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- # Pericles Prince of Tyre.
Might stand peerless by this slaughter,
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
*La barida* our nurse is dead,
And cursed *Dioniza* hath
The pregnant instrument of wrath.
Preft for this blox, the vuborne cuent,
I doe command to your content,
Onely I carried winged Time,
Poil one the lame feete of my rime,
Which neuer could I so conuey,
Unlese your thoughts went on my way,
*Dioniza* does appeare,
With *Leonore* a murtherer.
*Exit.*
# Enter Dioniza, with Leonore.
*Dion.* Thy oath remember, thou hast sworn to doot,
tis but a blowe which neuer shall bee known, thou canst not doe a thing in the worlde so soone to yeelde thee so much procte: let not conscience which is but cold, in flaming, thy loue bosome, enflame too nicelie, nor let pirtie which cuen wonen haue cast off, melt thee, but be a foulder to thy purpose.
*Leon.* I will doot, but yet she is a goodly creature.
*Dion.* The feter then the Gods should haue her.
Here she comes weeping for her onely Mistrese death,
Thou art refolude.
*Leon.* I am refolude.
# Enter Marina with a Basket of flowers.
*Maria.* No: I will rob Tellus of her weede to strow
thy greene with Flowers, the yellowes, blewcs, the purple
Violets, and Maripolds, shall as a Carpet hang vpon thy
graw, while Sommer dayes doth last: Aye me poore maid,
F 2
borne
IV. 40-52—IV. i. 17
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