.15 The quarto’s lines at 2.3.81–5 and the independent report of this speech in Painful Adventures correspond almost word for word and so should preserve the text as performed, and yet they are as lacking in patently Shakespearian qualities as the rest of the scene. Most significantly, a mere verse paraphrase incorporating mere scraps of the original wording, such as Edwards ascribes to the reporter of the first part of the play, ought not to contain more verbal parallels with Painful Adventures than the faithful but imperfect record that he ascribes to the reporter of the second part, and yet Acts 1–2 do in fact afford more parallels to Painful Adventures than do Acts 3–5. Another obvious difficulty is that the improvement in the play’s style does not coincide with the deterioration in the treatment (p.224) of lineation that suggests a change in the compositors’ copy. Act 3, scene 1 belongs with Acts 1–2, so far as its lineation is concerned, and yet it is among the most patently Shakespearian scenes. And, as J. C. Maxwell objected, ‘it is hard to believe that any method of reporting would turn verse which originally resembled that of Acts 3–5 into what we find in Acts 1–2’,16 To these objections we can now add that Acts 1–2 of Pericles prove to be so remarkably Wilkinsian on all the measures of style applied to them in this study that Edwards’s first reporter would have to be identified as Wilkins himself.

This possibility is worth entertaining. Henry Gosson, the publisher of the 1609 quarto of Pericles, was a friend of Wilkins.17 He published Wilkins’s short pamphlet Three Miseries of Barbary (probably in 1606 or 1607), and stood bail for him in 1611. Might Wilkins have had a hand in the surreptitious publication of Pericles, serving as the ‘pedestrian writer’ whom Edwards (p. 36) postulates as ‘attempting to cobble together into a metrical pattern the imperfectly remembered verse’ of a more competent poet-playwright? Painful Adventures shows that he was capable of writing ‘the true history’ of the play in prose, so why not a paraphrase that was largely in verse?

There are several reasons for thinking it highly improbable that Wilkins’s role was that of Edwards’s first reporter, quite apart from the difficulty of believing that Wilkins would twice try to make capital out of a play in which he had had no personal involvement whatsoever. The Gower choruses, for example, are intrinsic to Pericles. The first two are Wilkinsian in their rhymes, in their phrasal linkages with The Miseries of Enforced Marriage, and in their elisions of relative pronouns, while various tests associate the later choruses with Shakespeare. It is barely conceivable that Wilkins could have reworked remembered fragments of Shakespearian choruses into Wilkinsian choruses that nevertheless imitated Gower’s archaic tetrameters and served the play so well. Indeed, those features cited by Edwards as showing that the verse of Acts 1–2 generally ‘nowhere convinces us that it is the free creative work of an original dramatist’ (p. 35) are in fact so characteristic of Wilkins that his ‘free creative work’ must surely be what, somewhat corrupted in transmission, they are. Besides, Edwards based his two-reporter theory on the striking deterioration in the lining of verse that occurs after 3.1 (or after the first ten lines of 3.2). Since 3.1 is indisputedly Shakespearian, a Wilkins who spun flakes of Shakespearian gold into Wilkinsian straw would still fail to account for this determining shift.

More plausible is S. Musgrove’s hypothesis that printer’s copy for the play up to the end of E2r was largely rough, and in places defective, foul papers, patched up by a reporter, while copy from E3r to the end was a straightforward report or memorial reconstruction.18 Musgrove built his theory on the quarto’s treatment of certain names and on its bibliographical peculiarities, especially the fact that sheet B was printed last and in the same shop as sheets F–I, instead of in the shop that printed sheets A and C–E, as one would have expected. Although Musgrove was forced to postulate a fair amount of memorial patchwork in Acts 1–2, particularly in passages featuring Thaliard or Helicanus and in the scenes at Simonides’ court, it is true that the textual, as distinct from the stylistic, quality of the bulk of Acts 1–2 seems comparatively good. Musgrove was far from fully convinced by the evidence then available that Wilkins was the author of Acts 1–2, and he did not know of Wilkins’s friendship with Gosson. But if Wilkins had contrived to retain a draft of Acts 1–2, having written them himself, he might well have sold this to Gosson, who would have been (p.225) forced to rely on a reporter to fill in gaps and reconstruct the Shakespearian Acts 3–5. Such a theory might explain why 3.1 is textually so sound and its lineation of the verse almost impeccable: the manuscript that Wilkins supplied Gosson might have included the scene in which Shakespeare first took over the writing. We would have to assume, of course, that a fair copy had been made for the King’s company’s use.

