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, of 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 sight: 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 needle 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 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
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

Tharsus. An open Place near the Sea-shore.

Enter DIONYZA and LEONINE.

!

[Exit.

Dion. Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do 't: 'T is 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, inflaming 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 She comes weeping for her old nurse's death.

Enter MARINA, with a Basket of Flowers.

Mar. No, I will rob Tellus of her weed,

To strew thy grave with flowers: the yellows, blues,

The purple violets, and marigolds,

Shall, as a carpet, 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 weep alone? How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not

Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have
Lord! how your favour's chang'd

A nurse of me.
With this unprofitable woe! Come, come;
Give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.

Walk with Leonine; the air is 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,
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 taken
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.

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.

Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while. Pray you walk softly, do not heat

What! I must have care of you.

Mar.

Is the wind westerly that blows?

your blood:

South-west.

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

Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear,

Was 't so?

But cry'd "good seamen!" to the sailors, galling
His kingly hands hauling ropes;

And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea
That almost burst the deck.

Leon. When was this?

Mar. When I was born:

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

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

From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and
The master calls, and trebles their confusion.

Leon. Come; say your prayers.

Mar.

Leon.

I grant it.

What mean you?

If you require a little space for prayer,
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 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 MARINA is struggling.

1 Pirate. Hold, villain!

[LEONINE runs away.

Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, let's have

2 Pirate. A prize! a prize!

3 Pirate.

her aboard suddenly.

[Exeunt Pirates with MARINA.

SCENE II.

Near the Same.

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 'll return. I'll swear she 's dead,
And thrown into the sea. But I'll see farther;
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.

Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel.

Enter PANDER, Bawd, and BOULT.

Pand. Boult.

Boult. Sir.

[Exit.

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.

Pand. Therefore, let's have fresh ones, whate'er we pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be used in every trade we shall never prosper.