EDITION.
The Lost Lady. A Tragy Comedy. Imprinted at London
by Jo. Okes, for John Colby, and are to be sold at his
Shop, at the Signe of the Holy Lambe on Ludgate-hill.
1639. Folio.
[Sir William Barclay or Berkley was probably related
to Sir Richard Barclay, author of "A Discourse of the
Felicity of Man," first printed in 1598. He wrote,
besides the "Lost Lady," a "Description of Virginia."
An account of him will be found in Bliss's edition of
Wood's "Athenæ," iii. 1111-12.
"The Lost Lady" was reprinted by Dodsley in 1744,
but excluded from the second and third editions of the
collection.]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[350]
Men.
- Lysicles.
- Eugenio.
- Agenor.
- Cleon.
- Ergasto.
- Phormio.
- Pindarus.
- Physician.
Women.
- Milesia.
- Hermione.
- Irene.
- Phillida.
- Acanthe.
THE LOST LADY.
ACT I.
Enter Agenor, Physician.
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.
Enter Lysicles.
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.
[ACT I., SCENE 2.]
The Tomb discovered. Enter Lysicles with a page
and a torch, [and then withdraws.][352]
Enter Ergasto and Cleon.
Cle. And will you marry now?
Erg. Indeed will I.
Cle. And what shall
Be done with all those locks of hair you have?
Erg. Why, I'll make buttons of 'em, and had they half
The value that I swore they had when I did beg 'em,
Rich orient diamonds could not equal them:
Some came eas'ly, and some I was forc'd to
Dig for in th' mine.
Cle. And your priz'd liberty—
What shall become of that?
You swore you would not marry till there were
A law established that married men
Might be redeem'd, as slaves are.
Erg. I was an ass when I talk'd so:
Those damned books of chastity I read
In my minority corrupted me; but since
I'm practis'd in the world, I find there are
No greater libertines than married men.
'Tis true 'twas dangerous, this knot, in the
First age, when it was a crime to break vows:
But, thanks to Venus, the scene is alter'd,
And we act other parts. I'll tell thee
The privileges we enjoy when we are married.
First, our secrecy is held authentic, which is
Assurance will take up any woman
At interest, that is not peevish; then th' acquaintance
which our wives bring us, to whom at times I
carry my wife's commendations; and if their husbands
be not at home, I do commend myself.
Cle. For what, I prythee?
Erg. For a good dancer, a good rider, a good
----, anything that I think will please 'em.
Cle. Thou'lt have a damnable conceit of thy wife,
by thy knowledge and opinion of all other women,
unless you think her a phœnix.
Erg. 'Twill be my best resolution. But hark in
thy ear, rogue: I could be content to think, and
wish mine and all for the public good, and wear
my horns with as much confidence, as the best
velvet-head of 'em all, and paint them in my crest
with this inscription These he deserved for his love to
the commonwealth.
Cle. A rare fame you would purchase!
Erg. A more lasting one than any monument
you can repeat the epitaph of; and would it not
be glorious to be commemorated as the first
founder of the commonalty of undisparaged
cuckolds?
Cle. Yes, and prayed for by bastards, that got
better fathers than they were destined to by their
mothers' marriages.
Erg. And cursed by surgeons that were undone
by honest women's practices.
Cle. And this done voluntarily, which you will
hardly avoid, though you have a thousand guards
to prevent it. I, that have been your playfellow,
shall be first suspected, and first banished.
Erg. By Jupiter, never! No, though 'twould
preserve a thousand smooth foreheads. If she be
honest, your arts cannot alter her; and if otherwise,
had I not rather adopt a son of thine than a
stranger's? And confess truly, Cleon: would you
not for this public benefit be content to sacrifice a
sister, that we might love no longer by obligations,
but affection; and seeing, liking, and enjoying,
finished in a meeting.
Cle. Unless I had means to appropriate one, you
cannot suspect but I should wish a title unto all.
But what hopes have you of your mistress?
Erg. No airy ones of liking and affection; but
mine are built on terra firma already, which her
father looks on greedily, and proportions this to
that grandchild, to the second this.
Cle. Is he not somewhat startled at the report of
thy debauchery? For though your thickset woods
and spreading vineyards make excellent shades to
keep away the sun—I mean the piercing eye of
censure—yet some suspicions common fame will
raise.
Erg. Indeed it was my enemy, whilst my elder
brother lived.
Cle. But since his death you are altered. I
must confess it, for then the slenderness of your
annuity allowed you but the election of some one
sin: I mean a cherished sin, whilst the others
repined, that thought themselves of equal dignity;
in time they had their turns, yet singly still: but
since your brother's death you have shown yourself
a grateful gentleman, and recompensed those that
have suffered for you to the full.