Musgrove’s argument that the unique spellings ‘Thaliart’ and ‘Tharsis’ in the second Gower chorus are authorial is convincing, and the textual quality of the Gower choruses as a whole is such that Taylor was driven to suppose that the part of the actor who had played Gower was available to the reporters. The rest of Musgrove’s case is more speculative. The printer’s use for 1.1–3.1 of foul papers obtained from Wilkins would be consistent with the greater closeness of Painful Adventures to the quarto over these scenes (and the verbal parallels do extend into 3.1), but the impression remains that in writing Painful Adventures Wilkins was reliant on memory and had at hand no manuscript even of this portion of the play. It is unlikely that he could have secured one in the interim before the quarto was printed, and, if he did so and sold it to Gosson, why would he not insist that his own name appear with Shakespeare’s on the title-page?19 Moreover, in the course of his article Musgrove recognizes more and more scenes or passages in Acts 1–2 that, like the scenes at Simonides’ court, ‘may well be reported’, and, as Taylor remarks ‘it is difficult to see why these … should have been omitted from the alleged authorial manuscript’.20 While it is possible that, as Musgrove concludes, ‘the text of Pericles is made up of material of varying authority and diverse origins’ (p. 406), it seems on the whole more likely that it was a report (memorial reconstruction) throughout, and that it is uneven because the reporters had a more secure grasp of some portions of the play than of others.

The deterioration in the lining of the verse from E3r onwards affords ground too insub-. stantial on which to erect a theory of composite copy.21 If the boy playing Lychorida (and doubling as Marina) was one of the reporters, it would not be too surprising if he were able correctly to line the verse of 3.1, in which he was heavily involved and which begins with a fourteen-line speech: when rehearsing the scene he might have had occasion to scrutinize Pericles’ written part as well as his own. He would not have acted in 3.2, which begins with short speeches that are shared among five characters and that resist dovetailing into regular iambics, and over the later scenes, as the reporters continued to cope with difficult Shakespearian verse, they may have simply given up the struggle of determining the line endings.

The puzzles posed by the Pericles quarto will never be solved to everybody’s satisfaction. Among rival hypotheses about its provenance Taylor’s seems, on the whole, the best.


In the following list the text is quoted from Hoeniger’s modern-spelling edition, since the quarto’s variations in spelling merely obscure its recycling of words and phrases. Hoeniger follows the wording of the quarto in every case cited. Repetitions are normally recorded under the quarto’s first instance of a phrase.

(p.226) 1.1

‘to glad her presence’ (10), ‘Your presence glads’ (2.3.21); ‘heaven … view … countless’ (31–2), ‘heaven countless … view’ (74); ‘cheeks… desist’ (40), ‘desist… cheek’ (5.1.94–5); ‘life or death’ (55, 1.3.24); ‘prosperous … physic’ (60–73), ‘prosperous … physic … prosperous’ (5.1.72–9); ‘As you will live’ (72), ‘As thou wilt live’ (163); ‘Your time’s expir’d’ (90), ‘in which time expir’d’ (2.4.47); ‘Heaven, that I had thy head! he has found the meaning’ (110), ‘He hath found the meaning, | For which we mean to have his head’ (144–5); ‘Where now’ (128, 2.3.43); ‘I’ll shun the danger which I fear’ (143), ‘shun … danger, which I fear’d’ (1.2.7–8); ‘Doth your highness call?’ (151), ‘Doth your lordship call?’ (5.1.8), ‘Doth my lord call?’ (3.2.2); ‘My lord’ (160, 162, 167); ‘hits the mark his eye doth level at’ (164–5), ‘that’s the mark I know you level at’ (2.3.113).


‘return to us’ (36, 51); ‘if you please’ (47, 3.4.14); ‘I thank thee for’t’ (61, 2.1.132), ‘I thank thee’ (3.1.72); ‘What would’st thou have me do?’ (65), ‘What would you have me do?’ (4.6.169); ‘Thou speak’st like’ (67, 1.4.74); ‘thou know’st’ (71, 78); ‘given me leave to speak’ (101), ‘give me leave a word’ (4.6.44), ‘give me leave’ 5.1.168.


‘Well, I perceive’ (3, 25); ‘But since’ (26, 33, 3–4.7, 5.1.53).


‘do my best’ (20), ‘do their best’ (2.3.115); ‘wond’red at’ (25, 2.3.63), ‘wonder at’ (2.2.7): as rhyme in last two cases; ‘man and wife’ (45, 2.5.83); ‘neighbouring’ (60, 65); ‘what he craves’ (80–1), ‘What they crave’ (2.3.47): ‘crave’ is used at 2.1.86–7 and elsewhere; ‘The gods of Greece protect you!’ (97), ‘The which the gods protect thee from’ (2.1.128).


‘how thou stirr’st’ (16, 3.2.92); ‘poor men’ (18, 3.2.3); ‘A pretty moral’ (35, 2.2.44); ‘Hark you, my friend’ (85, 147), ‘my friend’ (90), ‘Hark you’ (95); ‘I would wish no better’ (91), ‘I’d wish no better’ (5.1.69); ‘mirth becomes’ (94, 2.3.7); ‘the good Simonides’ (98, 99), ‘to the good Simonides (2.5.1, 24): of course a point is being made about the king’s goodness; ‘How far is his court distant… ?’ (103–4), ‘Diana’s temple is not distant far’ (3.4.12); ‘I’ll tell you’ (97, 105–6); ‘I so dearly lov’d it’ (129), ‘He lov’d me dearly’ (137); ‘What mean you’ (134, 4.1.66).


