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;

Per. Your honour and your goodness teach me credit, Without your vows. Till she be married, madam, 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.

Per.

Madam, my thanks and prayers.

Cle. We'll bring your grace even to the edge

o'the shore;

Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune,2 and
The gentlest winds of heaven.

Per.

I will embrace

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.

house.

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 yearning3 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.
(3) Groaning.

I cannot rightly say: But since king Pericles,
My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again,
A vestal livery will
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

ACT IV.

Enter Gower.

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:

(1) Called.

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
Prests for this blow. The unborn event

I do commend to your content:

Only I carry winged time

Post on the laine feet of my rhyme;

Which never could I so convey,

Unless your thoughts went on my way.—

Dionyza does appear,

With Leonine, a murderer.

[Exit.

SCENE I-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 creature.
Dion. The fitter then the gods should have her.
Here

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 Tellus1 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 ine 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's? 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.

Come, come

(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.

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 a care of you.

Mar.

Thanks, sweet madam.

[Exit Dionyza.

South-west.

Was't so?

Is this wind westerly that blows?
Leon.
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 whistles,

The master calls, and trebles their confusion.
Leon. And when was this?

(1) A ship-boy.