At Tarsus, 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 For certain in our story, she Be't when she weav'd the sleided silk With fingers long, small, white as milk; 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 All praises, which are paid as debts, And cursed Dionyza hath The pregnant instrument of wrath Prest for this blow. The unborn event I do commend to your content: ΤΟ 20 30 40 ACT IV ACT IV SCENE I. 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. With Leonine, a murderer. 50 [exit. Tarsus. An Open Place near the Sea-shore. Enter DIONYZA and LEONINE. DION. Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do 't: Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be A soldier to thy purpose. LEON. I will do 't: but yet she is a goodly creature. 9 DION. The fitter, then, the Gods should have her. Here she comes weeping for her only mistress' death. Thou art resolv'd? LEON. I am resolv❜d. Enter MARINA, with a basket of flowers. MAR. No, I will rob Tellus of her weed, To strew thy green with flowers; the yellows, blues, Shall, as a carpet, hang upon thy grave, While summer-days do last. Ay me! poor maid, DION. How now, Marina! why do you keep alone? Come, give me your flowers, ere the Sea mar it. 20 And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come, Come, come; I love the King your father and yourself He will repent the breadth of his great voyage; MAR. Well, I will go; But yet I have no desire to it. DION. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you. LEON. 40 I warrant you, Madam. DION. I'll leave you, my sweet Lady, for a while. Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood: What! I must have a care of you. MAR. My thanks, sweet Madam. [Exit DIONYZA. South-west. Was 't so? Is this wind westerly that blows? MAR. When I was born, the wind was north. MAR. My father, as nurse said, did never fear, And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea 51 LEON. When was this? MAR. When I was born: Never was waves nor wind more violent; 60 ACT IV A canvas-climber. Ha! says one, wilt out? From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and The master calls, and trebles their confusion. LEON. Come, say your prayers. MAR. What mean you ? LEON. If you require a little space for prayer, For the Gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn LEON. To satisfy my Lady. Why will you kill me? MAR. Why would she have me kill'd? But I wept for it. How have I offended, LEON. My commission Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. MAR. You will not do 't for all the World, I hope. LEON. And will dispatch. 70 80 90 I am sworn, [He seizes her. Enter Pirates. FIRST PIRATE. Hold, Villain! [LEONINE runs away. SEC. PIRATE. A prize! a prize! THIRD PIRATE. Half-part, Mates, half-part. Come, let's have her aboard suddenly. [Exeunt Pirates with MARINA. Re-enter LEONINE. LEON. These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes; And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go: There's no hope she will return. I'll swear she's dead, And thrown into the Sea. But I'll see further: Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, 100 Whom they have ravish'd must by me be slain. [exit. ACT IV Sc. I SCENE II. Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel. Enter Pandar, Bawd, and BOULT. PAND. Boult BOULT. Sir? PAND. Search the market narrowly; Mitylene is full of gallants. We lost too much money this mart by being too wenchless. BAWD. We were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three, and they can do no more than they can do; and they with continual action are even as good as rotten. 9 PAND. Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er we pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be us'd in every trade, we shall never prosper. BAWD. Thou say'st true: 'tis not our bringing up of poor bastards-as, I think, I have brought up some eleven BOULT. Ay, to eleven; and brought them down again. The stuff we have, a strong pieces, they are so pitifully 20 PAND. Thou say'st true; they're too unwholesome, o' conscience. The poor Transylvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage. |