‘the knights … stay your coming’ (1–3), ‘But stay, the knights are coming’ (57); ‘my royal father’ (8, 24).


‘gods above’ (22, 60); ‘What, are you merry, knights?’ (48), ‘What, are you both pleas’d?’ (2.5.87), ‘What, are you both agreed?’ (2.5.89); ‘We drink this’ (52, 65); ‘Now, by the gods’ (72, 90, 2.5.57), ‘By the gods’ (2.5.50): all spoken by Simonides; ‘to know … | Of whence you are’ (79–80, 5.1.19); ‘misfortune’ (88, 90); ‘waste the time’ (93), ‘time we waste’ (4.4.1); ‘your grace’s pleasure’ (111, 2.5.29).


‘not minding’ (3, 2.5.20); ‘By honour’s cause’ (41), ‘for honour’s cause’ (2.5.60); ‘forbear’ (41, 42, 46); ‘let me entreat’ (45, 5.1.61).

(p.227) 2.5

‘Good morrow to’ (1, 3.2.12); ‘by no means’ (6, 8): associated with clumsy repetition of ‘get’ in 6 and 7; ‘May we not get access to her … ?’ (7), ‘May we not see him? (5.1.31), ‘May we see them?’ (5.3.25); the knights’ ‘farewell’ to Simonides prompts the king to keep saying ‘Well’ (15, 18, 19, 21, 37, 38, 91); ‘choice’ (18, 21); ‘commend’ (21, 29); ‘To you… to you’ (25); ‘glad’ (71, 73); ‘with all my heart’ (73, 5.1.258).


‘Patience, good sir’ (19, 26, 5.1.144), ‘good sir’ (5.1.175); ‘must overboard’ (47, 53); ‘bring me’ (65, 67); ‘caulked and bitumed’ (70–1, 3.2.57).


‘your lordship’ (12, 21); ‘so early’ (13, 19); ‘most strange’ (24, 66); ‘Did the sea toss up upon our shore’ (50), ‘Did the sea cast it up?’ (57–8) followed by ‘as tossed it upon shore’ (59–60); ‘Wrench it open’ (53, 61); ‘the daughter of a king’ (75, 5.1.157); ‘For look how fresh she looks’ (81), ‘Look, Thaisa is | Recovered. O, let me look’ (5.3.27–8): preceded by ‘Look to the lady’ in 5.3.21 and with ‘look’ occurring at 5.1.120, 124, 137, 5.3.46.


‘I well remember’ (5), ‘I’ll well remember’ (5.1.237).


‘yield thee so much profit’ (4), ‘yield her any profit’ (80); ‘I pray you’ (30, 38); ‘Come, come’ (31, 44, 4.6.89–90), ‘Come’ (26, 29, 65, 94, 4.2.34, 4.2.66, 4.2.83, 4.2.132, 4.6.63, 4.6.89, 4.6.150, 4.6.152, 4.6.156, 4.6.199, 5.1.78, 5.1.141, 5.1.262), and compare ‘Come your ways’ in 4.2 (below); ‘When I was born’ (51, 58); ‘I am sworn’ (69, 90).


‘Search the market’ (3), ‘But shall I search the market’ (15–16), ‘But I’ll go search the market’ (23); ‘Thou say’st true’ (13, 19, 125); ‘Come your ways’ (38, 144, 4.6.125, 4.6.128–9, 4.6.130, 4.6.152, 4.6.199); ‘my masters’ (38, 49); ‘follow me’ (49, 144); ‘pretty one’ (64, 4.6.65, 4.6.87); ‘prithee tell me’ (93, 4.6.155); ‘But, mistress’ (102, 128); ‘take her home’ (122), ‘take me home’ (4.6.188).


‘for me’ (13, 94, 117); ‘how long have you been at this trade?’ (65–6), ‘How long have you been of this profession?’ (71); ‘I beseech your honour’ (44, 117); ‘place … governor of this place’ (78–80), ‘plac’d … That the gods | Would set me free from this unhallow’d place’ (96–99), ‘That the gods | Would safely deliver me from this place (178–9), ‘if I can place thee’ (191–2), ‘place … governor of this place’ (5.1.20–1), ‘recover’d her, and plac’d her | Here in Diana’s temple (5.3.24–5), ‘Recovered’ (5.3.28) followed by ‘How she came plac’d here in the temple’ (5.3.67), also ‘place’ (89), ‘a place’ (162), and compare ‘your place’ in 2.3.18; ‘to be a’ (76, 78); ‘How’s this?’ (94, 121); ‘Hold, here’s gold for thee’ (104, 180), ‘Hold, here’s more gold for thee’ (113), and compare ‘Thaliard, behold, here’s poison, and here’s gold’ (1.1.156); ‘For me … for to me’ (108–9); ‘I doubt not but’ (112, 185, 198); ‘goodness … good’ (115–16); ‘damned door-keeper’ (118, 164); ‘Whither would you have me?’ (126), ‘Whither wilt thou have me?’ (153), ‘Whither will you have me?’ (5.1.176); ‘Marry, hang her up’ (137), ‘Marry, hang you’ (148); Lysimachus begins four out of six consecutive speeches with ‘Why’ (68, 76, 81, 84).

