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, 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.

Dion.

Come, come;

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. When I was born, the wind was north.

Leon.

Was't so?

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?
Mar.

It was when I was born:"

Never was waves nor wind more violent.
Leon. Come, say your prayers speedily.
Mar.

What mean you?

Leon. If you require a little space for I grant it: Pray; but be not tedious,

prayer,

For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn

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 profit, or
My life imply her 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.

3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, let's have her aboard suddenly.

[Exeunt Pirates with Marina.

And thrown into the sea.-But I'll see further;
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her,
Not carry her aboard. If she remain,

Whom they have ravish'd, must by me be slain.

SCENE III.

[Exit.

Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel.

Enter PANDER, 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 with continual action are ever as good as rotten.

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 the bringing up of poor bastards, as I think, I have brought up some eleven

Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down again. But shall I search the market?

Baud. What else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so pitifully sodden.

Pand. Thou say'st true; they're too unwholesome o'conscience. The poor Transilvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage.

Boult. Ay, she quickly poop'd him; she made him roast-meat for worms:-but I'll go search the market. [Exit Boult.

Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over. Bawd. Why, to give over, I pray you? is it a shame to get when we are old?

Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the commodity; nor the commodity wages not with the danger: therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatch'd 2. Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods, will be strong with us for giving over.