Per.
Most honoured Cleon, I must needs be gone,
My twelve moneths are expir'd, and Tyre stands
In a peace: you and your Lady take from my heart
All thankfulnesse. The gods make up the rest upon you.

Cleon.
Your shakes of fortune, though they hate you
Mortally, yet glance full wondringly on us.

Dion.
O your sweet Queen! that the strict fates had pleased
You had brought her hither to have blest mine eyes with her.

Per.
We cannot but obey the powers above us;
Could I rage and rore as doth the Sea she lies in,
Yet the end must be as 'tis: my gentle babe Marina,
Whom (for she was born at Sea) I have named so,
Here, I charge your charity withall; leaving her
The infant of your care, beseeching you to give her
Princely training, that she may be manner'd as she is born.

Cleon.
Fear not (my Lord) but think your Grace,
That fed my Countrey with your Corn; for which,
The peoples prayers daily fall upon you, must in your Childe
Be thought on, if neglect should therein make me vile,
The common body that's by you reliev'd,
Would force me to my duty; but if to that,
My nature need a spurre, the gods revenge it
Upon me and mine, to the end of generation.

Per.
I believe you, your honour and your goodnesse,
Teach me toot without your vowes, till she be married,
Madam, by bright Diana, whom we honour,
All unsister'd shall this heir of mine remain,
Though I shew will in't: so I take my leave:
Good Madam, make me blessed, in your care
In bringing up my Childe.

Dion.

I have one my self, who shall not be more dear to my respect than yours, my Lord.

Per.

Madam, my thanks and prayers.

Cleon.

We'll bring your Grace to the edge of the shore, then give you up to the masked Neptune, and the gentlest windes of heaven.

Per.

I will embrace your offer, come, dearest Madam: O no teares, Lychorida, no teares; look to your little Mistris, on whose grace you may depend hereafter: come, my Lord.

Cer.
Madam, this Letter, and some certain Jewels,
Lay with you in your Coffer, which are at your command:
Know you the Character?

Thai.

It is, my Lords, that I was shipt at Sea, I well remember, even on my eaning time: but whether there delivered, by the holy gods, I cannot rightly say: but since King Pericles, my wedded Lord, I ne're shall see again, a vestall livery will I take me to, and never more have joy.

Cler.
Madam, if this you purpose as ye speak,
Dianaes Temple is not distant farre,
Where you may abide till your date expire,
Moreover if you please, a Neece of mine,
Shall there attend you.

Thai.
My recompence is thanks, that's all,
Yet my good will is great, though the gift small. Exit. Enter Gower. Gower.
Imagine Pericles arriv'd at Tyre,
Welcom'd and settled to his own desire;
His wofull Queen we leave at Ephesus,
Unto Diana, there's a Votaresse.
Now to Marina bend your minde,
Whom our fast growing scene must finde
At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd
In Musicks letters, who hath gain'd
Of education all the grace,
Which makes high both the art and place
Of generall wonder: but alack
That monster Envy oft the wrack
Of earned praise, Marina's life
Seek to take off by treason's knife,
And in this kinde, our Cleon hath
One Daughter and a full grown wench,
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 they weav'd the sleded silk,
With fingers long, small, white as milk,
Or when she would with sharp needle wound
The Cambrick, which she made more sound
By hurting it, or when to th' Lute
She sung, and made the night bed mute,
That still records within one, or when
She would with rich and constant pen,
Vaile to her Mistresse Dion still,
This Phyloten contends in skill
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 Phyloten all gracefull markes,
That Cleon's Wife with envy rare,
A present Murderer do's prepare
For good Marina, that her Daughter
Might stand peerlesse by this slaughter.
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
Lychorida our Nurse is dead,
And cursed Dionizia hath
The pregnant instrument of wrath
Prest for this blow, the unborn event,
I doe commend to your content,
Onely I carried winged Time,
Poste on the lame feet of my rime,
Which never could I so convey,
Unlesse your thoughts went on my way.
Dionizia doth appear,
With Leonine a Murderer. Exit. Enter Dionizia, and Leonine.

Dion.

Thy oath remember, thou hast sworn to do it, 'tis but a blow, which never shall be known, thou canst not doe a thing in the world so soon, to yield thee so much profit, let not conscience which is but cold, inflaming thy love bosome, enflame too nicely; nor let pitty, which even women have cast off, melt thee, but be a souldier to thy purpose.

Leon.
I will do't, but yet she is a goodly Creature.

Dion.
The fitter then the gods should have her.
Here she comes weeping for her onely Mistresse death:
Thou art resolv'd?

Leon.
I am resolv'd. Enter Marina with a Basket of Flowers.

Mar.

No: I will rob Tellus of her weed, to strew thy Grave with Flowers: the yellowes, blewes, the purple Violets and Marigolds, shall as a Carpet hang upon thy Grave, while Summer dayes doth last. Aye me, poor Maid, born in a tempest, when my Mother di'd: this world to me is like a lasting storme, hurrying me from my friends.