(p.228) 5.1

‘he can resolve you’ (1), ‘the man that can … Resolve you’ (12–13), ‘this [is the] man … that can … resolve you’ (5.3.59–61), and compare ‘resolve it you’ (1.1.72); ‘come aboard’ (5, 9); ‘Ho, gendemen! my lord calls. Doth your lordship call?’ (7–8), ‘Ho, Helicanus! Calls my lord?’ (180–1), and compare entries at 1.1.151; ‘Hail, revered sir! the gods preserve you!’ (14), ‘Sir king, all hail! the gods preserve you!’ (38), ‘reverend sir, | The gods’ (5.3.61–2), and compare ‘The good gods preserve you!’ (4.6.107); ‘he will not speak | To any’ (33–4), ‘he will not speak to you’ (40); ‘That for our gold we may provision have’ (55), ‘gold for such provision | As our intents will need’ (255–6); ‘such a one’ (67, 107); ‘prosperous’ (72, 79); ‘My lord’ (85, 87, 99); ‘I am great with woe | And shall deliver weeping’ (105–6), ‘As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft | Deliver’d weeping’ (159–60); ‘Where were you bred?’ (115, 163, 169); ‘for thou look’st’ (120, 124), ‘yet thou dost look’ (137), ‘Look to … Look … let me look’ (5.3.21–8); ‘I will believe thee’ (122), ‘I will believe you’ (167); ‘What were thy friends?’ (125, 139); ‘say when I did’ (126, 5.3.50); ‘Who died the minute I was born’ (158), ‘I was born’ (156) and ‘Who did end | The minute I began’ (210–11); ‘Brought me to Mytilene’ (175), ‘Brought her to Mytilene’ (5.3.10), and ‘brought’ also occurs at 5.3.5 and 5.3.11; ‘my mother’s name was Thaisa? | Thaisa was my mother’ (209–10), ‘My mother was’ (157).

The Brothel Scenes

In the Pericles quarto of 1609 the action and dialogue of the brothel scenes proceed in the following manner. [4.2] The Pandar tells Boult to ‘search the market’ for new ‘creatures’ of sale. Boult returns with the pirates and Marina, explaining that he has bargained for her. The Pandar decides to buy her and sends Boult out to proclaim the fact that they have a beautiful virgin: ‘He that will give most shall have her first’. The Bawd instructs a shocked Marina in her new occupation. Boult comes back to say that lots of men are eager to possess Marina: for example, ‘a Spaniard’s mouth water’d’ at his description of her, and he will turn up at the brothel ‘tonight’. The Bawd gives Marina further instructions, and Boult is promised that he can ‘cut a morsel off the spit’ (in other words enjoy Marina sexually). The Bawd then tells Boult to go out into the town and ‘report what a sojourner we have’. He does so, promising to ‘stir up the lewdly inclined’ and bring home some customers ‘to-night’. Marina calls on the goddess Diana to aid her defence of her virginity. [4.5] Two Gentlemen, emerging from the brothel, say that due to Marina’s preaching they are ‘out of the road of rutting for ever’. [4.6] The Bawd and the Pandar discuss the problem posed by Marina’s crusading chastity. Boult says ‘I must ravish her’. Then the Bawd notes, ‘Here comes the Lord Lysimachus, disguis’d’ and Lysimachus enters. Speaking bawdily, like an old customer, he asks whether there are any healthy whores available and is introduced to Marina. The Bawd quickly takes Marina aside to prepare her to entertain ‘the governor of this country’. Lysimachus and Marina are left together, and Marina, defending her virginity, briefly appeals to Lysimachus’ honour and status. At first suspecting a ploy to extract more money from him, he soon marvels at how well Marina speaks and is converted from his apparent intentions. He gives Marina gold, and denies that he came with ‘evil intent’ or a ‘corrupted mind’. He offers her his protection, spurning Boult as he leaves. Boult determines to ravish Marina. The Bawd agrees. Marina in some genuinely eloquent speeches, persuades him not to, gives him some of Lysimachus’ (p.229) gold, and proposes to earn money for the brothel-keepers by teaching singing, weaving, sewing, and dancing. Boult agrees to approach his master and mistress with this proposition.

There are several oddities or apparent redundancies in this sequence. Boult is once told he may himself enjoy Marina and on two further occasions resolves to ravish her. He is twice sent out into the town to publicize the availability of the brothel’s newcomer, Marina, and twice reports back on the eagerness of men to possess her ‘tonight’. Marina is twice instructed by the Bawd about her new occupation. It is not altogether clear how the Bawd can recognize Lysimachus as she announces his imminent entry in disguise. There is little evidence of Marina’s eloquence, at which Lysimachus marvels, in defending herself against his advances. There is a contradiction between his entry as a rakish and favoured customer and his denial of ‘ill intent’ and of having come to the brothel ‘with a corrupted mind’. Finally, there is perhaps a certain dramatic redundancy in Marina’s first displaying her virginal powers of persuasion against Lysimachus and then against Boult, to whom she speaks with truly Shakespearian vigour.

