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[Enter GOWER]
GOWER
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Ima|gine Per|icles | arrived | at Tyre,
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Welcomed | and set|tled to | his own | desire;
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His woe|ful queen | we leave | at Eph|esus,
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Unto | Dian|a, there | a vot|aress.
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Now* to | Marin|a bend | your mind,
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Whom our | fast-growing scene | must find
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At Tars|us, and | by Cle|on trained
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In mus|ic let|ters, who | hath gained
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Of ed|uca|tion all | the grace,
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Which makes | her both | the heart | and place
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Of gene|ral wond|er: But | alack
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That monst|er en|vy oft | the wrack
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Of earn|ed praise,| Marin|a's life
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Seeks to take off | by treas|on's knife,
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And in | this kind,| hath our | Cleon
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One daught|er and | a full grown wench,
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Even ripe | for mar|riage rite:| this maid
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Hight Phi|loten:| and it | is said
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For cert|ain in | our stor|y, she
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Would ev|er with | Marin|a be,
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Be it when | she weaved | the slei|ded silk,
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With fing|ers long,| small, white as milk,
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Or when | she would | with^sharp needle wound
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The camb|ric, which | she made more sound
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By hurt|ing it,| or when | to the lute
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She sung,| and made | the night-bird mute,
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That still | records with|in one,| or when
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She would | with rich | and const|ant pen,
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Vail to | her mist|ress Di|an still,
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This Phil|oten | contends | in skill
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With abs|olute | Mari|na: so
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The dove | of Paph|os might | with the crow
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Vie* feath|ers white.| Marin|a gets
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All prais|es, which | are paid | as debts,
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And not | as giv|en, this | so darks
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In Phil|oten | all* grace|ful marks,
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That Cle|on's wife | with en|vy rare,
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A pres|ent murde|rer does | prepare
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For good | Mari|na, that | her daughter
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Might stand peer|less by | this slaughter.
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The sooner | her vile thoughts | to stead,
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Lychor|ida | our nurse | is dead,
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And curs|ed Di|ony|za hath
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The preg|nant inst|rument | of wrath
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Pressed for | this blow,| the unborn | event,
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I do | commend | to your | content,
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Only | I car|ry wing|ed time,
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Post on | the lame feet of | my rhyme,
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Which nev|er could | I so | convey,
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Unless | your thoughts | went on | my way.
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Dio|nyza | does ap|pear,
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With Le|onine | a murd|erer.
[Exit]