Playes written by the thrice noble, illustrious and excellent princess, the Lady Marchioness of Newcastle.

ACT III.

Scene 8.

Enter two Gentlemen.

1 GEntleman.

The Lady Sanspareile is the miracle of this age, the world doth not parrallel her with the like; for her behaviour is graceful and becoming, her Countenance modest and wife, her speech Majestical and witty, yet grave and learned, and her Oratory is after a New way.

2 Gent.

It is reported, that there are many men come from all parts of the world to hear her, aad those that cannot understand this Language, comes only to see her, so famous is she to all the world.

1 Gent.

She is a great Honour to our Nation.

2 Gent.

I hear she doth intend to plead in the behalf of poor Suiters, and hath asked leave of the Queen to be a pleader at the Barr, for all such as suf∣fered wrong as injustices, and for such Clients as hath just causes, but hath not means to follow the Law, as to see the Lawyers, & she will plead for them gratis.

1 Gent.

It is a pious and Noble Act.

2 Gent.

Also her Father hath challenged all the eloquent Oratours of our Nation, to make Orations extemporately; likewise he hath challenged the most famous Schollars and learned men to dispute with her.

1 Gent.

Her Father is most doatingly fond of her.

2 Gent.

He hath reason, and out of love to her he is building a very fine Library, to lay in all her Works; for they say she writes much, and hath writ many excellent Works.

1 Gent.

She deserves a Statue for her self, as well as a Library for her Works.

Ex.

Scene 9.

Enter the Lady Innocence, and Adviser. the Lord de l'Amours Man.

ADviser.

Madam, my Lord and the Lady Incontinent hath sent me to tell you, you must come to be examined about the Chain.

Lady Innocence.

I am so shrunk up with fear, that methinks I could thrus•• my self into a Nut-shell to hide myself.

Adviser.

Faith if you could, it would not conceal you; for they would crack the Nut-shell and find you out.

Adviser goes out.

Lady Innocence alone.

O that Innocency should tremble as much as guilt, with fear; but if they did b•••• know how little I value the riches of the world, they would not believe I should s••e•• so frivolous a thing.

Enter as to the Lady Innocence, the Lord de l'Amour, the Lady Incontinent, and a Iustice; and the Ladies two Maids, Informer and Falshood.

Lord de l'Amour.

The Lady Incontinent hath brought a Iustice, who hath power to make you confesse.

She falls a shaking.

Lady Incontinent.

You may perceive her guilty, she trembles and shakes & looks so pale.

Lady Innocence.

Pray judge me not guilty by my countenance, bring it not as a witnesse against me, for the childish fears in my heart, causeth a trem∣bling, which like an Earthquake, shakes my body, and makes my breath as pent up Air, that pants for passage, striving to get forth, and my innocent bash∣fulnesse, or my bashful innocency, makes my eyes like perturbed lights, that see nothing cleerly; my words to flow like rough and broken streams; for my mind is so troubled, and my passions in such a storm, as my words can nei∣ther flow easie, nor free.

Lady Incontinent.

Here be two that will witnesse that she stole the Chhain.

Falshood.

I will swear she took the Chain of Pearl, and put it in her poc∣ket, and so went out of the room with it.

Lord de l'Amour.

Why did not you follow her, and take it from her.

Falshood

I thought she would bring it again, for I never suspected she would deny it.

Lord de l'Amour.

And will you witnesse the same Informer?

Informer.

I will witnesse I saw it in her hand, looking on it.

Lord de l'Amour.

What say you for your self Lady Innocence?

Lady Innocence.

I say my accusements doth not make me guilty of a crime; but I confess I took the Chain in my hand, out of a curiosity, and trial of my judgment or skill, to see whether I could find any defect, in somuch valued, esteemed, and high-prized a thing as Pearl; but not any wayes out of a cove∣ton; Appetite, as to steal it, nor had I any tempting thoughts thereto, nor wisht I that or the like should be lawfully given me.

Lord de l'Amour.

What did you with it, when you had done viewing it?

Lady Innocence.

I laid it on the Table from whence I took it off.

Lady Incontinent.

But here are those that will swear you carried it away with you.

Maids.

Yes that we will.

Lady Innocence.

I cannot alwayes avoid a false accusation.

Lord de l'Amour.

Will you swear you did not?