Some of these anomalies or complications are clearly due to the brothel scenes’ conflation of the play’s two main sources, Gower’s Confessio Amantis and Twine’s The Pattern of Painful Adventures. The material in ordinary roman type in the above account of events in the Pericles quarto derives from Gower, the material in bold from Twine. In Gower’s concise and unembroidered account, the pirates, in town, offer Thaise (= Marina) for sale, and the brothel-master Leonin buys her, proclaims her availability, and leads her to the brothel, where some ten or twelve would-be customers are dissuaded by her lamentations. Leonin urges his ‘man’ to ravish her. This henchman is deterred by Thaise’s pleas. Her proposal to teach singing and other maidenly arts is accepted.

In Gower, and in the quarto material deriving from him, Thaise (Marina) is advertised only once, Leonin or Boult resolves to ravish her only once, and there are no enigmas surrounding Lysimachus, or Marina’s encounter with him, because at this point in the story no counterpart to this character exists. In Gower he makes his first appearance when he boards Apollonius’ (= Pericles’) ship in the counterpart to 5.1 of the play. As Gower tells the story, Thaise (Marina) parries the advances of several anonymous visitors to the brothel and then weeps or sermonizes Leonin’s man or Boult out of raping her.

In Twine’s version the pirates market Tharsia (= Marina) and others as slaves before a large crowd. A ‘man-bawd’ bids for her, as does Athenagoras (= Lysimachus), who is prince of the city. Athenagoras loses to the Bawd, but determines to be the first to ‘come unto her’ and ‘gather the flower of her virginity’ (p. 456). The Bawd takes Tharsia home to the brothel, where she pleads with him. The Bawd instructs his ‘villain’ to parade Tharsia through the streets decked in costly apparel, with the message that whoever is willing to pay ten pieces of gold may deflower her, the price to subsequent clients being one piece. She is paraded through the streets and returned to the brothel, where Athenagoras in disguise ‘because he would not be known’ (p. 457) is first to accost her. Tharsia, not knowing that he is the governor, makes no appeal to his status or honour, but pleads with him, recounting her life story. Athenagoras, who has a daughter himself, is compassionate, gives her twenty pieces of gold, and leaves her. On his way out he meets another prospective customer, on whose meeting with Tharsia he spies. Tharsia deters him by the same method, and both he and Athenagoras spy on others who are similarly deterred and moved to give Tharsia money, which is handed over to the Bawd. However, when the Bawd learns that Tharsia remains a virgin he is annoyed and orders his villain to ravish her. Tharsia prevents him by telling him that she is the daughter of a king and that she can (p.230) earn money by teaching singing, music-making, oratory, ‘the liberal sciences’, and so on. The master also agrees. Tharsia is brought into the market place to publicize the new scheme. Athenagoras takes a special interest in her thereafter.

The portion of Twine’s narrative that has been used for the play is set in bold. But there are several differences. In the quarto, instead of parading Marina through the streets, Boult is just sent out to cry the new wares and reports back on the success of his advertising campaign. In the theatre this is a natural way of avoiding extra changes of scene, and some rather uneconomical dramatization. Since in the play Lysimachus has no prior knowledge of Marina, he arrives at the brothel merely as an habitué, and is allotted her because she is desirable and a virgin and he an influential and favoured customer. The play simply takes over Athenagoras’ disguise without explanation: perhaps we are expected to assume that he is so well-known to the brothel-keepers that they are familiar with his ‘disguise’. Lysimachus has no daughter, since he is to become a husband for Marina. Marina does not win his sympathy through telling about her misadventures but by appealing to his duty as governor and to his better nature. A recapitulation of Marina’s travails would scarcely serve the drama here: they have already been presented in performance, in 4.1 Marina has told Leonine the circumstances of her birth, and her life story will be central to the reunion with her father in 5.1; as Lysimachus says in 5.1, ‘She never would tell | Her parentage’ (188–9). The quarto adds Lysimachus’ disclaimer of ill intent and omits the silly business of spying on the conversions of other brothel-goers.

It looks as though the playwright or playwrights first wrote a straightforward Gower version of the brothel scenes and then grafted a Twine version onto that, artfully adapting Twine’s prose narrative, but being less careful to integrate it with the sequence derived from Gower. The duplications are not damagingly conspicuous. But the two most significant puzzles in the quarto’s text of these scenes—the brevity of Marina’s plea to Lysimachus and the inconsistency between his rumbustious entry and his disclaimer of ‘ill intent’—seem to have other causes, upon which Wilkins’s Painful Adventures may throw light.

