LYSICLES

Do you depart to night? I will not wrong you to entreat your care in suddenly Delivering these small packets, but least you Should believe they are merely ceremonious, And so bear any date, I now inform you, I am concerned in nothing nearer, my griefs excepted. It must not be, pardon me virtue, that I begin And act, will set a stain upon my blushing brow: Yet I must through. Lord PINDARUS, my Fortune's carry a pardon with them, when They make me err in acts of ceremonial Decencies, they have been so heavy and so mighty, They have bent me so low to earth, I could not cast my face upward to hope a blessing, The cause you are perfect in. Thus all do press it; yet had my grief relation Only to my self, I would not partly them from My heart and memory they justly do possess: But my father hath no more issue save my self, For to couferre his name and Fortune's on. If you do wish it a continuance, it's in your Power to make it lasting to ages. Since my MILESIA'S death, I have not loved a Lady equal With your HERMIONE, in her I hope to loose My swollen misfortunes, and find out a joy That may extinguish them: it's now no time To tell her how much I am her servant: for This Lord here that does pretend to her fair Graces, before I had declared my self his Rival, perchance you would believe me, if I had said, he no way does deserve her. Thus then to morrow I'll wait on yond, Ladies I am your servant. First, wish me a captivity, for as I am Ith'instant, if heaven should pour his blessings On me, their quality would altar. Sir, good night. 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? It's so, and a joy, A hopeful joy, to meet her must give freedom To my sad prisoner, when my hand shall led This dagger to his heart, that parred ours. And Heaven that hears this vow, pour on my head Dire thunder, if I shrink in what I promise: And sacredest Saint, if from thy place offerest, Thou turnest thy eyes upon thy holy Relics, Accept my vows, and pardon me the life Of the cursed Homicide, a full revenge Of thy Death, and my lives misery, Shall make him pay the time he has outlived My happiness; and when he is fallen, Present thy self in all thy glories to me, That my freed soul may owe her liberty To no force but impatient longing Of re-injoying thee; and holy Tomb, The Altar where my heart is nightly offered, Let my winged 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. Madam, I have begged leave of your Noble Father, To offer up my self a servant to your virtues. Madam, you were not wont, by a feigned praise, To scorn those that admire you; or would you thus Insinuate what I should be, by telling Me I am, what I must ever aim at. I did not think I ever could be moved With my own praise, but now my happiness So much depends, that you shall truly think What now you utter of me; that I glory My actions are thus favoured by your judgement. This declaration of your favouring me, will plead My pardon, if I do omit the Ceremonial circumstance, Which usually makes way for this great truth I now must utter. Madam, I do love Your virtues with that adoration, That the all-seeing Sun does not behold A Lady that I love with equal ardour. Our friends have most power over us, both Do second my desires of joining us In the sacred tie of Marriage. What ever I deserve, The gods have largely recompensed my intent Of doing virtuously, if it hath gained so much Upon your goodness, as to make a way for my affection. Pardon me dearest Lady, if my words Too boldly do deliver what my actions And frequent services should first have smoothed The way they are to take, my Happiness So nearly is concerned, you shall approve Me for your Servant, that I trembling hast, To know what rigours or what joys expect me. But ere you do begin to speak my Fate, Know whom you do condemn, or whom make happy: One, that when misery had made so wretched, That it ravished his desires to change, Whose eyes were turned inward on his grief, Pleased with no object but what caused their tears, Your beauty only raised from his dark seat Of circling sorrows, lighting me a hope By you I might receive all happiness, The gods have made my heart capacious of. Must that be argument of cruelty, Which should be cause of pity? And will you Assume the Patronage of envious Fortune By adding torments unto her affliction? Must I be miserable in losing you, Because the gods thought me unworthy her? Did I so easily digest her death, That I want pity, and am thought unworthy Of all succeeding love? Witness