Act 1 — ACT I.

Agen. Sir, I hope Lord Lysicles is not yet Retir'd? Phy. No, sir, he commanded immediate Notice should be given of your coming. Agen. I fear my stay at the castle hath made My duty seem unmannerly; but till This minute I had not my despatches from the governor. Phy. Let it not trouble you: he never shuts his eyes Till all this other world opens theirs; nor Does he sleep then, but with distracted thoughts Labours his fancy, to present him objects That may advance his grief. Agen. What may the monstrous cause be? Phy. It was monstrous indeed. He lost his mistress, Barbarously murder'd by her perfidious uncle: Her urn is in Cirrha, which my lord nightly Visits, and presents it all his contracted Sighs of the fled day; but at his parting Re-assumeth more by thinking she is not: To whose dear memory his tears and griefs Are offered. He's now alone, and the Religious awe which makes our priests retire, Before they do adore th' incensed powers, Is seen in him, who never dares approach Her honoured tomb, till a just contemplation of His loss hath made his sorrow eloquent. See! he comes. If, when he parts, your haste Will license you, I will relate the story Of his unequall'd sufferings.

Lys. Do you depart to-night? Agen. This hour, my lord. Lys. I will not wrong you to entreat your care In suddenly delivering these small packets; But lest you should believe they are merely Ceremonious, and so bear any date, I now Inform you, I'm concern'd in nothing nearer. My griefs excepted. Agen. I wish your lordship's happiness. Lys. First, wish me a captivity; for as I am i' th' instant, if Heaven should pour His blessings on me, their quality would alter. Sir, good night. [Exit. Phy. Sir, you are sad. Agen. He has no heart to joy that can be otherwise, That sees this glorious youth groan under his Harsh fate. Phy. What a sad accent had each word he uttered? Agen. I could not mark them much; but his whole frame Is of such making as if Despair had been The architect. We may wish, [but] not hope, A long life in him. Phy. Sir, will you now take horse? Agen. I should, had you Not promised the original of this Misfortune: and, trust me, it is a bold Curiosity, that makes me search into it; for if The silent presentation hath struck amazement In me, how shall I guard my heart, when sad Disasters violence my passions? Phy. Thus then in short:— These noble kingdoms, Thessaly and Sparta, Have, from the time two kings commanded all, Under both titles still been emulous, And jealous of th' advantages which each Suspected might be in the adverse party. This caused a lasting war; but the fierce storm Threaten'd not till the reign of these two kings, Both crowned young, both of an equal age; Both having all the passions of their subjects, Their fears excepted. The ambassadors That should congratulate the new-made kings, As if one spirit had inspired both, Came with this message, little varied— "That each were joy'd in such an enemy; No more the fearful wisdom of old men Should rust their swords, that fate had given to one Command of all." In short, their forces met, And in ten bloody days none could decide Which had the better cause: The virtues of each prince so prevalent, Fortune was but spectator. To conclude, Urgent affairs at home compell'd each king To leave their armies. Ours committed his To Strimon, father of Prince Lysicles; The Duke of Argos did command the Spartan, Who, swoll'n with the great name of general, Before his king had hardly left the fight Of this great army, draws his forces out, And fac'd us in our trenches. 'Tis not yet Unquestion'd whether fear or policy Made Strimon keep in his: but certainly this, That virtue, sharpen'd by necessity, Procur'd our triumph. Here Lysicles Anticipated years unto his fame, And on the wounds of his brave enemy Did write his story, which our virgins sing. But from this conquest did begin the cause Of all his misery. Agen. How from this? unless the king should judge it Too dangerous an honour to be given to one. Phy. He's lord of so much virtue, He cannot fear it in a subject. Agen. And as the common voice reach'd him in Athos, There's none he looks on with [a] greater Demonstration of his love. Phy. I know not that; but this I am perfect in: His judgment is directed by the king so powerfully, He cannot think his virtues injured, Though many should be nearer in his graces, 'Twould afflict him strangely if any should Be thought to love his prince better than he. Agen. Pardon my interruption: pray proceed. Phy. The duke, defeated, posts unto the Court, Where he design'd unto his dire revenge Th' obscurest path that ever time reveal'd Since her first glass: procures his king to throw Neglects upon him, and to seem in doubt Of his obliged faith. A severe search Is made on his papers, his treasure valued By the public officer, and himself, Twice deprehended in a seeming flight, Calumniated, libell'd, and disgrac'd By his own seeking and belief of others, Who, judging him to be their honour's ruin, First raze his house, and then demand his life As sacrifice unto their brothers, sons, Nephews, and public loss. Sedition Had now the face of piety, which (once Receiv'd as just) can hardly be repell'd. The king with difficulty