Most honour’d Cleon, I must needs be gone;

My twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands

In a litigious peace. You and your lady,

Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods

Make up the rest upon you!

Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,

Yet glance full wanderingly on us.

O, your sweet queen!

That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,

To have bless’d mine eyes with her!

We cannot but obey

The powers above us. Could I rage and roar

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 withal,

Leaving her the infant of your care;

Beseeching you to give her princely training,

That she may be manner’d as she is born.

Fear not, my lord, but think

Your grace, that fed my country with your corn,

For which the people’s prayers still fall upon you,

Must in your child be thought on. If neglection

Should therein make me vile, the common body,

By you relieved, would force me to my duty:

But if to that my nature need a spur,

The gods revenge it upon me and mine,

To the end of generation!

I believe you;

Your honour and your goodness teach me to’t,

Without your vows. Till she be married, madam,

By bright Diana, whom we honour, all

Unscissored shall this hair of mine remain,

Though I show ill in’t. So I take my leave.

Good madam, make me blessed in your care

In bringing up my child.

I have one myself,

Who shall not be more dear to my respect

Than yours, my lord.

Madam, my thanks and prayers.

We’ll bring your grace e’en to the edge o’the shore,

Then give you up to the mask’d Neptune and

The gentlest winds of heaven.

I will embrace your offer. Come, dearest madam.

O, no tears, Lychorida, no tears.

Look to your little mistress, on whose grace

You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.