my lose of joys, if sorrow could Have killed me, I had not lived to show you mercy. Would, what Fate hath taken you from your self: O the prophecies of my unjust fears how true My heart foretold you! Madam, it cannot be you should affect One that hath no desert, but what you give, By making him a partly of you, my Hope's Though always blasted, could not apprehend A fear from him: I should be happy yet, If any worthy love shadowed my shame Of being refused by you. Must this be added to my former griefs? That in the instant you profess to pity What I must suffer in your lose; your virtue, For which I admire you, must exclude My Hope's of ever changing your r solves: Yet let my vows gain thus much of you, That for a Month you will not marry him; I know your Father will not force you to't, For he not knowing what hath passed between you, Consented to this visit. May I not know the reason? Now you throw Oil upon the wound you make: I may be ignorant of all things else, But of my want of merit to deserve I am most perfect in: be happy Lady, He that enjoys you shall not need that prayer: My Father's business calls me. What is she? I have herd of her; they say she knows our Actions passed, and future. My Misery's indeed have made it great; For all things else I should be more Beholding unto silence, than the voice Of my most partial friends: Why do you gaze upon me so? If you do measure time by what I suffer, My undiminished grief tells me but now: But now I lost her, if the sad Minutes, That have oppressd me since the fatal stroke, It is and age eternity of torments I have felt. Most true it is, what God that herd our Vows hath told it you? But if your eyes pierce farther in their secrets Than our weak fancies can give credit to, Tell me if where she is, she can discern and know my actions? This may be conspiracy. I'll try it further. I am certain, this is no inspiration of the gods, It cannot be she should consent, my faith Should be the ruin of my name and memory, Which necessarily must follow, if virtuous love Did not continue it to future ages. If I should desire it, it were impossible. Though she bring Thunder in her hand, I will not fail to come. And though I cannot credit that your power can procure it, My hope's it should be so, will overcome my reason. Ladies, I am your servant. This is the hour powerful Acanthe promised, I should once more behold my lost Milesia. Pardon me reason, that my withered Hope's Rebel against thy force, a happiness So mighty is opposed unto thy doubts, That I'll devest my self for ever of thee, Rather than not believe impossibles, That bring such comforts to my languished soul. Hail holy Treasurer of all the wealth Nature ever lent the world, be still the envy Of the proud Monuments that do enclose The glorious Titles of great Conquerors. Let no profane air pierce thee but my sighs, Let them have entrance while my tears do warm Thy colder Marble.—Would, what Miracle, Are the gods pleased to work to ease affliction? The Phoenix is created from her ashes, Pure as the flames that made'em: still the same, The same Milesia! Heaven does confess in this, That she can only add unto thy beauty, By making it immortal. Let it be lawful for thy Lysicles, To touch thy sacred hand, and with it guide My wandering soul unto that partly of Heaven, Thy beauty does enlighten. No more blessed shape: I shall not think that thou descendest from Heaven, If thou continuest thus in doubt of me; Nor can there be a Hell where such forms are. The knowledge how thou comest here, does disturb me; Yet such a reverence I do owe thy image, That I will lay before thee all my thoughts Spotless as Truth, then thou shalt tell the shades, How Fortune, though it made my love unhappy, Could not diminish it, nor press it one degree From the proud height it was arrived to: How I did nightly pray to this sad Tomb, Bringing and taking fire of constant love From the cold ashes, how when encompassed With thousand horrors Death had been a rest, I did prefer a loathed life to revenge my self, And her upon the murderer. Milesia, again blessed Saint, now I am sure thou art What thou resemblest, and dost know my secretest thought. But as the gods, of which thou art a partly, Art not content with our hearts sacrifice, Unless our words confess it: hear me then, If my thoughts ever consented to replant My love, may your dire Thunder light Upon my head, and sink it down so low, I may not see thy glories: I confess My words have sacrificed to Deities, I never adored