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Your offer. Come, dear'st madam.—-O, no tears,
Lychorida, no tears!
Look to your little mistress, on whose grace
You may depend hereafter. — Come, my lord. [Exeunt.
Enter CEBiMoisr and Thaisa.
Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,
Thai. It is my lord's.
Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak,
Thai. My recompense is thanks, that's all; Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.
MAGINE Pericles arriv'd at Tyre, Welcom'd and settled to his own desire i His woful queen we leave at Ephesus, Unto Diana there a votaress. Now to Marina bend your mind, Whom our fast-growing scene must find At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd In music, letters; who hath gain'd Of education all the grace, Which makes her both the heart and place Of general wonder. But, alack! That monster envy, oft the wrack Of earned praise, Marina's life Seeks to take off by treason's knife. And in this kind hath our Cleon One daughter, and a wench full grown, Even ripe for marriage-rite: this maid Hight Philoten; and it is said For certain in our story, she Would ever with Marina be: Be 't when she weav'd the sleided silk With fingers, long, small, white as milk; Or when she would with sharp needle wound The cambric, which she made more sound By hurting it; or when to the lute She sung, and made the night-bird mute5 That still records with moan; or when Sne would with rich and constant pen Vail to her mistress Dian; still
This Philoten contends in skill
With absolute Marina: so
The dove of Paphos might with the crow
Vie feathers white. Marina gets
All praises, which are paid as debts,
And not as given. This so darks
In Philoten all graceful marks,
That Cleon's wife, with envy rare,
A present murtherer does prepare
For good Marina, that her daughter
Might stand peerless by this slaughter.
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
Lychorida, our nurse, is dead:
And cursed Dionyza hath
The pregnant instrument of wrath
Prest for this blow. The unborn event
I do commend to your content:
Only I carry winged time
Post on the lame feet of my rhyme;
Which never could I so convey,
Unless your thoughts went on my way. —
Dionyza doth appear,
With Leonine, a murtherer. [Exit.
Enter Dionyza an. Le^ine.
Dion. Thy oath remember; f.hou hast sworn to do't: 'Tis but a blow which never shall be known. Thou canst not do a thing i' th' world so soon,
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,
Leonine. I'll do 't; but yet she is a goodly creature.
Dion. The fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here She comes weeping for her only nurse's death. Thou art resolv'd?
Leon. I am resolv'd.
Enter Marina, loith a basket of flowers.
Marina.. No, I will rob Tellus of her weed, To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues, The purple violets, and marigolds, Shall, as a carpet, hang upon thy grave, While summer days do last. Ah. me, poor maid! Born in a tempest, when my mother died, This world to me is like a lasting storm, Whirring me from my friends.
Dion. How now, Marina! why do you keep alone?
Mar. No, I pray you;
Dion. Come, come;
I love the King your father, and yourself,
With more than foreign heart. We every day
Mar. Well, I will go;
But yet I have no desire to it.
Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you. ■— Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least. Remember what I have said.
Leon. I warrant you, madam.
Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while. Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood: What! I must have care of you.
Mar. My thanks, sweet madam. -—
[_Exit Dionyza. Is the wind westerly that blows?
Mar. When I was born, the wind was North.
Leon. Was 't so?
Mar. My father, as nurse saith, did never fear, But cri'd "good seamen!" to the sailors, galling His kingly hands, hauling ropes, And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea That almost burst the deck.
Leon. When was this?
Mar. When I was born: Never was waves nor wind more violent; And from the ladder-tackle washes off A canvass-climber. "Ha!" says one, "wilt out?"