Lady Innocence.

Yes, If my Oath will be taken.

Lady Incontinent.

Well, you did take it that is certain, wherefore you were best confess it, or you shall be wrackt to make you confess it.

Lady Innocence.

I will never bear false-witness against my self; I will dye first.

Lady Incontinent.

My Lord, pray let her be carried away, and be whipt, until the be forced to confess it.

Lady Innocence.

Let me killed first: for to be whipt is base, and is only fit for Gally-slaves, or those that are born from Slaves; but to be kill'd is Noble, and gives an Honourable triumph.

Iustice.

Young Lady, you are heer accus'd by two Witnesses, and unless you can bring Evidence to clear you, you are liable to punishment.

Lady Innocence.

Truly Sir, I have but two invisible Witnesses, Conscience and Innocency, to plead for me, and Truth my Judge, who cannot be brib'd, although it may be over-powr'd, by false and slanderous reports.

Iustice.

But it is imagin'd by your best friends, you are guilty.

Lady Innocence.

Neither my friends, nor enemies, can create me a Crimi∣nal, with their Imaginations.

Lord de l'Amour.

But speak, are you guilty?

Lady Innocence.

To what purpose should I speak? for what can I say to those that make it their delight to accuse, condemn, and execute? or what justice can I expect to have, where there is no equity? wherefore, to plead were a folly, when all hopes are cut off; to desire life, a double misery, if I must indure Torments; but silence, and patience, shall be my two Compa∣nions, the one to help me in my suffering, the other to cut of impertinen∣cies.

She goes out from them.

Lord de l'Amour.

What think you Justice, is she guilty?

Lady Incontinent.

Why should you make a question, when it hath been proved by Witnesses? Come Justice, Come, and drink a Cup of Sack, and give your opinion then.

The Lady Innocence comes, as passing by, alone.

Lady Innocence.

I am so confidently accus'd of this Theft, as I am half per∣swaded I did take the Chain, but that Honour and Honesty sayes I did not.

Ex.

Scene 10.

Enter Sir Thomas Father Love at one door, and a servant-Maid at the other door.

SIr Thomas Father Love.

Where is your Mistriss? the people do flock about the house to see her, as I think they will pull it upon my head if she shews not her self to them, wherefore call her.

The Maid goes out.

Enter the Lady Sanspareile.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

Come, Come Child, there are such expectations without for thee; but what makes thee to look so heavy?

Lady Sanspareile.

Truly Sir, I am not well.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

Not well? Heaven bless thee; where art thou Sick?

Lady Sanspareile.

I cannot say I am very sick, or in any great pain; but I find a general alteration in me, as it were a fainting of spirits.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

Prethee say not so, thou dost so affright me; but thou art not very sick, art thou?

Lady Sanspareile.

I hope I shall be better Sir.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

My dear Child go to bed, whilst I send for some Doctors to thee.

Ex.

Scene 11.

Enter the Lady Innocence, alone.

TO whom shall I powre out my sad complaint? for all do them a Melan∣choly mind. O Gods! how willingly would I be buried in the grave with dust, and feast the worms, rather than live amongst mankind! Oh! Oh! that these Melancholy damps arising from my afflicted Soul could extinguish the Lamp of life, or that my sad and grieved thoughts that feed upon my troubled Spirits, could bite with sorrows teeth, the thread of life asunder.

She sits down on the ground, leaning her Cheek on her hand, and weeps.

Enter to her, her Maid Passive.

Passive.

My sweet Mistriss, why do you weep?

Lady Innocence.

The spring of grief doth send forth streams of tears to wash off my disgrace, and the foul spots which slandring tongues have stain'd, or rather slain'd my reputation; for which my eyes, did they not weep, would seem unnaturally unkind; but my dead reputation is imbalm'd with salt tears, bitter groans, shrowded in sorrows, and intomb'd in misery.

Passive.

My dear Lady, you are imbalm'd with the pretious gums of

Virtue, and sweet spices of wit wrapt up in youth and beauty, and are intomb∣ed, or rather inthroned in honest hearts; wherefore waste not your self with grief; for certainly the world will condemn your Accusers, and not you.

Lady Innocence.

Those feeble hopes cannot my spirits uphold, they give no light of comfort to my mind; for black despair, like Melancholy night, mustles my thoughts, and makes my Soul as blind. O but why do I thus mourn in sad complaints, and do not curse Fortune, Fates, and destiny, their Wheels, there spindel, threads, and Chains?

