University of Virginia Library

SCENE I. The Castle.

Enter Turrington and Nevill.
Tur.
Affairs seem veering, and the Fane of Edward
Which hitherto has pointed to our wishes,
Is turn'd against us; out of what corner
Comes this blast of change? 'Tis sudden,
All are as hush as Murderers when escaping.
Privacy the waiting-womans Virtue is in use,
And the young Prince has left his darling Sports
For closer Studies.

Nevill.
'Tis odd, and we must arm against it, just now
I would have pass'd the Anti-Chamber,
And a Starch'd fellow grimly stop'd my Passage;
I ask'd the Knave by whose Authority
He barr'd my Entrance, he replied morosly
'Twas by my betters, and he would obey 'em;
Then I demanded if the Rascall knew me.

Tur.
What said he then?

Nevil.
He answer'd better then I knew my self,
Bid me return, there was no room for Scouts;
The ill-bred Dog had stood corrected,
Had not old Leicester, Berkley, Salisbury,
With buisy faces come into the Room;
To these he turn'd the Key, said they were staid for.

Tur.
These froward Peers Envy our Masters fortune,
Some of 'em have been faulty 'gainst the Queen,
For which they were forbid her Royall Presence,
And with a sulliness withdrew from Court:
What brings 'em hither now is worth enquiry,
Unsent for I am sure they did not come:
For March and they, like jarring Elements
Have Constant Enmity and must keep distance:
But see he comes, with him the Chancellor,
He glows, the Prelate made him wait,
And we shall hear how he resents his State.

[Exit.
Enter Mortimer and Chancellor.
Mort.
Must I attend your leisure, wait your hour,
And herd among your slaves, thou clod of earth,
Whom I have work't and moulded up to form,
And breath'd a Soul into?

Chan.
Why, my Lord, my Lord,

Mort.
Thou hast forgotten thy Originall;
When Pensive in a poor thatch'd homely Cell,
Lonely and Destitute as want could make thee;
No Wine nor Flesh to Nurse a loose desire;
Thy lust was more to food then woman then,
The Suns hot season scarce could taint thy bloud,
Or if it did thou crep'st to thy Turf-bed,
Which quickly damp'd the Carnall Exhalation.

Chan.
What will become of me?

Mort.
How wou'd'st thou bless the founder of a Loaf,
So needy thou would'st plunge the deep mired road,
To hold the Stirrup of a Passenger,
While with expecting eyes you watch'd his hand,
And with a face of sorrow begg'd relief.

Chan.
Do but hear me.

Mort.
Pittying thy abject State I took thee hence,
Cloath'd, fed and rais'd thy drooping Spirits up,
Plac'd thee where thou grew'st fat with saying Prayers,
But quickly found that Virtue was thy Burthen,
Thy Piety grew faint with Nourishment,
Thy Carcase was the hoard of Luxury,
Where each variety came tumbling in;
The profits of the Church thou still would'st glean,
But never did a moments duty for it,
Pick'd up a Mendicant of thy old Trade,
He was sufficient for the work of Heaven:
Your Clergy's grown so lazy with their wealth,
'Tis Drudgery if they Preach 'bove once a Year;
And if you'r Chose in Lent you call it thrashing,
Because you think there's nothing to be got;
Like Sheriffs then you had rather fine then stand.

Chan.

Your Lordship is pleas'd to be somewhat free with the Church,
if it knew you so sharp an observer, the Members of it would Contribute
towards your Removall.

Mort.
I rais'd thee, I preferr'd thee,
And as thou did'st improve in serving me
From all the vile necessities I've mention'd,
Advanc'd thee to the highest place of trust,
Exhalted thee from the Meager dregs of man,
To be a Saucy, Proud, Lacivious Prelate.

Chan.

Nay my Lord, I must confess you have done me many
signall favours, but I beseech you, however you Load my Person, have
a regard to my Function, Lacivious—revile me at your Pleasure, but
forbear Scandalizing the Gown, you may talk of what you please, and
my Gleaning the Profits of the Church, but what can be Glean'd out of
him that fasts four days a week, and when he does eat, takes no more
then what will Just keep Life and Soul together?

