ACT IV.

Enter GOWER.

Gow. Imagine Pericles arriv'd at Tyre,
Welcom'd and settled to his own desire.
His woeful 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 right 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 cambric, which she made more sound
By hurting it; or when to the lute
She sung, and made the night-bird mute
That still records a with moan; or when
She would with rich and constant
Vail to her mistress Dian; still
This Philoten contends in skill

pen

a Records-makes music-sings.

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 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

Presta for this blow. The unborn event

I do commend to your content:

Only I carried 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 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. "T is but a blow, which never shall be known.

Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,
Which is but cold, inflaming love i' 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. a Prest-ready.

Dion. The fitter then the gods above should have her. Here she comes weeping for her only mistress' death. Thou art 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,
The purple violets, and marigolds,

Shall as a carpeta 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 's chang'd
With this unprofitable woe!

Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar them.
Walk with Leonine; the air 's quick there,

And it pierces and sharpens 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. Come, come;

I love the king your father, and yourself,

a Carpet. So the old copies. The modern reading is chaplet. But it is evident that the poet was thinking of the green mound that marks the last resting-place of the humble, and not of the sculptured tomb to be adorned with wreaths. Upon the grassy grave Marina will hang a carpet of flowers-she will strew flowers, she has before said. The carpet of Shakspere's time was a piece of tapestry, or embroidery, spread upon tables; and the real flowers with which Marina will cover the grave of her friend might have been, in her imagination, so intertwined as to resemble a carpet, usually bright with the flowers of the needle. 2 A

VOL. IX.

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 a
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 't is good for you. Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least; Remember what I have said.

Leon.

I warrant you, madam.

blood:

Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while; Pray walk softly, do not heat What! I must have a care of you.

Mar.

your

My thanks, sweet madam. [Exit DIONYZA.

South-west.

Is this wind westerly that blows?
Leon.

Mar. When I was born the wind was north.
Leon.

Was 't so?

Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear,
But cried, "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.

Leon.

Mar. When I was born.

When was this?

Never was waves nor wind more violent;
And from the ladder-tackle washes off

A canvas-climber: "Ha!" says one," wilt out?
And with a dropping industry they skip

a Reserve-preserve.

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,
I grant it: pray; but be not tedious,

For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn
To do my work with haste.

Mar. Why will you kill me?
Leon. To satisfy my lady.

Mar. Why would she have me kill'd?
Now, as I can remember, by my troth,
I never did her hurt in all my life;
I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn,
To any living creature: believe me, la,
I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly :
I trod upon a worm against my will,
But I wept for it. How have I offended,
Wherein my death might yield her any profit,
Or my life imply her any danger?

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. You are well-favour'd, and your looks foreshow You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately, When you caught hurt in parting two that fought: Good sooth, it show'd well in you; do so now: Your lady seeks my life;-come you between, And save poor me, the weaker.

Leon.

And will despatch.

I am sworn,

Enter Pirates whilst she is struggling.

1 Pirate. Hold, villain!

2 Pirate. A prize! a prize!

[LEON. runs away.

3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, let 's have her aboard suddenly. [Exeunt Pirates with MAR.