Erg. A pretty satire this, to whip boys of nine!
Yet still I tell thee, I am another in the opinion of
the world.
Cle. Another Heliogabalus thou wouldst be,
Hadst thou his power; but by what conjuration can
You bring me to think it?
Erg. By reason, which is a spirit will hardly be
Rais'd in you; but thus it is. Whilst my brother
Liv'd, my wildness was observed by——
Cle. But now you walk in shades, recluse, and shut
Up in your coach; your painted liveries
Supposed fairies, and she that you were wont to
Visit by the name of Madam Ruffiana is now
Your aunt. All this I am perfect in, yet cannot
Reach the mystery of your suppos'd disguise
You say doth mask you.
Erg. Hear me, and be converted. I say I was
Observed by those that were nearest in blood to me;
And with fear, too, lest the ruin of my
Fortune might force them to supply my wants.
This caus'd the ague, this the admonitions and
Frequent counsels—sometimes severe reproofs,
Every one curling himself from any hopes of mine,
That would assist me; and those gave largest counsels,
That would give nothing else.
Cle. Of this I am yet a sad party and a witness too.
Erg. Since my brother's death, the names of things
Are changed; my riots are the bounties of my nature,
Carelessness the freedom of my soul:
My prodigality, an easiness of mind proportion'd
To my fortune. Believe me, Cleon, this poverty
Is that which puts a multiplying-glass upon our
Faults, and makes 'em swell, and fill the eye;
Our crimes cry highest then when they have
brought us low.
Cle. I have not known any condemn'd for playing,
But for losing.
Erg. True; and let it be thy rule for all things else.
Cle. If this be certain, 'twill be long ere I be reputed virtuous.
Erg. Thou'lt never be, unless it be this way,
I prophesy, good Cleon——
Cle. 'Tis a sad story; pray let us leave it. Have you no rivals?
Erg. None present that I can fear, having her
Father's firm consent.
Cle. Eugenio, your rival, still continues banish'd.
Erg. And I hope will, till I am full possess'd of Hermione.
Cle. Did you give him cause to draw upon you in th' garrison?
Erg. Nor knew then of any[353] offence, or his pretences,
Which his folly look'd I should divine; he met me on the guard,
And drew upon me. We had a little scuffle,
Were parted, and he banish'd for the insolence.
Cle. Prince Lysicles labours to recall him.
Erg. By all means; he was by in the nois'd battle, saw the
Prince cleave this man to the twist,[354] divide a second,
Overthrow a third; he is his trumpet.
Cle. His actions need none.
Erg. Wilt thou be happy, Cleon, believe not fame
So far, as to make thyself less than another man.
There were thousands that served for six sesterces,
That did more than both; yet sleep forgotten. 'Tis
Now time to meet the ladies on the walk. [Exeunt.
Enter Lysicles;[355] kneels to the tomb, and then
speaks.
Lys. I do profane this place, for were my griefs
As great as I would boast 'em, I could not live
To tell them to the world.
Or is the passage which my soul should make,
Shut up with sorrow? 'Tis so, and a joy,
A hopeful joy, to meet her must give freedom
To my sad prisoner, when my hand shall lead
This dagger to his heart that parted ours.
And heaven, that hear'st this vow, pour on my head
Dire thunder, if I shrink in what I promise.
And, sacred'st saint, if from thy place of rest,
Thou turn'st thy eyes upon thy holy relics,
Accept my vows, and pardon me the life
Of the curs'd homicide: a full revenge
Of thy death and [of] my life's misery
Shall make him pay the time he has outliv'd
My happiness; and when he is fall'n,
Present thyself in all thy glories to me,
That my freed soul may owe her liberty
To no force, but impatient longing
Of re enjoying thee. And, holy tomb,
The altar where my heart is nightly offered,
Let my wing'd love have passage through thy marble,
And fan the sacred ashes, knowing no heat
But what he takes from them. So peace and rest
Dwell ever with thee. [Exit.
Enter Hermione, Irene, Phillida, all veiled.
Ire. Dear Hermione, pinch me, or I shall sink
with laughter.
Her. What said the stranger, Phillida? I did
not hear it.
Phil. Nothing, madam.
Her. Then he did talk by signs, he was long
about it. What was't, Irene?
Ire. He long importuned her to show her face,
which after many urgings she consented to; and
he in recompense made a low reverence to her,
and then thanks her for the great favour, and concludes
he never did receive so great a one from
any woman, since all else have done them with
a reference to themselves; but hers was merely
goodness, for, before he saw her, he might have
suspected her face, handsomely hid, for a piece of
beauty, if her virtue would have suffered him to be
longer in that error.
Phil. I would I were a man for his sake.
Ire. So you told him, and he, still courteous for
all your anger, promised to give you what you
wanted of a man, or teach you how to make
one.