Mort.
'Tis false:
You pamper your varatious Appetites,
Indulge Prædominance to that degree,
You exceed the very Sultan of the East;
But with this Difference, he at vast expence
Keeps his Seraglio: you have all in Common,
Under the holy Covert of Confession:
You shrowd the Priest and Sanctify the Whore,
Did I not bolt upon your Rank Devotion:
And caught you acting Tarquin on Lucretia.

Chan.
I cou'd give him a rub of Majesty if I durst.
[aside

What A Censorious Age do we live in, that a man of my Cloathing cannot
press a Case of Conscience home to a Gentlewoman, but it must look
like force? But suppose I was doing what your Lordship said: I say,
suppose, why all flesh is frail—because we ought to be above temptation:
d'you think it possible to be so? We that are given to fasting Eat Fish,
and fish is of a Provoking Disgestion, and make the worst of what you
were saying, 'twas but veniall.

As the Casuists says,—I confess to Ravish is a heinous Crime
in the Sex that puts us to't, But if it raises their affections the more,
then it may be palliated; but as for simple Fornication, there's not a
Novice in any University or Colledge in Europe but is allow'd it, provided

it be used as the Cannon expresses—medicinally, and for healths sake.

Mort.
[gives a Paper.
The Chancellor mumbles as reading the Paper, Eyes Mortimer, at last speaks the suppos'd end.

Chan.
—By formall process.

Let Mountacute be speedily dispatch'd say you—is it thereabouts, I
perceive who has nettled him, and I must smart for't—but I have a fetch—
dispatch'd: ha dispatch'd!

Mort.
Why do you hesitate, I say dispatch'd,
Are you so squeamish you can't disgest the term?

Chan.

No my Lord, not I, but you ferrit me out of the few sences I
have—dispatch'd—murder'd—'tis not my profession—I will not
turn Cutthroat for any mans pleasure, if the lodging him in a Jayl for
his Life will serve so, if not—

Mort.

Away Trifler:

Chan.

I am confounded; why, you have no sooner done Chiding me
for a little humane frailty, but you hurry me on to a Crime with a
Vengeance.

Mort.

Do you make Scruples, let me but hear
Another Sillable that contradicts what I've decreed, and thou art lost
for ever—I will devest thee of thy Pageant-Greatness, expose thee as a
Sacrifice to'th' Rabble, and how they'l use thee thy Conscience best can
tell.

Chan.

The Devill's in him, I must submit, I have run my self like
Theeves, so far into ill company, that now I would reform, my associates
won't let me; my Lord I beseech you be not angry: I did this only
to sound the depth of your Lordships intentions, and since you are
resolv'd, he shall be dispatch'd—I have light on the rarest fellow, one
that will go through-stich in the Law, he must be a Judge.

Mort.

Who is it?

Chan.

Why Serjeant Either-side.

Mort.

That's a dull wretch;

Chan.

Ne're the worse for a Judge, they sleep half their Lives out—
but he has a vast assurance and tho' he cannot speak much to the purpose
he has rare lungs, and will let no man be heard but himself.

Mort.

Well, work him, and make him what you will:

Chan.

I was born to serve your honour, I will retrieve your favour,
tho' it be by turning executioner my self, and for this fellow he'l prove
the miracle of the Bench as to your use, and will truss up your enemies
with as little regret as a Farmer does the Moles which molest his
Ground—it shall be done my Lord.

[Exit
Mort.

This fellow came from Proteus, the Camelion change not faster.
Enter Turrington and Nevill.
How now, your business:

Turr.
'Tis of Importance, stand upon your guard,
For Berkly, Salisbury, and many others
Who not long since were banish'd from the Court,
Are now with Edward close Lock'd up with him.

Mor.
Ha!

Nev.
By heav'ns 'tis true, we saw 'em enter:
We would have follow'd 'em, but were deny'd,
Nay order'd to retire—and the out-Courts
Are fill'd with rough-hew'd slaves who guard the Lords.

