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- # Pericles Prince of Tyre.
Now to *Marina* bend your mind,
Whom our fash growing scene must finde
At *Tharjus*, and by *Clicen* traind
In Mušicks letters, who hath gaind
Of education all the grace,
Which makes life both the art and place
Of general wonder: but alacke
That monster Enuic oft the wracke
Of earned praise, *Marina* life
Secke to take off by treasons knife,
And in this kinde, our *Clicen* hath
One daughter and a full growne wench,
Euen right for marriage fight: this Maid
Hight *Philocen*: and it is said
For certaine in our storic, shee
Would euer with *Marina* bee.
Beer when they weaude the fleded silke,
With fingers long, small, white as milke,
Or when she would with sharpe needle wound,
The Cambricke which she made more sound
By hurting it or when too’th Lute
She sung, and made the night bed mute,
That still records with monc, or when
She would with rich and constant pen,
Vaile to her Mistreße *Dian* shill,
This *Philocen* contends in skill
With absolute *Marina*: so
The Doue of *Paphos* might with the crow
Vie feathers white, *Marina* gets
All prayers, which are paid as debts,
And not as given, this so darkes
In *Philocen* all gracefull markes,
That *Clicens* wife with Enuic rare,
A present murderer does prepare
For good *Marina*, that her daughter
Might
IV. 5–39
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