Her. Thou wilt never be old, wench, if thou
still keep'st this humour.
Ire. Not a sigh older these seven years, if't
please Sir Cupid; for he blows our bellows.
[Enter Ergasto and Cleon.] But look, yonder's
your servant, there's no starting now; you must
stand to't. But before he comes to interrupt us,
observe with me, how in that deep band, short
cloak, and his great boots, he looks three storeys
high, and his head is the garret where he keeps
nothing but lists of horse-matches, and some
designs for his next clothes.
Phil. Where is his cellarage?
Ire. He'll show it thee himself, dear Phillida,
and thine too, if thou wilt have him! But they
make to us!
Erg. Madam, will you honour me and this
gentleman with a sight of that which doth enrich
the world?
Her. You will not take our excuses, if we
should say you find us now with more advantage
to our beauties.
Erg. So breaks the morning forth, but the
sun's rays are not so quick and piercing as your
eyes, for they descend even to our hearts.
Ire. Heaven defend! my heart would tremble,
if they should.
Erg. Why, madam?
Ire. See such impieties as are lodged there in a
man, and not be struck with horror! 'tis impossible.
Erg. Your wit doth make you cruel. But,
madam, I have something to deliver unto you,
which your father commanded no ear should hear
but yours.
Ire. What have you there, Cleon?
Cle. Verses, madam.
Ire. Whose?
Cle. Of Lord Ergasto's, written in celebration
of the fair Hermione.
Ire. Did he buy them, or found them without
a father, and has adopted them for his own?
Cle. They are his own.
Ire. Here.
Cle. I pray read them.
Ire. What have I deserved of you, good Cleon,
that you should make me read his verses in his
own presence? If you think I have not already
as ill an opinion of him as I can have, you lose
your labour.
Cle. Read them, and I'll assure you you'll find
things well said and seriously; and you will alter
your opinion of him.
Ire. Pray give them me, I long to be working
wonders. [She reads single words.] Rubies, Pearls,
Roses, Heaven. Do you not think he has done my
cousin a simple favour, comparing of her voice to
that of heaven?
Cle. 'Tis his love makes him do it; not finding
any thing on earth fit to express her, he searcheth
heaven for a similitude.
Ire. Alas! good gentleman, 'tis the first time he
ever thought on't; what frequent thunders should
I hear, if 'twere as he would have it? Let me
counsel you: lay them aside till they have contracted
an inch of dust, then with your finger write
their epitaph, expressing the mutual quiet they
gave men, and received from them; or, as all
poisons serve for some use, give them your physician,
and let him apply them to his patient for a
vomit—this way they may be useful.
Cle. However you esteem them, such an elogy
would make you think your glass had not yet
flattered you.
Ire. It cannot; I prevent it, and accuse it for
not showing the hills of snow, the rubies, and the
roses they say have being from me. But stay—heaven
opens, and I see a tempest coming; your
poet is a prophet.
Her. I'll call an oath to be my witness.
Erg. Madam!
Her. My own fears light upon me, if the night
that eves the day of marriage, doth not shut me
from the world.
Erg. Why, madam, this intemperance?
Her. 'Tis a just anger.
Erg. If you are angry, madam, with all that
love you, there lives none that has more enemies,
every eye that looks upon you you must hate.
Ire. Sir Cleon, our friends are engaged; pray let
us be o' th' party. What has called up this choler
in my sweet cousin? My lord, you have been
begging favours.
Erg. Yes, of heaven, that it would furnish me
with merits fit to deserve your cousin.
Ire. When it has [been] granted you, return to
her, and renew your suit; but if you stay till
then, you must get spectacles to see her beauty
with.
Her. Why should you hinder your repose and
mine? You know I never loved you.
Ire. Then he has no reason to accuse you of inconstancy.
Erg. Why are you fair? or why has my stars
enforced me to love nothing else?
Ire. If your love were considerable, what an
obligation had your cousin to your stars? Then
these remonstrances of yours are impulsive, and
not voluntary.
Erg. I cannot tell; but when I seriously direct
them to you, I'll swear I am bewitched.
Cle. Madam, this is repugnant to your other
virtues, that you should hate a man for loving you.
Before he did profess himself your servant, I know
you did receive him with indifferency at least.
Whence then proceeds your hate?
Her. From his expression of his love.
Cle. A cruel son sprung from so mild a father,
if he did urge you to anything, might blast your
honour.
Ire. She would not hear him; and as it is, how
much does he oblige her? He's now her servant,
and would entreat her to let him be her master;
a request strangely modest!
Cle. If I were he, I'd take an honourable composition,
let her choose whom she pleas'd for husband,
and continue her secret servant still.
Her. You are uncivil.
Enter Pindarus.