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 third Scene is the Duke of Saxony's Bed-chamber within the Prison.
Enter Saxony in his Night-gown, as newly risen from Bed.
Sax.
Good Heav'n! what misty damp disturbs my sleep?
Sulphur and Pitch? What poysonous smoaky stench
Offends my aking Eyes?
Within.
Fire! fire! fire!
Sax.
Horrour and Death! the place is all on fire!
Awake, my Angeline, look up, and see
Danger and Death surround us.
Within.
Fire! fire! fire!
Pope.
[starting out of bed.]
Hell and Perdition! what misfortune's here!
Sax.
By Heav'ns, we are almost circled in with flames!
And the doors lockt, fast barr'd.
Knocking to get out.
Jaylours, Priests, Torturers!
Open the door, make haste, or we shall perish.
Within. [From several voices.]
1.
Fire!
2.
Plots and Treason!
3.
Bar the Gates: secure
The Prisoners, let 'em burn, rather than flie.
Sax.
The Flames increase, and we are pent in with Ruine.
Unlock the door; deaf harden'd Devils, hear us.
Knocking.
Open the door, make haste, or else we die.
Within.
Die, and be damn'd.
2.
Fire! Water!
Sax.
Oh my dear Angeline, we are betray'd:
A strange prophetick horrour tells my Soul
That we are mew'd up for sacrifice.
The Ghost of the old Duke of Saxony rises with a burning Taper in his hand.
Look, look!
Here the Ghost with his Taper touches a train of fire above him, which immediately writes upon the Wall, in Capital letters in a bloudy fire, the word MURDER; which continues burning some time.
My Angeline, my Royal Father's Ghost!
See Murder, Murder! Oh the voice of Bloud!
Stay, stay, thou Royal Harbinger of Fate.
The Ghost sinks.
Oh, Angeline, the hand of Heaven's against us.
Pope.
Adored dear Devil, save me but this once.
[aside.] kneels.
Sax.
That murder'd sleeping Shade wakes from Deaths arms
To call us to his own untimely Grave.
Now, Pope, thou and thy black Colleagues of Hell,
Compleat their impious Vengeance.
Pope.
Aside.
By all that's damn'd, I am lost: This Messenger
Of Hell was sent for me.
Cut off thus early! Oh the senseless Devil,
Thus to play Booty 'gainst himself!
Mistaken, dull infernal fools, I have not yet
Sate long enough on Rome's Imperial Throne
To do you half the service of a Pope.
Sax.
Witness, good Heav'n, for my own life I fear not;
But thy hard fate torments my bleeding Soul.
If we must burn, thus arm in arm we'll die.
Embracing.
Speak to thy Love; why speaks not my dear Angeline?
There needs no silence in our Kisses now.
Pope.
Aside.
Ruin'd! betray'd! undone! If I but speak,
He'll find my Screech-owl's voice; and if he sees me,
He'll know my fatal face, and tear my throat out.
Speak or not speak, I burn, if there be God's
Curse on your blazing Thrones. No Ditch-born Hag
Was ever doom'd to such a fate as I am.
By Hell, I scorch already: Fire and Ætna!
Traytors, Priests, Monsters.
Here, open the door.
Knocking.
Sax.
Ha!
Pope.
Now could I part with all my Keys of Heav'n,
But for one Picklock to these Iron-bars.
[aside.
Make haste, ye tardy Dogs, here's Gold to pay you.
Still deaf, ye slaves! a Jewel worth a Kingdom,
To bribe you for a Key!
Sax.
Ravens and Vultures!
Pope.
I cannot, dare not burn. Dull drowsie Villains—
Sax.
What art thou? speak, infernal Fiend, what art thou?
seizing her.
Speak, Succubus, what Gibbet hast thou robb'd
For that loath'd form, to stain my sacred Bed,
And damn my cheated Soul!
Pope.
Inquire no farther;
I will not speak.
Sax.
Speak, or I will tear thy Soul out.
Pope.
Save your own.
Flie, or we burn.
Enter Priests and Lights.
Sax.
By Heav'ns, the very form
Of my dead Father's Poysoner!
1 Priest.
What's here!
2 Priest.
A Whore!
3 Priest.
A Whore!
Sax.
Oh, Gentlemen, secure that Hag, that Sorceress;
The very Witch that light this Fatal Fire,
And brought the Brand from her own Hell to kindle it.
