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Their long-eared assembly
Truth is, how much the more, at first,
We are so much the more accurst,
How like you
Anar. 'Tis an excellent song, yfaith; Shall I, Mr. Moneyless, crave a copy of it?
Mon. Both I and it are at your service.
Anar. Come, Mr. Moneyless, 'tis almost dinner-time, time was you welcomed me; 'tis fit I should be grateful; come wife.
Exeunt Anar. Priscilla, manet Mon. Did I e'er think that want should so oppress me, that I should be constrained to wait on this man for a dinner?
Yet, of my wants, how dare I so complain?
Whom yet I'll not despair to see plac'd in his throne, his crown on's head,
Recorders, a Consistory of the Presbytery; then enter Directory, Sargus, Luxurio, after them, with officers, Liturgy, Dipwell afar off.
Direct. BRING forth those weeds of shame-apparel him. [4coat of sackloth brought out.]
Litur. I hope I shall have licence for to speak.
Direct. Not a syllable; 'tis known thou art by name and nature an enemy to our government, and hast avouch'd it to be tyrannous; saying, that Scotland, by their policy in bringing their church-form amongst us, do put assassinate our monarchy, thirsting to be our lords, all which here openly recant, or we'll surrender thee.
Litur. I recant, ye Cacodemons; hear me, and mark,
First, leathern swains shall plow amid the sky,
Before I change my settled constant mind,
Sha'nt make me stoop to such base fools as you,
Sarg. He raves: Sir, these loose words will but augment your sorrow in the end; do you know where you are?
Litur. Very well, lecherous Sargus, better than thou knowest to be honest.
Direct. Stop his mouth, were ever heard speeches so desperate? Dare you, before this holy convocation, to prate so peremptorily? Litur. Dare you, ye sots, assume unto yourselves the name of holy? Methinks your cheeks should, knowing you to blame, Out-blush the crimson of your gowns for shame;
You are more cruel than the crocodile,
That mangles Memphians on the banks of Nile;
Lux. Venerable fathers, this is unsufferable; if with audaciousness you thus dispense, hereafter never look to be reverenc'd, but to be scorn'd and laugh'd at.
Direct. Satan hath sure inspired him; bring forth the engine; support him up. [The stool of repentance brought forth, contrived in the fashion of a pulpit, covered over with black. Litur. He that lays hand on me, encounters death.
[Plucks forth a dagger. Direct. Hear then your sentence: Since you deny to be a penitent, we here confiscate all is yours, to be employ'd for pious uses, yourself within three days for to depart the land, and never to return, on pain of death; this is your doom, and now break up the court.
[Exeunt. Litur. O my mild judges, you shew your pity and your piety; your utmost wrath can't hurt my inward man, I there am still the same, and not exil'd.
Guilt sorrow, shame, horror attend you still,
And let wild Ate lead you where she will.
Dipw. Heaven keep me stedfast to my principles, Is this a limb of the presbytery?
Direct. Yes; but his merits make him fit to be lopped off, for it; Who could be infected worse than they are?
Dipw You hear your sentence, will you depart the land?
Litur. No, I'll not forsake my native soil upon such slender grounds, I'll live a while in private; I know an independent army will crop presbytery in the bud, and break this bed of snakes, the only way that now is visible for to repair my breaches; O thou etern, the true almighty Jove, suffer not innovations to go on, to bring this kingdom to destruction; but why, alas, do I now talk of Jove ?
For now, alas! no Jupiter is found,
But in all lands Pluto a God is crown'd.
MEET, meet, and kiss,
And girt each others waist,
Enter the two elders, Sargus and Luxurio, singing.
Sarg. NOW sable night hath with her ebon robe
And let us in embraces spend the night.
[Six whores put forth on two beds, three on a bed, musick, they rise and dance
with the two elders.
Until the night be past.
All day, must sport at night.
Twill heighten appetite.
Sarg. Those three are thine, these mine, let's to't
Like monkies, or the reeking goat.
[They ascend each on a several bed, and are drawn in.
Enter Priscilla sola.