doth assure his life With promise of his banishment. This he foresaw and sought, and did disguise Himself, in fear of the incensed people: Parts in the night, and partner of his fate Hath his fair niece, who is so innocent She cannot think there is a greater crime Practis'd by men than error, which does make Us seem more vicious than in act we are. Agen. I want a perspective for this dark mystery; And but your knowledge doth dissolve my doubts, 'Twould seem a riddle that a gentleman Of his known valour [and his] reputation Should strive to lose both for some secret end, I cannot yet arrive to. Phy. Sir, you know Revenge doth master all our passions That are not servants to her rage. Agen. But how, unfriended, banish'd, the reproach Of traitor fix'd upon him, he could find The way unto't more easy, I am ignorant. Phy. This story will resolve you. To this Court He comes: is brought to th' king; then with a modest freedom Relates his sufferings; hopes that fame hath taught His story ere his coming, else he should Continue miserable, as believ'd Both by his friends and enemies a traitor. Delivers that he sought protection From him, because none else could vindicate His innocence, which many mothers here, Say'th he, have wept that day when fortune Consulted fate who should be conqueror. You brave lords (say'th he) that were present, did my sword Parley? Did you receive wounds on condition? Were these by compact? All my blood is lost, Since 'tis discredited; what before was spent, Ran in my name, and made that live: but now, Great King, you only repeal my honour's fall By giving death unto your enemy. Our prince resents his fate, confirms him his By a large pension, and too soon entrusts [him] With all his secrets; gives him means to view His forts, which he designs, and learns the strength Of each particular province; and (inform'd Of all) makes his escape, and is received Of the Spartan king with all remonstrances Of love and confess'd service; but before He parted, did that horrid act which Lysicles Must die for. Agen. Indeed this story Doth not much concern him, if I mistake not. Phy. At his arrival here, he left his niece With this design, that, when his plots were ripe, Without suspect he might come to the borders. Hither he comes, and at his entrance is By a base traitorous servant certified Of the great love 'twixt her and Lysicles, The compact of their vows, with divers letters The lovers had exchang'd. He storms and cries, If thou dost love young Lysicles, my hate Shall strike thee dead; thy hand pluck'd back my honour When it was mounting; be constant, and this hand Shall by her death give thee a ling'ring one, And my revenge in thy own house begin. Then with a barbarous unheard-of cruelty Murders his niece, and the same instant flies. Fame had the next sun blown this through the city; His house was searched, the trunk of the dead lady Found in the hall; the head he carried with him, In honour of his cruelty. Agen. Sure, he was mad! Phy. I would say so too, but that I would not Make him less guilty of this inhumanity. Agen. What furies govern man! We hazard all Our lives and fortunes to gain hated memories; And in the search of virtue tremble at shadows. But how are you ascertain'd that he did This horrid act? Phy. He sent the summons of her death By her that had betray'd her; the report Did make her spirits throng unto her heart, And (sure) had kill'd it, had not heaven decreed His hand should be as black as his intent. She begg'd some time for prayer, and retir'd; In her own blood did write her tragedy And parting wishes to her dear betroth'd. Now hear the strangest mistook piety, That ever entered in a virgin's breast, She so much lov'd this barbarous homicide, She would not have him guilty of her death; And therefore with her own hands wounds herself, And as she bled, she writ unto her lord— At last concludes— They will not let me make them innocent; I'm call'd unto my death, and I repent My wound, because I would not hurt That which I hope you lov'd. This bloody note Was found the next day in her pocket. Agen. And came it to the Lord Lysicles? Phy. It did; and if you e'er had seen A hundred parents at one time deplore The unexpected deaths of their lost children, The father's sorrow and the mother's tears— 'Twould emblemise, but not express his grief. Sometimes he shriek'd, as if h' had sent his soul Out in his voice; sometimes stood fix'd, and gaz'd, As if he had no sense of what he saw: Sometimes he'd swoon; and if the memory Of his dear mistress, even i' th' gates of death, Had not pursu'd him, he had certain died. Torment did now give life; at last he drew His sword, and e'er he could be stay'd, did fall Upon the point. This I think did preserve him; For, not[351] being mortal, and he fainting with The loss of blood, had not then strength enough To end himself, until he was persuaded To live, to celebrate her memory; Which nightly he doth do upon her tomb, Whither he now is gone. Agen. I have not heard Of such a love as this! Phy. Nor ever shall Of such a beauty as did cause it. 'Tis late, and I'll not trouble you with her story: When you're at Court, all tongues will speak her merit To your wonder. I'll bring you to your horse. [Exit.