4 Priest.
The Lady I had three hundred Crowns to Bawd for,
And her Protection may be worth three thousand.
1 Priest.
Take her, and burn the Witch.
Pope.
O save me! save me!
4 Priest.
Hold, Brothers, let me answer for this Lady:
She is my Mistriss and my Charge; and with
My Bloud I'll justifie her Innocence.
Pope.
Good, pious, honest, tender-hearted Father,
This Diamond speak my thanks.
Gives him a Ring.
1 Priest.
A Bona Roba.
2 Priest.
One of our Brothers friends! nay, then all's well.
3 Priest.
An honest Girl of yours? that name protects her.
Sax.
Protect her! how! protect the greatest Traytress
That ere disgraced a Jayl, or shamed a Gibbet.
Secure her, seize her.
4 Priest.
Stop that mad mans mouth;
I'll stake my life to vindicate this Lady.
1 Priest.
Enough, enough; fie, let the Lady pass.
2 Priest.
Madam, your slaves.
3 Priest.
Make room there for this Lady.
Pope.
Ten thousand Saints reward you for this kindness.
1 Priest.
We are your Vassals.
Ushering her to the door.
2 Priest.
Madam, your faithful Servants.
Pope.
Such an Escape, kind Fate—
Exit, led out by her friend the fourth Priest.
Sax.
Horrour unspeakable!
What Monster has this night slept in my arms?
Do I live, speak, move, walk? Is yon your Heav'n,
Your Earth I tread on, or your Air I breath in?
And is this load of Nature Flesh and Bloud?
Or is it all a Dream, or am I chang'd
To some incarnate Devil, doom'd to walk
Deaths burning plains, converse with Imps and Goblins,
Tread the dark Mazes of eternal night,
And sleep with Hags and Succubas.
Oh the vast Feavour of my burning Bloud!
Some Ocean quench me, or some Mountain swallow me.
Not Christian slaves, wrapt up in Pitch, and light
Like burning Tapers to the Savage Nero,
Not Hercules in his invenom'd shirt,
Nor Lucifer at his first plunge in Hell,
Felt half the Fires my raging Entrails swell.
Exeunt.
Enter Saxony in his Night-gown, as newly risen from Bed.
Sax.
Good Heav'n! what misty damp disturbs my sleep?
Sulphur and Pitch? What poysonous smoaky stench
Offends my aking Eyes?
Within.
Fire! fire! fire!
Sax.
Horrour and Death! the place is all on fire!
Awake, my Angeline, look up, and see
Danger and Death surround us.
Within.
Fire! fire! fire!
Pope.
[starting out of bed.]
Hell and Perdition! what misfortune's here!
Sax.
By Heav'ns, we are almost circled in with flames!
And the doors lockt, fast barr'd.
Knocking to get out.
Jaylours, Priests, Torturers!
Open the door, make haste, or we shall perish.
Within. [From several voices.]
1.
Fire!
2.
Plots and Treason!
3.
Bar the Gates: secure
The Prisoners, let 'em burn, rather than flie.
Sax.
The Flames increase, and we are pent in with Ruine.
Unlock the door; deaf harden'd Devils, hear us.
Knocking.
Open the door, make haste, or else we die.
Within.
Die, and be damn'd.
2.
Fire! Water!
Sax.
Oh my dear Angeline, we are betray'd:
50
That we are mew'd up for sacrifice.
The Ghost of the old Duke of Saxony rises with a burning Taper in his hand.
Look, look!
Here the Ghost with his Taper touches a train of fire above him, which immediately writes upon the Wall, in Capital letters in a bloudy fire, the word MURDER; which continues burning some time.
My Angeline, my Royal Father's Ghost!
See Murder, Murder! Oh the voice of Bloud!
Stay, stay, thou Royal Harbinger of Fate.
The Ghost sinks.
Oh, Angeline, the hand of Heaven's against us.
Pope.
Adored dear Devil, save me but this once.
[aside.] kneels.
Sax.
That murder'd sleeping Shade wakes from Deaths arms
To call us to his own untimely Grave.
Now, Pope, thou and thy black Colleagues of Hell,
Compleat their impious Vengeance.
Pope.
Aside.
By all that's damn'd, I am lost: This Messenger
Of Hell was sent for me.