those stains of love, My tears and friendship to the best of mén, I hope I have canceled for my Eugenio: I did pretend a love unto Hermione, Who else had sold her self unto the rage Of her offended Father; had you lived, You would have pardoned, when infidelity But personated did preserve a faith So holy as theirs was, this is my fault. Yet this as oft I wept as I was forced (For his deer cause) to injure sacred love, Yet durst not but decline his severe Laws, When my friends life excused the pious error. There is but one MILESIA, beside, Iftrue, I meant her fears should aid My false disguise, which her quicksighted Father Would else have pierced, who hates EUGENIO, And loves no virtue but what shines through wealth. My best, best LYSICLES, I am again in love, Thy holy flame does lend me light to see My closed fires; why did not Fate give me So large a field to exercise my Faith? I envy thee this trial, and would be Exposed to dangers, that have yet no name, That I might meet thy love with equal merit. The cause takes all away, and want of power Excuseth what I cannot yet express too much of me, But how our loves came to sosad a perjod, As yet in clouds I have only seen, But how knew he our loves? though torment since Have wrung it from me, my joys ever flowed silent and calm. Would? How came she to know it, she was not here. To what strange Laws does Heaven confine it self, That it will suffer them that dare be damned To have power over those it has selected, My tears and sacrifice could never gain So much upon its mercy, as to lend Thy happy sighed for one faint minutes comfort: Yet those that fell themselves to Hell, can force Thy quiet rest for inquisition on innocence, And to what purpose serves faith and religious secrecy When Magic mocks and frustrates all our vows? This More then was confederate with your Uncle's passion. And I will be, that she shall walk in Hell: With her I will begin, then seek revenge Under the ruins of thy Uncle's house: All men that dare to name him, and not curse His memory, shall feel the power Ofmy despised hate and friendship. As justice that's concerned to punish crimes, I will. Pardon me Sir, I could do no less, Being to take and everlasting farewell, but give this Visit to her memory: reserve your censure Till ten days be over, and if I do not Satisfy you, condemn me. W Here did you borrow that last sighs, and that relenting groan? For those that sighs, and not for love, Usurp what's not their own. Loves arrows sooner armour pierce, Than your soft snowy skin, Y our eyes can only teach us love, But cannot take it in. Another sighs then I may hope The Song being ended, Bring him in, and stay in the next room. You are welcome: I must employ your trust and Secrecy in something that concerns me. You must Procure me instantly a powerful poison. Nay, no ceremonies of denial. I give you My Intents, not to be disputed, but obeyed. I know You walk not frequently in these rongh ways; But it's not want of knowledge, but your will, Makes you decline them. I did expect this from you; and to inform you Briefly, know, though I do loath my life, I will Not partly with't willingly, till it does serve Me to revenge my wrongs: and to'assure you more, I will not use your Art against my self: Let Your composition procure the greatest torture Poison can force, for I must use it upon one Our Laws cannot condemn; because the circumstance That makes him guilty cannot be produced, but With expense of time, and my revenge will not admit it. By my honour this is the cause. Bring it me instantly; and if the pains of Hell Can be felt here, let your ingredients call them up. If his life were only my aim and end, while I do wear this, I'de not implore your aid; But I must set him on the rack, that there he May confess my inquisition justice. So, this is the first degree to my revenge, Which I will prosecute till I have made All that were guilty of my lose of peace, Wash their impiety in their guilty blood. All places where I meet them shall be Altars, On which I'll sacrifice the Murderers, To appease the spirit of my injured Mistress: And the last Victim I will fallen my self Upon her sacred Tomb, to expiate The crimes I have committed in deferring Justice thus long. This cursed Magician Shall be the first, she did reveal our loves; MILESIA said she did; and if it were Her blessed spirit, nothing but truth dwells in't. Iftwere a fantosme raised by her foul spells; She pays the fault of her abusing me, Insidiating with my MILESIA'S