The Female Prelate being The History of the Life and Death of Pope Joan. A tragedy |
 | 1. |
| 2. |
| 2. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
 | The Female Prelate |  |
The Scene the Prison, which opening, discovers variety of Hereticks in several Tortures.
Heretick 1.
Oh for a Sword, a Dagger through my heart. Oh!
Her. 2.
Savage Tormenters, hold! oh!
[Groans.
Her. 3.
Barbarian Devils! oh!
Priest.
Peace Heretick, or I shall burn that Tongue out.
These lingring Torments are but lent in kindness
T'inure you for damnation.
Her. 3.
Tyrant Monsters.
Priest 1.
When your Apostacy from Truth and Heaven
Has light your scorching Souls, you'll find Hell hotter.
Enter the Duke of Saxony, brought in by Officers.
Sax.
Where am I brought. T' a Roman Prison. Death!
Is this the place! Hold, Minister of Horrour,
Why all this Cruelty?
Priest 1.
Ask when you feel it.
Sax.
Bold Slave; is this an answer for a Prince!
Priest 1.
Bold Prince, is this a question for a Priest?
A Prince! a Pigmey; poor gay fool examine
Your Circumstances, and this Place; and then
Ask who's the Slave, dull Dotard, thou or I.
Sax.
Traytor, I'll tear thy heart out.
[Offers at him.
Priest. 1.
Seize the Mad-man.
[They seize Saxony.
Nay, do not swagger; if you are so hot,
We'll cool you e'er we part.
Sax.
Gods! am I seiz'd
And braved by Rascals?
1 Priest.
Insolent Earth and Ashes,
Do you know who 'tis we are?
Sax.
Yes, Ruffains, wondrous well;
The Popes Edge-tools, the Armour of the Beast;
The scales and tail of that huge monstrous Hydra;
And whensoere his boyling Venome hisses,
You sting and kill: Ye rank infectious Limbs—
But, Gods! that I should stoop to scold with Villains!
Patience, if ever thou wert a Royal Vertue,
Keep in my Gall, and make my Rage burn inwards.
2 Priest.
Bold Lord, you take a wondrous Priviledge,
To talk thus rudely
To the Masters of your Fate. Think where you stand.
Sax.
Yes, Priest, in the Popes Shambles;
Yes, I am snared; now, Pope, thou hast me safe:
The scorn of Fortune, and the sport of Villains.
So when the Princely Lion's in the toil,
Each Cur dares bark at him.
Enter Lorenzo.
What makes him here? How! new Tormentors still!
Lor.
No, Royal Sir.—Leave us alone.
Exeunt all but Sax. and Lor.
Sax.
What now!
Speak, what new Storm? this Monster ne'er sails by,
But where the stream runs Bloud.
Lor.
No more that Monster.
Behold an humble Penitent at your feet.
Kneels.
Most injured Majesty, my trembling Soul
Droops at your fate.
Sax.
A very excellent Mask!
Lor.
Sir, to remove all thoughts
Of such Hypocrisie,—Bring in that Lady.
Angeline is brought in vail'd; which upon her entrance she pulls off.
Here be as happy as those Charms can make you.
Sax.
My sweetest Angeline!
Ang.
My Lord, my Life!
Sax.
Nay, Sir, talk on; perhaps thou mayst be honest,
Since these are thy Credentials.
Lor.
Yes, my Lord,
I am.
Sax.
Indeed thou shouldst be so; for sure
No treacherous hand could make me such a Present:
Yet I have had such wrongs, so much foul play,
That I mistrust the fairest Cast of Fortune;
And some new Plot may lurk even in these Arms.
Speak; is there Heav'n or Hell within this Circle?
Lor.
Heav'n, Sir, if she can give it you. By all
My hopes, I am your slave; my tyrant Lord,
The Popes Barbarity, and your hard fortunes, have so perfectly
Converted me, that as an expiation
Of my past Crimes, with hazard of my life,
I bring this Lady to your Arms.
Ang.
Nay, Sir,
If there be truth in Oaths, he has sworn so heartily,
That sure this pleasing Vision must be true.
Lor.
I must be brief; there's danger in my stay.