Dion.
How now, Marina? why de'ye weep alone?
How chance my Daughter is not with you?
Doe 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 marre it,
Walk with Leonine, the aire is quick there,
And it pierces and sharpens the stomack;
Come, Leonine, take her by the arme, walk with her.

Mar.

No I pray you, I'le not bereave you of your Servant.

Dion.

Come, come, I love the King your Father, and your self, with more then forreign heart; we every day expect him here, when he shall come and finde 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 cheerfull once again; reserve that excellent complexion, which did steale the eyes of young and old.

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 houre, Leonine, at the least.
Remember what I have said.

Leon.

I warrant you, Madam.

Dion.

I'le leave you, my sweet Lady, for a while: pray walk softly, doe not heat your blood: What, I must have a care of you.

Mar.

My thanks, sweet Madam. Is the winde Westerly that blowes?

Leon.

South-west.

Mar.

When I was born, the winde was North.

Leon.

Was't so?

Mar.

My Father, as Nurse saith, did never fear, but cryed good Sea-men to the Sailors, galling his Kingly hands, hailing ropes, and clasping to the Mast, endured a Sea that almost burst the deck.

Leon.

When was this?

Mar.

When I was born, never was waves nor winde more violent, and from the ladder tackle, washes off a Canvas clymer, ha, saith one, wilt out? and with a dropping industry they skip from stern to stern: the Boat-swain 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 doe my work with haste.

Mar.

Why, will you kill me?

Leon.

To satisfie my Lady.

Mar.

Why would she have me kill'd now? as I can remember by my troth, I never did hurt her in all my life, I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn to any living creature: believe me now, I never kill'd a Mouse, nor hurt a Flye. I trod upon a worme once 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't.

Mar.

You will not do't for all the world, I hope: you are well favoured, and your looks fore-shew you have a very gentle heart, I saw you lately when you caught hurt in parting two that fought: good-sooth it shewed well in you, do so now, your Lady seeks my life, come you between, and save poor me the weaker.

Leon.

I am sworn, and will dispatch.

Pirat. 1.

Hold villain.

Pirat. 2.

A prize, a prize.

Pirat. 3.

Half part mates, half part. Come lets have her aboard sodainly.

Leon.

These roguing thieves serve the great Pirate Valdes, and they have seized Marina, let her go, there's no hope she will return: I'le swear she's dead, and thrown into the Sea, but I'le see further, perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, not carry her aboard, if she remain,

Pander.

Boult.

Boult.

Sir.

Pander.

Search the market narrowly, Metaline is full of gallants, we lost too much money this Mart, by being too Wenchlesse.

Bawd.

We were never so much out of creatures, we have but poor three, and they can doe no more then they can doe, and they with continuall action, are even as good as rotten.

Pander.

Therefore let's have fresh ones what e're 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 our bringing up of poor bastards, as I think, I have brought some eleven.

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

Bawd.

What else, man? the stuffe we have, a strong winde will blow it to pieces, they are so pittifully sodden.

Pander.

Thou say'st true, there's two unwholesome in conscience, the poor Transilvanian is dead that lay with the little baggage.

Boult.

I, she quickly poupt him, she made him roast-meat for wormes, but I'le go search the market.

Pand.

Three or four thousand Chickeens 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.

Oh 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 amisse to keep our door hatch'd; besides the sore termes we stand upon with the gods, will be strong with us for giving o're.

Bawd.

Come, other sorts offend as well as we.

Pand.

As well as we, I, and better too, we offend worse, neither is our profession any Trade, it's no calling: but here comes Boult.

Boult.

Come your wayes, my masters, you say she's a virgin?

Sayl.
O sir, we doubt it not.

Boult.
Master, I have gone through for this piece you see,
If you like her, so; if not, I have lost my earnest.

Bawd.

Boult, has she any qualities?

Boult.

She has a good face, speaks well, and has excellent good cloathes: there's no farther necessity of qualities can make her be refused.

Bawd.

What's her price, Boult?

Boult.

I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand pieces.

Pand.

Well, follow me, my Masters, you shall have your money presently: wife, take her in, instruct her what she has to doe, that she may not be raw in her entertainment.

Bawd.

Boult, take you the markes of her, the colour of her haire, complexion, height, age, with warrant of her virginity, and cry; He that will give most, shall have her first. Such a maiden-head were no cheap thing, if men were as they have been: Get this done as I command you.

Boult.
Performance shall follow.

Mar.
Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow:
He should have struck, not spoke;
Or that these Pirates, not enough barbarous,
Had not o're-board thrown me, for to seek my Mother.

Bawd.
Why weep you, pretty one?

Mar.
That I am pretty.

Bawd.
Come, the gods have done their part in you.

Mar.
I accuse them not.

Bawd.
You are light into my hands,
Where you are like to live.

