And for your faithfulness we will advance you.
Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold;
We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:
It fits thee not to ask the reason why,
Because we Bid it. Say, is it done?

THALIARD.
My lord,
Tis done.

ANTIOCHUS.
Enough.

[Enter a Messenger.]

Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.

MESSENGER.
My lord, prlnce Pericles is fled.

[Exit.]

ANTIOCHUS.
As thou
Wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot
From a well-experienced archer hits the mark
His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return
Unless thou say 'Prince Pericles is dead.'

THALIARD.