er. "O, no tears,
Lychorida," said Pericles: "no tears; look to your little mistress, on
whose grace you may depend hereafter."

Pericles arrived in safety at Tyre, and was once more settled in the
quiet possession of his throne, while his woeful queen, whom he thought
dead, remained at Ephesus. Her little babe Marina, whom this hapless
mother had never seen, was brought up by Cleon in a manner suitable to
her high birth. He gave her the most careful education, so that by the
time Marina attained the age of fourteen years, the most deeply-learned
men were not more studied in the learning of those times than was
Marina. She sang like one immortal, and danced as goddess-like, and with
her needle she was so skilful that she seemed to compose nature's own
shapes, in birds, fruits, or flowers, the natural roses being scarcely
more like to each other than they were to Marina's silken flowers. But
when she had gained from education all these graces, which made her the
general wonder, Dionysia, the wife of Cleon, became her mortal enemy
from jealousy, by reason that her own daughter, from the slowness of her
mind, was not able to attain to that perfection wherein Marina excelled:
and finding that all praise was bestowed on Marina, whilst her daughter,
who was of the same age, and had been educated with the same care as
Marina, though not with the same success, was in comparison disregarded,
she formed a project to remove Marina out of the way, vainly imagining
that her untoward daughter would be more respected when Marina was no
more seen. To encompass this she employed a man to murder Marina, and
she well timed her wicked design, when Lychorida, the faithful nurse,
had just died. Dionysia was discoursing with the man she had commanded
to commit this murder, when the young Marina was weeping over the dead
Lychorida. Leonine, the man she employed to do this bad deed, though he
was a very wicked man, could hardly be persuaded to undertake it, so had
Marina won all hearts to love her. He said, "She is a goodly creature!"
"The fitter then the gods should have her," replied her merciless enemy:
"here she comes weeping for the death of her nurse Lychorida: are you
resolved to obey me?" Leonine, fearing to disobey her, replied, "I am
resolved." And so, in that one short sentence, was the matchless Marina
doomed to an untimely death. She now approached, with a basket of
flowers in her hand, which she said she would daily strew over the