BAWD.
Boult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her hair, complexion, height, her age, with warrant of her virginity; and cry ‘He that will give most shall have her first.’ Such a maidenhead were no cheap thing, if men were as they have been. Get this done as I command you.
BOULT.
Performance shall follow.
[Exit.]
MARINA.
Alack that Leonine was so slack, so slow!
He should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates,
Not enough barbarous, had not o’erboard thrown me
For to seek my mother!
BAWD.
Why lament you, pretty one?
MARINA.
That I am pretty.
BAWD.
Come, the gods have done their part in you.
MARINA.
I accuse them not.
BAWD.
You are light into my hands, where you are like to live.
MARINA.
The more my fault
To scape his hands where I was like to die.