Know then, the cruel Pope my much-loath'd Master
Continues still almost inexorable;
Yet though you are lodged within this dismal Scene
Of Tyranny, I have prevail'd so far,
That no Barbarity t'your Royal Person
Shall here be offered you: Your freedom onely
Denied; and that's not in my pow'r to give:
And yet in time I hope t'obtain that too.
For by my Soul, if all my Art and Interest
Can serve you, I'll restore your clouded brightness
To all its lustre; and that too, without
Your least submission t'an unprincely thought,
Below the honour of the Duke of Saxony.
Sax.
Let me embrace this Miracle of Goodness.
This is so strangely kinde!
Enter Amiran.
Amir.
Oh, Sir, take heed!
A general Murmur runs thro' all the Princes Jaylours,
To know why you have broken their strict Orders,
And brought a Lady to their Royal Prisoner.
Ang.
And can there be that storm must part us now?
Lor.
Sir, though your Jaylours are too numerous
To be all bribed, and Faith in multitudes
Can never be reposed; yet I have found
One honest Priest amongst them: him I have made mine,
Made mine by gold; and though this fatal place
To this fair Guest is now forbidden ground,
And I must take her from you; yet at night,
A dark and safer hour,
By his assistance, through a private door,
This Page shall bring your Princess to your Bed.
Alas, this homely Palace does ill sute
Your Royal Joys; yet that Love will excuse:
And 'tis no little transport to my Soul,
That 'tis within my power to make you happy.
Sax.
Never did Friendship equal thine; thou best—
Lor.
Nay, Sir, no thanks; 'tis more than I deserve:
For the whole study of my life to serve you,
Is but th'atonement of my greater guilt.
But one thing, Sir, I had forgot to tell you:
Take heed that you are silent in your Loves;
For there are many dangerous Ears around you,
And a discovery may cost
Your loyal slave his head.
Sax.
Oh, fear not that.
Lor.
We must make haste, our danger calls us hence.
Ang.
Farewel, my dearest Lord.
Sax.
Till night, farewel.
Night, did I say? No, dazling Brightness, no;
Thy Sweets drive Sorrows, Pains, and Shades away:
And in thy Arms 'tis everlasting day.
Heretick 1.
Oh for a Sword, a Dagger through my heart. Oh!
Her. 2.
Savage Tormenters, hold! oh!
[Groans.
Her. 3.
Barbarian Devils! oh!
Priest.
Peace Heretick, or I shall burn that Tongue out.
These lingring Torments are but lent in kindness
T'inure you for damnation.
Her. 3.
Tyrant Monsters.
Priest 1.
When your Apostacy from Truth and Heaven
Has light your scorching Souls, you'll find Hell hotter.
Enter the Duke of Saxony, brought in by Officers.
Sax.
Where am I brought. T' a Roman Prison. Death!
Is this the place! Hold, Minister of Horrour,
Why all this Cruelty?
Priest 1.
Ask when you feel it.
Sax.
Bold Slave; is this an answer for a Prince!
Priest 1.
Bold Prince, is this a question for a Priest?
A Prince! a Pigmey; poor gay fool examine
Your Circumstances, and this Place; and then
Ask who's the Slave, dull Dotard, thou or I.
Sax.
Traytor, I'll tear thy heart out.
[Offers at him.
Priest. 1.
Seize the Mad-man.
[They seize Saxony.
Nay, do not swagger; if you are so hot,
We'll cool you e'er we part.
41
Gods! am I seiz'd
And braved by Rascals?
1 Priest.
Insolent Earth and Ashes,
Do you know who 'tis we are?
Sax.
Yes, Ruffains, wondrous well;
The Popes Edge-tools, the Armour of the Beast;
The scales and tail of that huge monstrous Hydra;
And whensoere his boyling Venome hisses,
You sting and kill: Ye rank infectious Limbs—
But, Gods! that I should stoop to scold with Villains!
Patience, if ever thou wert a Royal Vertue,
Keep in my Gall, and make my Rage burn inwards.
2 Priest.
Bold Lord, you take a wondrous Priviledge,
To talk thus rudely
To the Masters of your Fate. Think where you stand.
