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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 cambrick, which she made more sound
By hurting it; or when to th' 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
Prest for this blow. Th' 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.—

Dionyza does appear,

With Leonine, a murderer.

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[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' th' 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?

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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's chang'd With this unprofitable woe! Come, come;

Give me your wreath of flowers, ere the sea mar it.

[graphic][subsumed][merged small][subsumed][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

London. Published by Thomas Tegg. NIII. Cheapside May.1.1810

Printed by Dixon

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.

Thanks, sweet madam.

[Exit DIONYZA

South-west.

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,

Was't so?

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