Cut off thus early! Oh the senseless Devil,
Thus to play Booty 'gainst himself!
Mistaken, dull infernal fools, I have not yet
Sate long enough on Rome's Imperial Throne
To do you half the service of a Pope.
Sax.
Witness, good Heav'n, for my own life I fear not;
But thy hard fate torments my bleeding Soul.
If we must burn, thus arm in arm we'll die.
Embracing.
Speak to thy Love; why speaks not my dear Angeline?
There needs no silence in our Kisses now.
Pope.
Aside.
Ruin'd! betray'd! undone! If I but speak,
He'll find my Screech-owl's voice; and if he sees me,
He'll know my fatal face, and tear my throat out.
Speak or not speak, I burn, if there be God's
Curse on your blazing Thrones. No Ditch-born Hag
Was ever doom'd to such a fate as I am.
By Hell, I scorch already: Fire and Ætna!
Traytors, Priests, Monsters.
Here, open the door.
Knocking.
51
Ha!
Pope.
Now could I part with all my Keys of Heav'n,
But for one Picklock to these Iron-bars.
[aside.
Make haste, ye tardy Dogs, here's Gold to pay you.
Still deaf, ye slaves! a Jewel worth a Kingdom,
To bribe you for a Key!
Sax.
Ravens and Vultures!
Pope.
I cannot, dare not burn. Dull drowsie Villains—
Sax.
What art thou? speak, infernal Fiend, what art thou?
seizing her.
Speak, Succubus, what Gibbet hast thou robb'd
For that loath'd form, to stain my sacred Bed,
And damn my cheated Soul!
Pope.
Inquire no farther;
I will not speak.
Sax.
Speak, or I will tear thy Soul out.
Pope.
Save your own.
Flie, or we burn.
Enter Priests and Lights.
Sax.
By Heav'ns, the very form
Of my dead Father's Poysoner!
1 Priest.
What's here!
2 Priest.
A Whore!
3 Priest.
A Whore!
Sax.
Oh, Gentlemen, secure that Hag, that Sorceress;
The very Witch that light this Fatal Fire,
And brought the Brand from her own Hell to kindle it.
4 Priest.
The Lady I had three hundred Crowns to Bawd for,
And her Protection may be worth three thousand.
1 Priest.
Take her, and burn the Witch.
Pope.
O save me! save me!
4 Priest.
Hold, Brothers, let me answer for this Lady:
She is my Mistriss and my Charge; and with
My Bloud I'll justifie her Innocence.
Pope.
Good, pious, honest, tender-hearted Father,
This Diamond speak my thanks.
Gives him a Ring.
1 Priest.
A Bona Roba.
2 Priest.
One of our Brothers friends! nay, then all's well.
3 Priest.
An honest Girl of yours? that name protects her.
52
Protect her! how! protect the greatest Traytress
That ere disgraced a Jayl, or shamed a Gibbet.
Secure her, seize her.
4 Priest.
Stop that mad mans mouth;
I'll stake my life to vindicate this Lady.
1 Priest.
Enough, enough; fie, let the Lady pass.
2 Priest.
Madam, your slaves.
3 Priest.
Make room there for this Lady.
Pope.
Ten thousand Saints reward you for this kindness.
1 Priest.
We are your Vassals.
Ushering her to the door.
2 Priest.
Madam, your faithful Servants.
Pope.
Such an Escape, kind Fate—
Exit, led out by her friend the fourth Priest.
Sax.
Horrour unspeakable!
What Monster has this night slept in my arms?
Do I live, speak, move, walk? Is yon your Heav'n,
Your Earth I tread on, or your Air I breath in?
And is this load of Nature Flesh and Bloud?
Or is it all a Dream, or am I chang'd
To some incarnate Devil, doom'd to walk
Deaths burning plains, converse with Imps and Goblins,
Tread the dark Mazes of eternal night,
And sleep with Hags and Succubas.
Oh the vast Feavour of my burning Bloud!
Some Ocean quench me, or some Mountain swallow me.
Not Christian slaves, wrapt up in Pitch, and light
Like burning Tapers to the Savage Nero,
Not Hercules in his invenom'd shirt,
Nor Lucifer at his first plunge in Hell,
Felt half the Fires my raging Entrails swell.
Exeunt.
| The Female Prelate | |