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

Scene 19.

Enter Madam Jantil, and a Gentleman Intelligencer; the Lady seems not disturb'd; but appears as usually.

MAdam Iantil.

How died my Lord?

Gentleman.

Madam, he fought with so much courage, as his actions will never dye, and his valour will keep alive the memory of this War: for though he died, his Death was Crown'd with Victory, he digg'd his Grave out of his Enemies sides, and built his Pyramid with heaps of their Bodies, the groans of those he slew did ring his dying Knell.

Madam Iantil.

What became of his body?

Gentleman.

He gave order before the Armies joined to fight, that if he were kill'd, his body should be sought out, and delivered to you: for he said it was yours whilst he lived, and he desired it might be disposed of by you when he was dead; his desires and commands were obeyed, and his body is coming in a Litter lapt in Searcloth.

Madam Iantil.

Worthy Sir, I give you many thanks for your noble rela∣tion, assuring my self it is true because you report it, and it is my Husband that is the subject and ground of that honourable relation, whom I always did believe would out-act all words.

Gentleman.

He hath so Madam.

Madam Iantil.

Sir, if I can at any time honourably serve you, I shall be ready whensoever you will command me.

Gentleman.

Your Servant Madam.

(He was going forth and returns)

If your Ladyship hath not heard of Monsieur la Hardy's Death, give me leave to tell you he is slain.

Madam Iantil.

I am sorry, and for his Lady, for she loved him most passionably.

The Gentleman goes out.

Enter as running and calling out Doll Pacify, Madam Passionate's Maid.

Doll Pacify.

Help, help, my Lady is dead, my Lady is fallen into a swound at the report of my Masters being kill'd.

The Lady goeth out and the Maid, then they enter strait again with two or three Servants more, bringing in the Lady Passionate as in a swound.

Madam Iantil.

Alas poor Lady, her Spirits are drown'd in Sorrow, and Grief hath stopt her breath; loosen her Garments, for she is swell'd with troubled Thoughts, her Passions lie on heaps, and so oppress life, it cannot stir, but makes her senceless.

Upon the loosing of her garments she revives, and cryes out.

Madam Passionate.

O my Husband, my Husband!

She swounds again.

Madam Iantil.

Bow her forward, bow her forward.

Madam Passionate revives again.

Madam Passionate.

O let me dye, let me dye, and bury, bury me with him.

Swounds again.

Madam Iantil.

Alas poor Lady, put her to Bed, for her life will find most case there.

The Servants goes out with Madam Passionate.

Madam Jantil alone.

Madam Iantil.

O life what art thou? and Death where doest thou lead us, or what dissolv'st thou us into?

Exeunt.