University of Virginia Library

ACT. II.

Scene I.

Enter Maria, and the Confessor following her.
Maria.
Is this Divinity? Defend me heaven!

Conf.
Sweet Lady hear me.

Maria.
Go preach thy heresies, to toads and serpents,
Or to the Sun-burnt-Indians, whose Devotion,
Is paid to that which thou woudst have me be
A Devil.

Conf.
Pray Madam be not so Loud, you may be heard.

Maria.
Wou'd my Soules stormes, cou'd raise my voice
Loud as the Oceans Raving; that the fool'd world
May know what dangerous Couzenage may lie hid
Under such holy shapes.

Conf.
Is this my Recompence?

Maria!
Oh Monstrous!
Thou Exquisite Exceeder of Impieties,
That dost Expect a Recompence from Sin,
Perhaps 'tis all your Trades with Cheating Zeale,
To teare your Jawes, and stretch your throates, to hoarsness,
To Raise poor People to a fond beliefe,
The easier to o'rethrow their new built faith;
When such as you but Laugh at what you taught;
Such a Destroyer now of all mankinde
Art thou black homicide.

Conf.
Homicide?
Who whispers to a Storme, may be o'rewhelm'd
But never heard; I wish'd you to the King,
And something with it, of a holier name
Then what you Rave at, but farewell.

Mar.
—Stay Father—
What this? A holier name?—
You or I Rave indeed.

Conf.
Yes, and perhaps may warm your coldness,
The name of Queen, Will that yet take Impression?

Mar.
No—I am as chast to that as to the other,
Ambition has its Lust, as well as Love.

Con.
You give too course a name to great Attempts,
And blast our honours, with the care of yours,
You may be Rais'd, unto your Princes bed,
And clime by your obedience to his throne,
Led by your Love, and not Ambition.

Mar.
These are large thoughts—but the Queen.—

Conf.
Forget her, she is in her wayne.

Mar.
Ha! there is no safety while she is alive.

Conf.
Nothings unsafe to thee but unbelief,
Thy Father got thy honour, and thy life,
And will not murder either: take my advise,
And for the Rest—see—your Father.

Enter Lerma
Ler.
Tell me holy Father, is it Idolatry
To pay Devotion to those Glorious Eyes,
And call them Lights Divine? they are my Stars,
Since their Bright Influence must direct my fate,
My growth of Life, and Fortune must depend
Upon their warmth, whose power must fetter pow'r,
And Majesty it self Learn to obey.

Mar.
What meanes my honour'd Father?

Ler.
Call me not Father, I must take life from thee
And from thy Suns, like growing fruit be Ripen'd.

Mar.
This is strange, to me Sir.

Ler.
Ha! Have you not wrought her?

Conf.
I have us'd my utmost art; and tempted her
With the name of Queen—but—

Ler.
You are dull: I thought your profession
Had been more subtile in these practises;
Leave us a Little—
(Exit Confessor.
Has not your Confessor, my best Maria,
Acquainted you with my designes?

Mar.
He told me something Sir had an ill sound,
But may be 'twas his piety to try me,
It was not his Religion sure to tempt me?

Ler.
Tempt you? to what? to a Kings Love,
Perhaps his Throne; Call your own niceness folly,
And not his Love, and Care Impiety.

Mar.
My Mother, Sir, upon her Deathbed, charg'd me
(when her Acquaintance grew so great with Heaven,)
That I shou'd still be chast; chast to all Appetites,
Call'd pride, the Dropsie of Infected soules,
That swell'd 'em first, then burst 'em.

Ler.
Your Mother was for t'other World
When she preacht thus, but I am yet for this;
And I must leave it in a hurry, unless thy power
Stops the fierce whirlwinde that is just now ready
To wrap me into nothing—

Mar.
Heaven defend my Father.

Ler.
Amen, but you must help; it was
On purpose that Heaven made thee faire,
To save thy Father.

Mar.
I hope there is no danger near you?

Ler.
Nothing but Death, or Banishment;
Come Maria, my Best, my Dear Maria,
Come shine upon the King, the flames thou giv'st
Will Returne warmth to thee, like the bright Sun
That gives the World his heate, and yet so justly
Paid back again, he lends at no expence,
But preserves all, and shines, as thou maist doe.
If a declining Father be thy all, if not,
Let it be night, and it shall be a dark one
To more than me.

Mar.
Oh heavens! What do you mean?

Ler.
Peace, see the King.
This opportunity is lost.

Mar.
Good Sir let me go.

Ler.
You must not.

Enter King, Duke D' Alva, the Marquess of Alcara, and Count Bruchero.
D' Alva.
Your Fathers blessing
Lerma observes.
Seal'd it with that condition.

Alca.
You forfiet all the strength of his advice,
If at the first you break his strict commands.

Bruc.
The King commanded Lermas Banishment.
As if some Oracle had said, till that be done,
The Plague, shall Reign, or Famine, or the Sword.

Ler.
Marke that Maria.

King.
I am unwilling to begin my Reigne,
With a severity to any one—but—

D' Alva.
Look, Sir, where he is, no fitter time
Then now, to through him to his Banishment.