Mort.
Withdraw to my Apartment, I'le come presently;
How's this, so Cunning Boy, Damnation:
[Ex. Tur. Nev.
Salisbury, Berkly and Exeter, I warrant too are there:
Are ye upon the Catch my Polititians?
That Exeter's the Devill for a Statesman, and
Must be the Guide o'th Councill too or nothing:
The subtle Fiend has Left and sought more parties
Then all the Cabinet Pack shuffled together:
He was for us but faulter'd when he found
My Interest Greater in the Queen then his;
He had rather be the foreman of a Jury
Then second in the Councill of four hundred:
Why Salisbury and he were ever foes,
Constantly Jealous of each others greatness,
And tho' they both have liked each others measures,
Still Contradiction was their practic'd spight.
But in this Cause 'tis probable they'l Joyn,
And to secure it give their spleen Cessation:
What's to be thought on?

Enter Queen.
Queen.
What always musing, ever melancholly,
Beware of the infection, none so wretched
As those whom Jealousy and Doubts possess:

Mort.
But Madam, mine's a subject calls for thought,
No vain Chymæra but a just occasion,
Nevill and Turrington have brought advice,
And I am sorry I must tell it you;
Those saucy Peers who villifyed your Crown
Not sparing Censure of your private Actions,
Are giving vile instructions to your Son;
Learning the Plyant Youth how he may shake
The fetters of Obedience off betimes,
While eagerly he listens to the Charm,
And smiles to hear himself saluted King.

Queen.
Is't possible?

Mort.
Be you the Judge, for you it most concerns,
Since Delamore has whistled to this Sterlin,
All his Apartments have been closely kept,
New waiters plac'd, those you put in discharg'd;
Lest they might do their duty and inform,
Tell me (my Royall Mistress) can you bear
The hand of Limitation, or Controle,
Can you with ease resign the Glorious Throne
Into the hands of Salisbury and Leicester?

Queen.
Distraction's in the Thought—

Mort.
Can she Obey who allways did Command?
Can she Retire who ever liv'd in splendour?
Nay thought the world too scanty for her Greatness,
Accept a Private Pension, small attendance,
And live by him whose Soul from hers took being,
Whilst I must to their long-grown malice bow,
Which their believing Life must be a plague,
Will give it me on Scandalous Conditions;
Nay blush not Madam, this must all be done,
And more when these be Edwards Governours:

Queen.
That ne're shall be, and Isabella Living:
Be thou as once when Spencer Gaveston
The minions of my husband did attempt,
To Curb my Will, and I defy 'em all,
No March, If I for Love could give him death,
Think'st thou this Feeble spawn his slender ofspring
(Bred when I wish'd a Barrenness upon me
So Irksome and insipid was the Pleasure)
That he shall baulk the measures of my Soul.

Mort.
She fires:

Queen.
Can the froward Chitt believe because my Son
I'de still him with a play thing call'd my Crown,
And live my self on Curtesy of state:
The Fragments of the Grandure I had left
Perish ten Sons e're such a fit possess me.

Mort.
There spoke a Queen; this is true Majesty,
Appear and like the Planet of the day,
Disperse these sullen Fogs which Cloud your Lustre,
Since Delamore and Holland, Exeter, and the rest
Have Soar'd like Icarus beyond their bounds,
Their waxen wings shall melt in thy Bright beams,
Finding i'th floods reward for their Ambition.

Queen.
They fall my Mortimer, they sink for ever,
I'le visit streight these close Conspirators,
Who think themselves so hush'd in their designs;
As for this Rebell-Son he's a disease,
And I will purge the venome from my blood,
As if a Leprosy had compass'd me;
I will have no Competitors in Power,
If in the Fathers time I rul'd alone,
I'le never yield that honour to the Son:
Hard shall he tugg if he will have the sway,
And if at last 'tis forc't and Rack't away,
As I shall scorn the Conquest to out-live,
This shall a Period to his Triumph give.
[Shews a Dagger
[Exit Queen.