Wilkins’s ‘novel of the play’ mingles the events depicted in the quarto with paraphrase of Twine. As in Twine, the Bawd (feminine, as in the quarto) gets ‘her slave’ (= Boult, whose name Wilkins does not use) to lead Marina through the streets for publicity. But Wilkins deviates from both Twine and the quarto in having Lysimachus, his attention drawn by the crowds outside the brothel, first catch sight of Marina at this point, not during the pirates’ initial auction of bondslaves. Deeming her ‘rather a deserving bedfellow for a prince than a play-fellow for so rascally an assembly’ and pitying her misfortune, while ‘being inflamed with a little sinful concupiscence’, he resolves that ‘since she must fall, it were far more fitter into his own arms, whose authority could stretch to do her good, than into the hot embracements of many’ (p. 533). So he sends a message to the Bawd that Marina should be kept for him, ‘and he in secret and in some disguise’ will visit the brothel that night. The Bawd prepares Marina to receive him with the information that Lysimachus is ‘the governor of this whole city’ and ‘a favourer of our calling’, who must be treated well (p. 534). The Pandar announces ‘that the Lord Lysimachus was come, and as if the word come had been his cue, he entered the chamber with the master bawd’ (p. 534), whereas in the quarto the Bawd takes Marina aside to prepare her for meeting the governor after he has already arrived. Marina begins her defence of her virginity with the story of her misfortunes, but when Lysimachus suspects that her tearful entreaties are designed to extort more money from him, he becomes forceful, threatening that he has the authority either to connive at whoredom or punish Marina for failing to please him. Marina now (p.231) turns his statements against him, delivering a spirited homily on the duties of a governor and pleading for death rather than dishonour. Lysimachus, overcome by Marina’s virtue, admits that ‘I hither came with thoughts intemperate, foul, and deformed’, the which your pains so well have laved that they are now white’, gives her gold, and promises: ‘if you but send to me I am your friend’ (p. 536). Lysimachus’ subsequent spying on other visitors, whom Marina resists, is retained from Twine. Lysimachus’ spurning of the brothel-keepers, the decision to have Marina ravished (by Boult in the play, the Pandar in Painful Adventures), her repelling of this threat, and the proposal to earn money by teaching, are all more or less as in the play.

There is an obvious connection between two of Wilkins’s deviations from the quarto: in Wilkins’s account the Bawd can give Marina instructions about Lysimachus before he arrives because he has sent word of his intentions. In Wilkins the motive for Lysimachus’ disguise is explained, and since he is met ‘offstage’, as it were, there is no mystery, as in the quarto, about how he is instantly recognized. His entry on ‘cue’ is, like several entries in Acts 1–2, described as though Wilkins were thinking of a play. But the quarto sequence affords little opportunity for dramatizing or narrating the material about Lysimachus’ seeing Marina in town and forewarning the Bawd and Pandar of his visit; and the dialogue in which he makes his entry in the quarto, the Bawd and Boult tell him of Marina and bring her before him, and the Bawd speaks aside to Marina of the need to use the governor ‘kindly’ is lively and coherent. So it seems unlikely that Painful Adventures reflects what happened on stage more faithfully than the quarto in these details, though it is conceivable that Wilkins had in mind a superseded draft.

The handling of the encounter between Marina and Lysimachus in Painful Adventures is of more interest to an editor. Marina’s recounting of her life-story has been taken from Twine and is worse than superfluous, but her long appeal to Lysimachus’ honour, with her reminders of his obligations to protect hers, gives us the elaboration of the quarto’s brief speeches that we might have expected in the play and that many producers have considered desirable. Moreover, at this point Wilkins’s narrative suddenly shifts into using first-person pronouns. Lysimachus begins to be ‘more rough’ with Marina, ‘urging her that he was the governor, whose authority could wink at’ prostitution or ‘his displeasure punish at his own pleasure, which displeasure of mine, thy beauty shall not privilege thee from, nor my affection, which hath drawn me unto this place abate, if thou with further lingering withstand me’ (p. 535). Wilkins then gives Marina’s long response as direct speech, which begins as a close, though wordy, paraphrase of the quarto’s ‘If you were born to honour, show it now; | If put upon you, make the judgement good | That thought you worthy of it’ (4.6.91–3). Wilkins reads: ‘If the eminence of your place came unto you by descent and the royalty of your blood, let not your life prove your birth a bastard. If it were thrown upon you by opinion, make good that opinion was the cause to make you great’ (p. 535). Whereas in the quarto Marina’s lecture stops short after the three quoted lines, in Wilkins it continues, and in prose that incorporates several blank verse lines.

Wilkins’s version of Lysimachus’ opening response to this, together with Marina’s subsequent retort, paraphrases a slightly earlier exchange in the quarto, when Lysimachus says ‘Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of sale’ and Marina replies: ‘Do you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will come into’t? I hear say you’re of honourable parts and are the governor of this place’ (4.6.76–80). Wilkins’s Painful Adventures has Lysimachus say ‘Why … this house wherein thou livest is even the receptacle of all men’s sins and nurse of wickedness, and how canst thou then be otherwise than naught that livest in it?’ and Marina: ‘It is not good … when you that are governor, (p.232) who should live well, the better to be bold to punish evil, do know that there is such a roof and yet come under if (p. 535). Again, although Wilkins expands unnecessarily on the quarto’s formulations, he seems to have a fair recollection of the burden of the dialogue between Lysimachus and Marina, while muddling the precise sequence in which it develops. The rest of the exchange, as Wilkins relates it, contains iambic pentameters and such strong images as Marina’s expression of disgust at the brothel, with its diseases, as ‘the doctor’s patrimony and surgeon’s feeding’ (p. 536). Wilkins also has Lysimachus commenting on Marina’s virtue in an ‘aside’.

