University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Enter Lerma and the Confessor.
Ler.
Nay, I am not very pious;
And yet I hardly think it will be call'd
A holy thought.

Con.
By whom?

Ler.
The Multitude.

Confess.
Oh I confess, you have a long time striv'd
With mighty Care to please their giddiness.

Ler.
She is my Daughter.

Confess.
The fitter then to save her Father.
Is't not more piety for such a Cause
To lose her honour, then her own Appetite;
And she perhaps may do like other Women.

Ler.
You have confirm'd me now to be that thing,
I faintly wist before; were all the Honours
Of my dead Ancestors, Lock't up in this Casket
It shu'd be thus broke up; But you must now,
Soften her squeamish Coyness; you may tell her,
The Mistriss of a King, is half a Saint,
For she'le be worshipt; and with her selfe
She Raises up her Father to his wishes.
Now, by my hopes, I speak Ingeniously,
You have a fine, large text, to Preach upon:
And I will second you, and add new motives,
Hugging her Sin, and bless her for offending,
See the Sedan is come.

A Sedan carried by four Mores, Caldroon attending, pass over the Stage.
Con.
Dispatch the slaves away, before
You do unload the Chair.

Cal.
I understand you.

Lerm.
There go the Spells must catch the King:
And now if Love have power, or Womens Eyes
Can shoot a flame into a Sovereigns heart,
I shall grow warm agen; by standing by.
If these plots faile, I'le raise another Spirit
Shall keep my Enemies from Rest.

Conf.
Swell not too soon above your banks,
And so betray the head of all your springs:
We will not fail what fate so e're oppose us.

Ler.
Nobly resolv'd;
But have you found the humours of the King?

Conf.
Yes, I have trac'd an easie nature in him,
But too much fixt, to one unhappy vertue.
His temper is too gentle for our business,
And would be rather cruel to himself
Then unto others; for if prest to Justice
I finde a pitty hangs upon his heart
Like gentle dew that cooles all cruel passions.
Such a smooth heart as his, will sooner take
Impression of a figure then a Rough one.
In his soft nature Love's prepar'd to grow,
When faire Marias Eyes, their sun-beams show.

Ler.
Thou hast now made my hopes so strong
That I dare lean upon 'em: farewell,
If we but prosper now; not we on fate
But she on us, shall for direction waite.

Exeunt.