Sax.
Yes, Priest, in the Popes Shambles;
Yes, I am snared; now, Pope, thou hast me safe:
The scorn of Fortune, and the sport of Villains.
So when the Princely Lion's in the toil,
Each Cur dares bark at him.
Enter Lorenzo.
What makes him here? How! new Tormentors still!
Lor.
No, Royal Sir.—Leave us alone.
Exeunt all but Sax. and Lor.
Sax.
What now!
Speak, what new Storm? this Monster ne'er sails by,
But where the stream runs Bloud.
Lor.
No more that Monster.
Behold an humble Penitent at your feet.
Kneels.
Most injured Majesty, my trembling Soul
Droops at your fate.
Sax.
A very excellent Mask!
Lor.
Sir, to remove all thoughts
Of such Hypocrisie,—Bring in that Lady.
Angeline is brought in vail'd; which upon her entrance she pulls off.
Here be as happy as those Charms can make you.
Sax.
My sweetest Angeline!
Ang.
My Lord, my Life!
42
Nay, Sir, talk on; perhaps thou mayst be honest,
Since these are thy Credentials.
Lor.
Yes, my Lord,
I am.
Sax.
Indeed thou shouldst be so; for sure
No treacherous hand could make me such a Present:
Yet I have had such wrongs, so much foul play,
That I mistrust the fairest Cast of Fortune;
And some new Plot may lurk even in these Arms.
Speak; is there Heav'n or Hell within this Circle?
Lor.
Heav'n, Sir, if she can give it you. By all
My hopes, I am your slave; my tyrant Lord,
The Popes Barbarity, and your hard fortunes, have so perfectly
Converted me, that as an expiation
Of my past Crimes, with hazard of my life,
I bring this Lady to your Arms.
Ang.
Nay, Sir,
If there be truth in Oaths, he has sworn so heartily,
That sure this pleasing Vision must be true.
Lor.
I must be brief; there's danger in my stay.
Know then, the cruel Pope my much-loath'd Master
Continues still almost inexorable;
Yet though you are lodged within this dismal Scene
Of Tyranny, I have prevail'd so far,
That no Barbarity t'your Royal Person
Shall here be offered you: Your freedom onely
Denied; and that's not in my pow'r to give:
And yet in time I hope t'obtain that too.
For by my Soul, if all my Art and Interest
Can serve you, I'll restore your clouded brightness
To all its lustre; and that too, without
Your least submission t'an unprincely thought,
Below the honour of the Duke of Saxony.
Sax.
Let me embrace this Miracle of Goodness.
This is so strangely kinde!
Enter Amiran.
Amir.
Oh, Sir, take heed!
A general Murmur runs thro' all the Princes Jaylours,
To know why you have broken their strict Orders,
43
Ang.
And can there be that storm must part us now?
Lor.
Sir, though your Jaylours are too numerous
To be all bribed, and Faith in multitudes
Can never be reposed; yet I have found
One honest Priest amongst them: him I have made mine,
Made mine by gold; and though this fatal place
To this fair Guest is now forbidden ground,
And I must take her from you; yet at night,
A dark and safer hour,
By his assistance, through a private door,
This Page shall bring your Princess to your Bed.
Alas, this homely Palace does ill sute
Your Royal Joys; yet that Love will excuse:
And 'tis no little transport to my Soul,
That 'tis within my power to make you happy.
Sax.
Never did Friendship equal thine; thou best—
Lor.
Nay, Sir, no thanks; 'tis more than I deserve:
For the whole study of my life to serve you,
Is but th'atonement of my greater guilt.
But one thing, Sir, I had forgot to tell you:
Take heed that you are silent in your Loves;
For there are many dangerous Ears around you,
And a discovery may cost
Your loyal slave his head.
Sax.
Oh, fear not that.
Lor.
We must make haste, our danger calls us hence.
Ang.
Farewel, my dearest Lord.
Sax.
Till night, farewel.
Night, did I say? No, dazling Brightness, no;
Thy Sweets drive Sorrows, Pains, and Shades away:
And in thy Arms 'tis everlasting day.
| The Female Prelate | |