you may 'bide until your date expire. Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine Shall there attend you.
Thai. My recompense is thanks, that's all;
Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.
Gow. Imagine Pericles at Tyre, Welcom'd, to his own desire. His woful queen leave at Ephess, To Dian there a votaress.
Now to Marina bend your mind, Whom our fast-growing scene must find At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd In musick, 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 fight; 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 neeld wound The cambrick, which she made more sound By hurting it; or when to the lute She sung, and made the night-bird mute,
That still records with moan; or when She would with rich and constant pen Vail to her mistress Dian; still
This Philoten contends in skill With absolute Marina: so
With the dove of Paphos might 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 murderer 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 does appear,
With Leonine, a murderer.
THARSUS. AN OPEN PLACE NEAR THE SEA-SHORE.
Enter Dionyza and Leonine.
Dion. Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do it:
'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. Thou canst not do a thing i'the world so soon, To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience, Which is but cold, inflame love in thy bosom, Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be A soldier to thy purpose.
Leon. I'll do't; but yet she is a goodly crea
Dion. The fitter then the gods should have her.
Weeping she comes for her old nurse's death. Thou art resolv'd?
Enter Marina, with a basket of flowers. Mar. No, 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 chaplet, hang upon thy grave, While summer days do last. Ah me! poor Born in a tempest, when my mother died, This world to me is like a lasting storm,
Dion. How now, Marina! why do you keep
How chance my daughter is not with you? Do
Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have A nurse of me. Lord! how your favour's chang'd With this unprofitable woe! Come, come; Give me your wreath of flowers, ere the sea mar it. Walk forth with Leonine; the air is quick there, Piercing, and sharpens well the stomach. Come;- Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.
Mar. No, I pray you;
I'll not bereave you of your servant.
I love the king your father, and yourself, With more than foreign heart. We every day Expect him here: when he shall come, and find Our paragon to all reports, thus blasted,
He will repent the breadth of his great voyage; Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve That excellent complexion, which did steal The eyes of young and old. Care not for me; I can go home alone.
Well, I will go; But yet I have no desire to it.
Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least; Remember what I have said.
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