Prisc. Methinks the hours fly not with winged haste as they were wont, or is't the expectation of my love, that makes the night seem tedious; my heart extremely throbs, methinks the walls seem as wash'd o'er with blood; 'tis my fantasy, thought, like a subtle juggler, makes us see things that really are not; there's something in me whispers fatal
things, and tells me 'tis not safe to sleep betwixt my lover's arms to-
For, when the flesh is nuzzled once in vice,
O you are welcome, Sir.
Direct. Worthy of all love's joys, Hast thou not blamed my tardy stay? Thou art most certain, sure, thy husband is far off; if he should take me with thee, his jealousy and wrath might prompt him to strange actions.
Prisc. I have not the least fear of his approach.
Direct. Come then, my Ptixdra, and let us taste those joys thy hus band is unworthy of.
Directory and Priscilla put forth in a bed, both sleeping.
Enter Anarchy, with a torch.
Anar. TITAN to the Antipodes is gone,
To luminate another horizon:
'Tis now dead midnight, Morpheus, death's eldest brother,
Of these two creatures made of impudence;
O woman, woman, who art compounded of all ill, I durst have pawned my soul, this wife of mine had harboured a soul as white as the Alpine snow; but she is ulcerous and deformed. Who knows how often they have met and wallowed in their active sweats? What woman may be trusted?
Lust is a subtle syren, ever training
Wanting no craft her cunning sire hath taught her:
Twin'd in the body of man's living tree,
Man's heart of flesh converts, if he have one,
Damn'd strumpet, have I ta'en you with your lecher?
But I prolong their lives, and tire the ferry-man with expectation.— Stay, it is not wisdom to cope with two that struggle for their lives.— these are the bonds of death. [Ties them to the bed.] So awake, you Justful pair. [They awake.
Direct. Ha!-we are undone.
Anar. Yes, Directory, e're winged time add one hour more to this declining night, thou shalt be numbered with the dead.
Direct. O my unhappy fate!
Prisc. Dear husband, spare our lives, and then inflict what punishment thou wilt.
Anar. O my fine Directory, camest thou from Scotland hither to cheat us out of our religion, our lives, our king; and, covering thy ills with virtue's cloke, act even those crimes, which but to hear them named would fright the cannibals? And shall we not strive to circumvent thee?
Direct. I pray, hear me, Sir.
Anar. Hath guilt emboldened so thy mind, that thou darest view my face, and speak?
Prisc. Sir, I confess, my crime cannot be expiated, but with blood; but, if mild pity harbour in your breast, I do implore your mercy.
Anar. Peace, vile strumpet; thou mayest as well attempt to scale the heavens, and ride on the sun-beams, as strive with talk to mitigate. my fury, and stay the course of my revenge; but first, good Directory, I will stab you by the book, and torture you, not opening a vein.
Dumb Shew, Solemn Musick.
One, representing Directory, accompanied with a rabble in the habit of elders, running as flying from soldiers, who pursue them with their swords drawn.
Did you behold the pageant; great Babylon is fallen; an English army hath extirpated presbytery, root and branch; the elders may, in Scotland, court Susanna, here are too many Daniels to sift them; and now, Sir, you must go, but not to Scotland; that's but purgatory; yet where you'll find many blue bonnets more, I mean to hell. Thus I dismiss thy soul.
Direct. Hold, Sir, and, e're you send my soul to wander in the invisible land, hear what I now shall utter: By heaven and earth, and him that made them both, I ne'er was guilty, not in thought, till this dire hour, of the defiling of your marriage bed.
Anar. Dost think, dull fool, that all thy protestations, thy heav'd up hands and sighs, were they as numerous as the sand hid in the Baltick sea, should raise my heart for to relent? No, in thy death England gathers life, whose happiness I wish: Thus for it work.
[Stabs him with a ponyard. Direct. O! thou hast op'd a flood-gate, which will not close, till my heart-blood is drain'd.
Prics. If thou wer't born of woman, spare my life.
Anar. O thou luxurious strumpet, hath not thy guilt, or fear, bereft thy tongue of utterance? Methinks thou should'st, when thinking on thy fact, convert to stone, and save my hand a labour to send thee to another world. There, strumpet. [Stabs her.