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 ph[oe]nix.

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.

CLE. Pardon me, madam, this mirth's a liberty; your cousin doth allow me. Here comes your father.

[PINDARUS _whispers with_ ERGASTO: _he speaks to_ HERMIONE.

PIN. How long is't you have undertaken to be your own disposer?

HER. Sir!

PIN. After my cares had sought you out a man that brings all blessings that the world calls happy, you must refuse him!

HER. Sir, I have taken an oath.

PIN. I know the priest that gave it. Do you not blush, being so young, to know how to distinguish the difference of desires! And this so wildly, that you will put off your obedience rather than lose one that you dare not say hath interest in you; but by my hopes of rest, I'll use the power custom and nature give me to force you to your happiness.

_Enter_ LYSICLES.

LYS. How now, my lord? What miracle can raise a tempest here, where so much beauty reigns?

PIN. My lord, you are not practised in the cares of fathers: I thought to have seen this gentleman my son to-morrow; and she does refuse him. But----

LYS. It must not be; pardon me, virtue, that I begin an act will set a stain upon my blushing brow. Yet I must thorough. Lord Pindarus, my fortunes 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 th' earth, I could not cast my face upwards to hope a blessing; the cause you are perfect in.

PIN. 'Tis a noble sorrow; but your deep melancholy gives it too large a growth.

LYS. Thus all do press it; yet had my grief relation only to myself, I would not part them from; my heart and memory they justly do possess. But my father hath no more issue save myself, for to confer his name and fortunes on.

PIN. Our Greece would mourn if such a glorious stock should end in the most flourishing branch.

LYS. If you do wish it a continuance, 'tis in your power to make it last to ages. Since my Milesia's death, I have not loved a lady equal with your Hermione; in her I hope to lose my swollen misfortunes, and find out a joy that may extinguish them. 'Tis 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 myself his rival--perchance you would believe me if I had said, he no way doth deserve her.

PIN. Where you pretend, who can? But heaven, that designed a blessing to my child, it had been pride to hope for, hath made her still averse to his pretences; but giving her the liberty of refusing, I know he is removed.

LYS. Thus then to-morrow I'll wait on you. Ladies, I am your servant. [_Exit._

PIN. My Lord Ergasto, you see with how much candour I have embraced your love; yet, though I do put on a father's strictness in my daughter's presence, I cannot force her to an act whereon for ever will depend her happiness. My house shall still be open to you as my heart. My business calls me, get you home; your servant. [_Exit_ PINDARUS.

CLE. Ergasto, my Lord Ergasto, what, have you left your tongue with your heart?

ERG. Is she not strangely fair?

CLE. You'll not believe me if I should say the contrary.

ERG. D'ye think that there are such faces in Elysium?

CLE. I'm sure many better go t'other way, if they be not marred in the voyage. But do you remember where you are to meet with Phormio?

ERG. Nor anything else; her beauty makes me forget all things that has no reference to it.

CLE. Heyday! if within these two hours you do not forget the cause of this forgetfulness, I'll be an eunuch. What, if the prince should be your rival? I cannot tell, but my Lord Pindarus on a sudden fell from his anger to his daughter to a ceremony to you might be suspected.

ERG. 'Tis a fear that makes me tremble.

CLE. Courage, man! If you have not lost your memory, your remedy is certain. There are more handsome faces will recompense this loss. Let us meet Phormio. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[351] [_i.e._, The _wound_ not being, &c.]

[352] [This is the second scene of Act i., though not so marked. The entrance of Lysicles, with his page and torch, was in dumb-show, the tomb having been apparently placed in the back of the stage while the curtain was drawn.]

[353] [Old copy, _any of_.]

[354] [Fork, Fr. _fourchure_.]

[355] [He must be supposed, from the preceding direction, to have been in the back of the stage.]