For all Wilkins’s verbosity, it is unlikely that all this material was freely invented for his prose fiction. More probably it derives from the play. The Oxford Complete Works, noting that Marina’s expostulations on the abuse of authority might have been subject to censorship, drew on Wilkins’s account to supplement her speeches and, to a lesser extent, those of Lysimachus. There was no pretence that by versifying patches of Wilkins’s prose, the editors were recovering the specific wording of the play, but the added lines were felt not to jar too noticeably with the Shakespearian verse into which they were inserted, to correspond roughly to the main drift of the exchange, and to provide actors with a more readily performable script. Lysimachus’ frank confession in Painful Adventures that he had come to the brothel ‘with thoughts intemperate’ was preferred to his equivocations in the quarto. Repetitions of words and phrases in 4.6 suggest some degree of memorial corruption, and the quarto gives Lysimachus such ‘wretched un-Shakespearian stuff’22 as ‘For me, be you thoughten | That I came with no ill intent’ (108–9). The pros and cons of using the Oxford text for performance have been carefully explored by Roger Warren.23 Richard Ouzounian at Stratford Ontario in 1986 (working with proofs of the reconstructed text) and Adrian Noble directing a Royal Shakespeare Company revival in 2002 found the additions helpful.

It is just conceivable, however, that Shakespeare, rehandling a draft of the brothel scenes provided by Wilkins, cut Marina’s homily to Lysimachus so as to place the emphasis on the eloquence of her immediately following encounter with Boult, as she impresses on him the horribleness of his trade. Marina’s rebukes of Boult are obviously Shakespearian: ‘thy food is such | As hath been belch’d on by infected lungs’ (4.6.167–8) is shown in the ‘Literature Online’ analysis to have a strong parallel in ‘lungs, and rotten ones’ in The Tempest (2.1.51). And linkages with The Tempest confirm one’s sense of the thoroughly Shakespearian quality of Marina’s short speech to Lysimachus at 4.6.94–101. In Twelfth Night Orsino tells Viola, masquerading as his page Cesario, ‘Thou dost speak masterly’, after she has delivered a mere one and a half lines about the music to which they have been listening: ‘It gives a very echo to the seat | Where love is throned’ (2.4.20–1). The quality, not the quantity, of what she says elicits Orsino’s admiration. So Marina’s fine poetic images in lines 94–101 might have been sufficient to provoke Lysimachus’ ‘I did not think | Thou couldst have spoke so well’.

Certainty about the brothel scenes is not attainable. What the ‘Literature Online’ analysis described in Section 7.3 reveals is that to conflation of Gower and Twine source material, the quarto’s textual deficiencies, and the possible deprivations of censorship we can probably add a further cause of confusion, namely Wilkins’s involvement, at some stage of the play’s development, in the writing of portions of these largely Shakespearian scenes.


(1) Philip Edwards, ‘An Approach to the Problem of Pericles’, SSu 5 (1952), 25–49.

(2) TC, 556–60.

(3) Gary Taylor, ‘The Transmission of Pericles’, PBSA, 80 (1986), 193–217.

(4) Fredson Bowers (ed.), The Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker, 4 vols. (Cambridge: CUP, 1953–61), I, 402–3.

(5) TC, 559.

(6) ‘Unprecedented’ outside the theatre and television studio. The Royal Shakespeare Company promptbooks for both Terry Hands’s 1969 and (especially) Ron Daniels’s 1979 productions of Pericles drew on Painful Adventures substantially to supplement Marina’s pleas to Lysimachus in 4.6, interpolated an episode (based on Wilkins’s narrative) between 2.3 and 2.4 in which Pericles sings to harp accompaniment, and tinkered with other quarto passages subsequently emended in the Oxford edition. The need for the kinds of adjustments made by the Oxford editors had thus been anticipated by the world’s most prestigious Shakespeare company. (I have inspected these promptbooks in the Shakespeare Centre Library in Stratford-upon-Avon.) Betty Jane Wylie, ‘Play-Doctoring the Text of Pericles’, Shakespeare Newsletter, 23 (1973), 56, discusses changes made in the playtext for Jean Gascon’s 1973 Stratford, Ontario production of Pericles: material from Painful Adventures was included in the brothel scenes. The excellent BBC TV production, directed by David Jones (1984) also incorporated material from Painful Adventures into 4.6, as explained by Paul Nelson, ‘Shot from the Canon: The BBC Video of Pericles’, in Pericles: Critical Essays,. ed David Skeele (New York Garland, 2000), 297–324.

(7) TC, 557–8.