form, To search, and then betray my resolution Of serving my best friend: how now? Where is he? But I will come to her confession: courage my soul, Let no faint pity hinder thee the joys Thou art receiving, triumph in their sufferings That have attempted thine: Look down MILESIA, Applaud my piety, that snatched the sword From sleeping Justice, to revenge thy death. What mean these sad expressions of sorrow? And I beleev't, nor should you pity her: Those that do trace forbidden paths of knowledge The gods reserve unto themselves, do never doo't, But with intent to ruin the believers, And venturers on their Art: Something I know O'th'curs'd effects of her commanding Magic, And she (no doubt) is conscious to her self Of infinite more mischiefs than are yet revealed. I am confident she is fled her Country For the ills she has done there, and now The punishment has overta'ne her here: And for her shows of Virtue, they are Masks To hide the rottenness that lies within, And gain her credit with some dissembled acts Of piety, which levels her a passage To those important mischiefs, Hell Has employed her here to execute. Yes, to counsel you to pacify The gods you have offended by your cursed Arts: The blessed Ghost you sent me too, has told me Some sad effects on't, and in her name, And cause, have the gods hurled this punishment On thy foul soul, and made my grief enraged To madness, the blessed instrument of thy destruction, Which does but here begin. Yes, I did; and wonder you durst tempt My just revenge, unless you did believe You could confine the Revelations Of the best spirits, your cursed Charms Betrayed first, and then enforced to leave Their happy seats, to perfect the designs Your malice laboured in. If it be possible, call life into her for some minutes, Her full confession will obsolve my Justice. Yes, and horror ceazeth me: It's the Idea Of my Milesia. Impenetrable powers, Deliver us in Thunder your intents, And exposition of this Metamorphosis. Hold her up gently—He kneels. O then you are. Pour down your Thunder gods, upon this head, And try if that can make me yet more wretched: Was not her death affliction enough, But you must make me be the murderer? Is this a punishment for adoring her Equal with you, you made so equal to ye? Pardon the fault you forced me to commit: So visible a Divinity could not be loo'd on With less adoration. Eyes, are you dry where such and object calls Your tears forth—My blood shall supply your place. What unexpected mischiefs circle me, What Arts hath malice, armed with Fortune, found To make me wretched? could I ever have thought A Miracle could have restored thee to my eyes, But they should see the joys of Heaven in thee? Yet now the height of my affliction is, That they behold thee guilty of the close Of thine for ever: see HERMIONE, The countenance Death should put on, when Death Would have us throng unto her Palaces, And court her frozen Sepulchres. No: she is white as Lilies, as the Snow That falls upon PARNASSUS; if the Read were here, As I have seene't enthroned, the rising day Would get new excellence by being compared to her: Argos, nor Cyprus, Egypt never saw A beauty Like to this; let it be lawful for me to usurp So much on Death's right, as to take a kiss From thy cold Virgin-lips, where she and Love Yet strive for Empire: the flames that rise from hence, Are not less violent, though less pleasing now, Than when she did consent I should receive What now I ravish. She speaks again: good Heaven, she speaks again! Do not abuse your mercy and my grief, By asking pardon of your murderer, But curse your sufferings off, on this devoted head, To save the beauty of the world in you. Hear it with my vows, not to behold The Sun rise after you are gone. Can I hear this, and live? You advice well: run all to the Physician: I Will my self to Arnaldo, who gave This poison to me. Let me have word sent to the Cypress grove, the minute she is dead. If Life be given as a blessing to us, What Law compels us to preserve it longer, Than we can see a possibility Of being happy by it? But we must expect Till the same power that placed us here, commands A restitution of his gift: This is indeed a rule To make us live, but not live happily. It's true, the slave that frees himself by death Does wrong his Master: but yet the gods are not Necessitous of us, but we of them. Who then is injured if I kill my self? And if I durst to hear their voice, they call Men to some other place, when they remove The gust, and taste of