Mar.
The more's my fault, to scape his hands,
Where I was like to dye.

Bawd.
I; and you shall live in pleasure.

Mar.
No.

Bawd.

Yes indeed shall you, and taste Gentlemen of all fashions. You shall fare well; you shall have the difference of all complexions: what de'ye stop your eares?

Mar.

Are you a woman?

Bawd.

What would you have me to be, if I be not a woman?

Mar.

An honest woman, or not a woman.

Bawd.

Marry whip thee, Gosling I think I shall have something to doe with you. Come, y'are a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have ye.

Mar.

The gods defend me.

Bawd.

If it please the gods to defend you by men,

then men must comfort you, men must feed you, men must stirre you up: Boult's return'd.

Now, sir, hast thou cry'd her through the Market?

Boult.

I have cri'd her almost to the number of her hairs, I have drawn her picture with my voice.

Baud.

And prithee tell me, how do'st thou find the inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort?

Boult.

Faith they listened to me, as they would have hearkned to thir fathers Testament. There was a Spaniards mouth so watered, that he went to bed to her very description.

Baud.

We shall have him here to morrow with his best ruffe on.

Boult.

To night, to night, but Mistris, do you know the French Knight that cowres i'th hams?

Baud.

Who, Mounsieur Verollus?

Boult.

I, he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation, but he made a groan at it, and swore he would see her to morrow.

Baud.

Well, well, as for him he brought his disease hither, here he doth but repair it, I know he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the sun.

Boult.

Well, if we had of every Nation a traveller, we should lodge them with this signe.

Baud.

Pray you come hither a while, you have Fortunes comming upon you, mark me, you must seem to do that fearfully, which you commit willingly, despise profit, where you have most gain, to weep that you live as you do, makes pitty in your lovers seldome, but that pitty begets you a good opinion, and that opinion a meer profit.

Mar.

I understand you not.

Boult.

O take her home, mistris, take her home, these blushes of hers must be quencht with some present practise.

Baud.

Thou sayest true faith, so they must, for your Bride goes to that with shame, which is her way to go with warrant.

Boult.

Faith some do, and some do not, but Mistris, if I have bargain'd for the joynt.

Baud.
Thou maist cut a morsel off the spit.

Boult.
I may so.

Baud.
Who should deny it?
Come young one, I like the manner of your garments well.

Boult.
I by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.

Baud.

Boult, spend thou that in the Town, report what a sojourner we have, you'll lose nothing by custome. When nature framed this piece, she meant thee a good turn, therefore say what a parragon she is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own report.

Boult.

I warrant you mistris, thunder shall not so awake the beds of Eels, as my giving out her beauty stirs up the lewdly enclined, I'le bring home some to night.

Baud.

Come your wayes, follow me.

Mar.
If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,
Unti'd I still my virgin knot will keep.
Diana aid my purpose.

Baud.

What have we to do with Diana? pray you go with us.

Dion.
Why are you foolish, can it be undone?

Cleon.
O Dionizia, such a piece of slaughter,
The Sun and Moon ne're look'd upon.

Dion.
I think you'll turn a child again.

Cleon.

Were I chief Lord of all this spacious world, I'd give it to undo the deed. O Lady, much less in bloud then vertue, yet a Princess to equall any single Crown of the earth, in the justice of compare, O villain, Leonine, whom thou hast poisoned too, if thou had'st drunk to him, it had been a kindness becoming well thy face, what canst thou say, when Noble Pericles shall demand his child?

Dion.

That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates to foster it, nor ever to preserve, she di'd at night, I'le say so, who can crosse it, unlesse you play the Innocent, and for an honest attribute, cry out she di'd by foul play.

Cleon.

O go too, well, well, of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods do like this worst.

Dion.

Be one of those that thinks the pretty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence, and open this to Pericles; I do shame to think of what a Noble strain you are, and of how coward a spirit.

Cleon.

To such proceeding, who ever but his approbation added, though not his whole consent, he did not flow from honorable courses.

Dion.

Be it so then, yet none doth know but you how she came dead, nor none can know, Leonine being gone. She did disdain my child, and stood between her and her fortunes: none would look on her, but cast their gazes on Marina's face, whilst ours was blurred at, and held a Mawkin, not worth the time of day. It pierc'd me thorow, and though you call my course unnatural, you not your child well loving, yet I find it greets me as an enterprize of kindness perform'd to your sole daughter.

Cleon.

Heavens forgive it.

Dion.

And as for Pericles, what should he say? we wept after her hearse, and yet we mourn: her monument almost finished, and her Epitaph in glittering golden characters, express a general praise to her, and care in us, at whose expence 'tis done.

Cleon.
Thou art like the Harpie,
Which to betray, dost with thy Angels face,
Ceaze with thine Eagles talents.

Dion.
You are like one, that superstitiously
Doth swear to th' gods, that winter kills the flies,
But yet I know, you'll do as I advise. Exit,

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