(8) Brian Vickers, in an otherwise astute review of the Oxford Complete Works and Textual Companion, RES, 40 (1989), 402–11, at 408–9. Similar confusion is betrayed by F. Elizabeth Hart, ‘Cerimon’s “Rough” Music in Pericles, 3.2’, SQ, 51 (2000), 320, n. 21, when she accuses Taylor and Jackson of ‘a distinctively circular logic’ when ‘our principal reason for suspecting Wilkins’s involvement in the first place—Wilkins’s novelized version of the play—becomes in their argument a result of co-authorship, whose “significance” is heightened by the assumption of Wilkins’s involvement’. All scholars agree that Wilkins’s Painful Adventures is a prose paraphrase of the play and that he must have had a close knowledge of it, whether through watching performances or having seen the script, in whole or in part. The case for Painful Adventures being an account of Pericles stands without support from any theory of the play’s authorship. Similarly, the case for Wilkins’s having written the first two acts of Pericles can be made quite independently of any suspicions aroused by the knowledge he shows of the play in Painful Adventures. However, given that painstaking stylistic and sub-stylistic analysis demonstrates Wilkins’s authorship of Pericles, 1–2, his prose report of this part of the play takes on added significance for an editor attempting to edit the text this portion of Painful Adventures has a special kind of authority that allows it to serve as a ‘significant’ check on the corrupt quarto. Wilkins’s involvement in the writing of Pericles is not a mere ‘assumption’: it is grounded on solid evidence.

(9) G. Blakemore Evans, review of Oxford Shakespeare Complete Works, Original-Spelling Edition, and Textual Companion, in Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 88 (1989), 401–7, at 407. Along with Vickers’s, the most lengthy review of the Oxford Complete Works and Textual Companion making an adverse judgement on the treatment of Pericles is that by David Bevington, SQ, 38 (1987), 501–19, at 503–5.

(10) Walter Cohen, ‘Textual Note’ on Pericles, in The Norton Shakespeare: Based on the Oxford Edition, gen. ed. Stephen Greenblatt (New York Norton, 1997), 2717. Cohen gives an excellent account of the Pericles problem.

(11) The Cambridge editors were anticipated by Sonia Massai, ‘On Behalf of a Bad Quarto: An “Unstrung Jewel” in 1609 Pericles’, NQ, 242 (1997), 512–14.

(12) Geoffrey Bullough, Narrative and Dramatic Sources of Shakespeare, 8 vols. (London: Routledge 8c Kegan Paul, 1957–75), VI, 524. I quote John Gower’s Confessio Amantis, Laurence Twine’s The Pattern of Painful Adventures, and George Wilkins’s Painful Adventures of Pericles Prince of Tyre from Bullough, but modernize spelling and punctuation except where to do so would obscure a textual point.

(13) Laurie E. Maguire, Shakespearean Suspect Texts: The ‘Bad’ Quartos and their Contexts (Cambridge: CUP, 1996), 324. For some weaknesses in Maguire’s account of the ‘bad quartos’, see my review in Modern Language Review, 93 (1998), 184–5. Compelling reasons for thinking that ‘memorial reconstruction’ was among the processes contributing to the state of the Shakespearian ‘bad quartos’ were advanced by Kathleen O. Irace, Reforming the ‘Bad’ Quartos: Performance and Provenance of Six Shakespearean First Editions (Newark, Del: University of Delaware Press; London and Toronto: Associated UPs, 1994). Alternative theories of the origins of the ‘bad quartos’, often accompanied by repudiation of the adjective, have not, in my view, succeeded in explaining the vast amount of evidence assembled by Alfred Hart, Stolne and Surreptitious Copies: A Comparative Study of Shakespeare’s Bad Quartos (Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 1942). John Jowett gives an excellent account of the latest thinking about Shakespeare’s texts in ‘After Oxford: Recent Developments in Textual Studies’, in The Shakespearean International Yearbook, 1: Where are we now in Shakespearean studies?,. ed W. R. Elton and John M. Mucciolo (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999), 65–86.

(14) The stints of three compositors were distinguished by Edwards, ‘An Approach’; Richard Hosley found confirmatory evidence cited by Hoeniger, New Arden Pericles, p. xxvii; and MacD. P. Jackson further substantiated, while slightly correcting, their conclusions, ‘Compositors’ Stints and the Spacing of Punctuation in the First Quarto (1609) of Shakespeare’s Pericles’, PBSA, 81 (1987), 17–23. For a summary, see TC, 556.

(15) Taylor, ‘Transmission’, 194–7.

(16) Maxwell, Cambridge New Shakespeare Pericles, p. xvii.

(17) Roger Prior, ‘The Life of George Wilkins’, SSu 25 (1972), 145.

(18) S. Musgrove, ‘The First Quarto of Pericles Reconsidered’, SQ, 29 (1978), 389–406.

(19) Prior made similar points in ‘Life’, 145–6.

(20) Taylor, Transmission’, 215.

(21) Hoeniger (New Arden Pericles, pp. xxxv–xxxvii) and Maxwell (Cambridge New Shakespeare Pericles, 89–92) show that Edwards was wrong to claim that other disparities in presentation between the two parts of the quarto reinforce the evidence of mislineation.

(22) Schanzer, Signet Pericles, p. xxiv.

(23) Roger Warren, ‘Textual and Theatrical Issues: Pericles’, in Staging Shakespeare’s Late Plays (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), 208–38.