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

Scene 46.

Enter Monsieur Pere, and his Son-in-law Monsieur Marry.

MOnsieur Pere.

Son-in-law, did your Brother say he was very ill?

Marry.

He said he had such a pain on his left side, as he could not sit on his horse, but must be forced to return home again.

Pere.

Heaven bless him: for my heart is so full of fears and doubts, as if it did Prognosticate some great misfortune to me.

Marry.

Pray Sir be not so dejected, nor look so pale; I dare warrant you the News that his Barb hath won the Race, will be a sufficient Cataplasm to take away his Stitch.

The Father and Son-in-law meet a servant.

Pere.

How doth my Son and daughter?

Servant.

I think they are both well, Sir.

Pere.

Why, do not you know, and yet dwell in the same House?

Servant.

No indeed not I: for I only saw my young Master go towards my Ladies lodging, but I did not follow to inquire of their healths, for feat they should be angry, and think me bold.

Enter Madam Soeur's Maid.

Pere.

Where is you Lady?

Maid.

In her Chamber I think, Sir.

Pere.

Do you but think so? do you not know? 'Tis a sign you wait not very diligently.

Maid.

Why Sir, I met my young Master going to his Sisters Chamber, and he sent me on an Errand, and when I came back, the outward doors were lock'd, so as I could not get in any ways.

Marry.

The doors lock'd, say you?

Maid.

Yes Sir.

Marry.

Let them be broken open.

Pere.

O my doubts foretell à miserable Tragedy.

The door seems to be broke open; the servant seeing the mur∣der'd Couple, cries out, Murther, murther; Monsieur Pere falls down dead at the sight; while the servant strives to recover life in the old man, Monsieur Marry runs to his murder'd wife, and falls to the ground and kis∣ses her, and then tears his hair, and beats his breast, and being as distracted, rises hastily, and catches up the bloody sword to kill himself; his servants hold and hinder him from that Act.

Marry.

Villains let go, she shall not wander in the silent shades without my company; besides, my soul will croud through multitudes of souls, that flock to Charons Boat, to make an easie passage for her pure soul: wherefore let go, I command you as being your Master, let go.

The servants still scuffle for to get away the sword; in come more servants, and carrie him out, as being distracted. Monsieur Pere, not to be recover'd, is carried out with the two murder'd bodies.

Enter three Servants.

1 Servant.

This is so strange an Accident, that hardly Story can mention the like.

2 Servant.

I wonder how they came murder'd, the door being lock'd, and none but themselves; if it had been thieves, they would have robbed them, as well as murder'd them.

1 Servant.

I believe my young Master was the Thief that did both rob and murther.

3 Servant.

Well, I could tell a story that I heard, listning one day at my Ladies Chamber-door; but I will not.

1 Servant.

Prethee tell it us.

3 Servant.

No, I will not, you shall excuse me for this time.

Exeunt.