She heaves up her hands, and lifts up her eyes.

May Nature great, turn all again to nought, That nothing may with joy receive a thought.

She goes out in a very Melancholy posture.

Passive alone.

She is deeply Melancholy, Heavens ease her mind.

Ex.

Scene 12.

Enter 2. or 3. Doctors.

1. DOctor.

The Lady Sanspareile cannot live, for the hath no pulse.

2. Doctor.

No, she is descending to the grave.

3. Doctor.

But had we best tell her Father so?

1. Doctor.

No, by no means as yet.

2. Doctor.

Why not? he will know when she is dead.

Enter the Lady Mother Love, as to the Doctors.

Lady Mother Love.

Mr. Doctors, What, do you mean to let my Daugh∣ter dye? will you not prescribe something to give her?

1. Doctor.

Madam, we shall do our best, you may be confident.

Lady Mother.

What if you prescribed a Glister, or a Purge?

1. Doctor.

I shall not need Madam.

Lady Mother.

Why, if any one be sick, they ought to have some re∣medies applyed to them:

2. Doctor.

We shall consider what course is best to be taken.

Lady Mother Love.

For Gods sake do not neglect her.

Ex.

Enter Sir Thomas Father Love, to the Doctors.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

Mr. Doctors, what is your opinion of my Daughter?

1. Doctor.

Truly Sir, she is very dangerous sick.

Sir Thomas Father Love.

I can find no pulse she hath.

2. Doctor.

Nor we Sir, that makes us doubt her.

Father Love.

Pray consult about her what is best to be done.

1. Doctor.

We shall Sir.

Ex.

Scene 13.

Enter the Lord de l'Amour, and the Lady Innocence.

LOrd de l'Amour.

What makes you look so gastly pale?

Lady Innocence.

I am so ashamed of my accusation, as my bashfullness is beyond all blushing, as greatest griefs are beyond all tears, it causes my limbs to tremble, face look pale, like Death's assault, making my courage fail.

Lord de l'Amour.

Perchance you are asham'd to confess so base a crime; you may confess to me, for I shall strive to hide your faults, and cover them with some excuse; wherefore confess; for though it be a fault to steal, yet it is a double fault to hide it with a Lye, and by these crimes you do offend the Gods; nor will their anger be remov'd, unless you confess and ask pardon.

Lady Innocence.

Your Doctrine is very good, and Application well appli∣ed, had I been Guilty; but being Innocent, they are vainly uttered.

Lord de l'Amour.

I hope you will agree to resign the interest you have to me, if I should desire you.

Lady Innocence.

Saints never offred up their Souls to God more willingly, than I all interest to you; not but that I love you, yet I should be loath to be bound to one that hath so ill an opinion of me, as you have.

Lord de l'Amour.

The World would condemn me, if I should marry you, to stain my Posterity with your Crimes.

Lady Innocence.

O Heavens, is my scandal of so deep a dye, as to stain Pre∣decessors and Posterity! yours may avoid it, but my Predecessors are spot∣ted all over.

She goes out weeping.

Lord de l'Amour.

I cannot chuse but love her, although I fear she is guilty; but I perceive she is resolv'd not to confess, as being asham'd of it.

Ex.

Scene 14.

Enter the Lady Sanspareile in a bed, as being sick, the bed drawn on the stage, and her Father kneels by the bed-side whilst she speaks as dying.

SAnspareile.

Let spotless Virgins bear me to my grave, and holy An∣thems sing before my Herse, and soft-toucht Instruments to play the while, and keep just time with tears, that trickling fall from the sad eyes of my most sorrowful friends; and one my Coffin spread upon a covering of smooth Sattin, white, to signify here how I lived a Virgin, pure I lived and dy∣ed; and let my works which I have wrought, and spun out of my brain, be given to times Library, to keep alive my name.

And set a Lilly-Garland on my Herse, On every leaf therein, stick on a verse;

And when my Coffin to the grave you bring, Let Poets on my Herse some verses fling. For whilst I liv'd I worship'd Nature great, And Poets are by Nature savoured. I in the Muses Arms desire to Dye, For I was bred up in their Company: And my requesl's to them, when I am dead, I may amongst them be remembered.