this, we should adore thee death, If constant virtue, not enforcement built Thy spacious Temples. Welcome Eugenio, welcome worthy friend, How long are you arrived? What means my friend? Is Hell afeard my constancy should conquer The mischiefs that are raised to swallow me, That it invents new plagues to batter me? By all that's holy, I never did offend my friend, Not in a thought. All this I do confess; but 'twas for both your goods, As I will now inform you. It hath not light enough to let you see your friend. Gods! Could that man have lived, that dared to say, Eugenio did suspect his Lysicles? And now in pity you do show him me, That I may fly the world without regreet, Not leaving one of worth behind me in it. Begun, and learn your errors. Found man, thou dost not know how much it's in My power to make thee miserable: I could now force thee execute my wish In killing me; and thou wouldst fly the light, When it had showed thee whom thy rage offended: But till I fallen by my own hand, my life Is chained unto my honour, which I will wear Upon my Sepulchre: nor must I die, Being guilty of Milesia's murder, For any cause but hers, else were my breast, Since you have wronged me, open to your point. I can, with so strong circumstance of truth Would make you blush for have doubted mine; But he that was my friend, and suspects me, Must attend less satisfaction than a stranger. Proceed, and let your case be both your judge and guide. O my Eugenio, thy kindness hath undone me, My rage did choke my grief, which now did spread It self over my soul and body: up, and help To bear me till I fallen eternally. While they were capable thou didst, but now They are too great and swollen to let it in. Milesia, Whom you and J supposed dead, By me to day is poisoned, and lies dying in her torment; Is not this strange? It is too late now; let me beg thy kindness Would do that for me, J forbade thy passion. Kill me. You will not kill me then? All but death are fled. J may not for the world: why should you die? Our causes are not equal. Eugenio I am conquered, yet I hoep thy kindness Will do that for me, which thy sword refuseth: Love thy Hermione, she deserves it friend: Leave me alone a while. Hark, I am called, the fatal news is come. Softly, good friend, gently let it slide Into my breast; my hearts too narrow yet To take so full a joy in: You're sure this news is true? My comforts ever were Like Winter Suns, That rise late, and set betimes, set with thick Clouds That hide their light at noon: but be this true, And I have life enough to let me see it: I shall be ever happy. Is there a wish beyond this happiness, When I embrace thee thus? I will not ask Thy Story now, it is enough to know That you are living. Is that word yet notearth? No my MILESIA, Mine was the first engagement, and the gods Made thee so excellent to keep on earth Love that was flying hence, finding no object Worthy to fix him here. Our joys do multiply; but my deer friend, I have yet something that will add to yours: My Father's called to Court, and you are left Governor in his place; this (I know) will make Lord PINDARUS consent to both your wishes, Your pardon Madam, and when you lie embraced With your EUGENIO, tell him, if my faith Had not the double tie of Friend and Mistress. A single one had yielded to the Hope's Of the enjoying you: Here comes my Lord—PINDARUS. O my good Lord, I must entreat your pardon For a fault my love unto my friend engaged me in: Let your consent complete the happiness Of these two perfect Lovers; I am confident You ever did approve his virtue: his fortune now Can be no hindrance, since our gracious King In contemplation of his merits, Hath made him Governor in my Father's place. I thank you my Lord, and when my friend and you Are reconciled, you may assure your self I am your servant. Let me beg the honour of interceding: your Fortune's And condition are so equal, it were a sin to partly you. And as notably finished. Let's now unto my father, Who expects you to deliver his Commission to you. Come my MILESIA, tell my wounded heart No more, her sighs shall wander through the air Not knowing where to find thee: nor no more Shall the mistaken Tomb of false ONONE Be moistened with my tears; yet since she died To save thy life, her ghost could not expect A cheaper sacrifice: this I'll only add In memory of us, All Lovers shall Repute this day, as their great Festival. How now my Lord? what miracle can raise a Tempest here, where so much beauty reigns? Are not you MILESIA?