By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty: But if to that my nature need a spur, The gods revenge it upon me and mine, To the end of generation!
I believe you; Your honour and your goodness teach me credit, Without your vows. Till she be married, madama, By bright Diana, whom we honour all,
Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, Though I show will in't. So I take my leave. Good madam, make me blessed in your care In bringing up my child.
Dion. I have one myself, Who shall not be more dear to my respect, Than yours, my lord.
Madam, my thanks and prayers
Cle. We'll bring your grace even to the edge
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune,2 and The gentlest winds of heaven.
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. SCENE IV-Ephesus. A room in Cerimon's Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.
Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, Lay with you in your coffer: which are now At your command. Know you the character? Thai. It is my lord's.
That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember, Even on my yearning time; but whether there Delivered or no, by the holy gods,
(1) Appear wilful, perverse by such conduct. (2) Insidious waves that wear a treacherous smile. Groaning.
I cannot rightly say: But since king Pericles, My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, A vestal livery will I take me to,
And never more have joy.
Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak, Diana's temple is not distant far,
Where 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. [Exeunt.
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 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 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 sleided1 silk With fingers long, small, white as milk; Or when she would with sharp neeld1 wound The cambric, which she made more sound By hurting it; or when to the lute
She sung, and made the night-bird mute, That still records3 with moan; or when She would with rich and constant pen Vail to her mistress Dian; still
This Philoten contends in skill With absolute4 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 Presto 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.
With Leonine, a murderer.
SCENE I-Tharsus. An open place near the sea-shore. Enter Dionyza and Leonine.
Dion. Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to
"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 wicely; 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 creature. 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 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?
How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have A nurse of me. Lord! how your favour's2 chang'd With this unprofitable wo! Come, come;
Give me your wreath of flowers. Ere the sea mar it, Walk forth with Leonine :3 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. Dion.
(1) The earth. (2) Countenance, look. (3) i. e. Ere the sea, by the coming in of the tide mar your walk.
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 you. Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least; Remember what I have said.
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 a care of you.
Is this wind westerly that blows? Leon. South-west. Mar. When I was born, the wind was north. Leon. Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear, But cry'd, good seamen! to the sailors, galling His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes; And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea
That almost burst the deck, and from the laddertackle
Wash'd off a canvas-climber: Ha! says one, Wilt out? and, with a dropping industry, They skip from stem to stern: the boatswain whis- tles,
The master calls, and trebles their confusion. Leon. And when was this?
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