But death drawes near, my destiny is come; Father farewell: may time take up my years, which death cuts off, and add them to your life: Peace keep your mind, and Comfort give you rest.

He weeps.

But why do you weep dear Father? my life's not worth your tears; yet Heavens doe weep, and mingle with dull earth their Cristal streams, and earth's refresht thereby; so is not death, for death is ever dry.

Father.

O Child! O Child! my heart will break.

Sanspareile.

Sir, why do you sigh and groan, and grieve, that I must dye? life is perpetual, and death is but a change of shape.

Only I wish that Death may order it so, That from your rootes I may your flower grow. I fear not Death, nor am I loath to dye: Yet I am loath to leave your Company.

But O the Muses stay my dying lips to close. Farewel

Dyes.

Her Father starts up from her Bed-side, and stares about the Bed; and the dead Lady is drawn off the stage.

Father.

What art thou sted? dear Soul wheredost thou goe? stay and I will bear thee Company.

Stares about.

Where art thou Soul? why mak'st thou such great haste? I pray thee stay, and take thy aged Fathers Soul along with thee, left it should wander in the dark and gloomy shades to find thee out. O! O death! quick dispatch, Let me unprisoned be, my body is old, decayed and worn, times ruins shews it. Oh! Oh! let life fall, for pitty pull it down.

[stops a time]

Am I not dead? you cruel powers above, to lengthen out an old mans life in misery and pain; why did not Time put out the sight of both my eyes, and also deaf my ears, that I might neither hear, nor see, the death of my lifes joy? O Luxurious Death, how greedily thou feedst on youth and beauty, and leist old Age hang withering on lifes tree? O shake me off, let me no longer grow, if not, grief shall by force snip off my tender stalk, and pitty lay me in the silent grave. Heark, Heark, I hear her call me? I come, I come Childe.

He feches a great sigh.

O no, she is gone, she is gone, I saw her dead; her head hung down, like as a Lilly, whose stalk was broke by some rude blusterous wind.

He stares about.

There, there I see her on her dutious knee; Her humble eyes cast to the ground; Her spotlesse hands held up for blessings crave, asking forgivenesse for faults not done. O no, She is dead! She is dead! I saw her eye-lids cloze

like watry Clouds, which joyn to shut out the bright Sun; and felt her hands which Death made cold and numb, like as to Cristal balls; She is gone, she is gone, and restless grows my mind; thoughts strive with thoughts, & struggle in my brain, passions with passions in my heart make War.

My Spirits run like suries all about; Help help for Heavens sake, and let life out.

Ex.

Scene 15.

Enter the Lady Mother Love alone.

LAdy Mother Love.

O my daughter! my daughter is dead, she is dead. Oh that ever I was born to bear a Childe to dye before me. Oh she was the Comfort of my Heart, the pleasure of my Eyes, the delight of my life. Oh she was Good, she was Sweet, she was Fair. O what shall I do, what shall I do?

Ex.

Scene 16.

Enter Sir Thomas Father Love, half distracted.

SIr Thomas Father Love.

Mercury lend me thy winged feet, that I may fly to Heaven, there to observe, how all the Gods and Godesses doe gaze upon my Beautiful Childe; for she is fairer than the light that great Apollo gives; and her discourse more ravishing than the Musick of the Spheres; but as soon as she sees me, she will leave them all, and run unto me, as she used to do, kneeling will kiss my hands, which she must not do, being a Goddess, and I a Mortal, wherefore, I must kneel to her, and carry her an offering; but what shall the offering be? Let me think. Why I will kneel and offer up my Aged life unto her Memory; but now I think of it better, I cannot dye in Heaven; wherefore, let me Study, let me Study, what she did love best when she lived upon the Earth; O I now remember, when I did ask her what she lov'd best, she would Answer, her Father and her Fame; but I believe, if she were here it would be a hard Question for her to resolve, which she preferr'd; and being not to be separated in Affection, we will not part in our Resurrection; wherefore Mercury farewel: for I will fly up with the Wings of her good Fame.

And carry up her Wit, and there will strow It on Heavens floor, as bright as Stars will show; Her Innocency shall make new Milky waies, Her Virtue shall Create new Worlds to praise Her never-dying Name. Ha, Ho! It shall be so, it shall be so.

Ex.