King.
What Lady's that?—

Alca.
How he Gazes on her?—
'Tis his Daughter Sir.—

D' Alva.
Sir, Remember now, your Fathers Last Commands:
What do you look at Sir?

Ler.
Now my prophetick Soul!

(Aside.
King.
Look at?—that fair Lady:
Is she not wondrous faire?

Bruc.
But she is Lerma's Daughter Sir.

King.
No matter—Madam—
(goes to her.
I ought sooner to have Saluted you,
But tis not less Respect, to so much beauty
To loose Civility in Admiration.

(She lookes down.
Ler.
Speak.

King.
Be not displeas'd, fair wonder of your Sex,
That I admire so suddenly; a flower conquest
Is fit for lesser beauties.

D' Alva.
Sir, Do you remember?

King.
I do, concerning Lerma,
Know, my Lord, I will not waite for a Petition
That this faire Beauty might present;
'Tis Juster to her power to tell you,
I can pronounce no Banishment, nor death
To him that gave her Life.

Ler.
You poure Mercies on me.

Bruc.
What change is this?

King.
In Return my Lord, I do expect this gratitude,
That I and all the Court may be made happy
By this faire Object—I do expect your promise.

Ler.
You have it Sir.

King.
I will no more punish her modesty.

D' Alva.
Sir, VVill you forget?

King.
No more.

Exit. looking on Maria, the Lords on Lerma.
Ler.
Now, my Maria, Should I not fall down
And worship the Divinity that saves me?

Mar.
Are there Divinities below?

Ler.
There are; every wise thing is a Divinity,
That can dispose, and check the fate of things:
I ask no other help but thine,
To make Spain know I am their Deity.
Come, you must to Court, my word's engag'd.

Mar.
VVhat to do Sir?
To be a Prostitute, or to be thought so:
I shall show there Sir, not like a Sun,
But like a Meteor, risen on a sudden,
VVhose false light quickly slides into a vapour.

Ler.
Ha!
Dost thou in Disobedience shew thy vertue,
And with those guilty Eyes, that may preserve me,
Gaze unconcern'd on my approaching ruine.

Mar.
Heaven will defend you Sir.

Ler.
I will not trouble heaven, when you may do't;
Did you not hear my Banishment and Death
Charg'd on the young King, as his Fathers Legacy
Of safety to his Crown? VVas he not going
Just to pronounce it too? when thy bright Eyes
Arrested all his Anger at Loves Sute.

Mar.
VVhat should I do?

Ler.
Keep still his heat alive, or I am sent
To an eternal Coldness; and like a a Crocodile,
Thou may'st then weep, o're him thou hast destroy'd.

Mar.
VVere there no way Sir, by my death
To make your life secure? I wou'd resign
It willingly, and pay you back,
The life I borrow'd of you.

Ler.
No, 'tis the death of others then must save me.
Since I must fall, excuse me curs'd necessity;
For I will sow Murders so thick, and sudden,
That Death shall have a fruitful harvest.

Mar.
VVhat d'ee talke of Sir?

Ler.
Of Death.

Mar.
Of VVhose?

Ler.
Of those that have the power of mine.

Mar.
Not of the King's, Sir?

Ler.
Yes of the King's, VVhy d'ee start?
Nature has no exceptions, though Lawes have.

Mar.
Direct me Heaven!

Ler.
Come, I trifle,
And play with my own dangers, farewell:
I'le leave a Fathers curse behinde me,
And only stay to please my eyes with ruine
Before mine comes.

(Offers to go.
Mar.
Stay Sir—I know not what to say;
I will do any thing; I should have said
That had been honest; but that is disobedience.
I beg Sir but one minutes time to think.

Ler.
Doe, while I call the Confessor:
Be sudden in your thoughts for death depends
Upon your Meditations.

Exit.
Mar.
VVhat storms are risen, in my shaken breast?
Thoughts succeed thoughts, like restless troubled waves,
Dashing out one another: if I deny,
My Father, to avoid his destiny,
May reach that sacred life, which I may save
If I discover this my Father dies.
Vertue, thou shalt protect me before heaven,
Though not from this bad world. Ah me!
The only way now left me to preserve
A King, and Father, is t'expose my Fame:
Hard fate, when Vertue is the guide to shame.

Enter Lerma with the Confessor.
Ler.
Come, are you resolv'd?

Mar.
I am Sir.

Ler.
To what?

Mar.
Obedience, Sir.

Ler.
Oh Maria, thou breath'st new life into me
And I could waste it in embracing thee;
But time will not allow me choice in happiness:
Heer Father, carry her, where I appointed:
Remember only this my dear Maria;
Be not too easie, nor too nice; she's wise
That rules as much by Craft, as by her Eyes.
Ex. Maria and Confessor.
So now I may rise
To be a Pyramid,
For I have laid a large foundation,
The Queen must be remember'd and forgotten
Or she may shake my pollitick structures.
Enter Caldroon.
How now Caldroon; what has transported thee?
There is a kind of wantonness that plays
On thy pleas'd Countenace, what is the matter?

Cald.
Nothing but your good fortune cou'd
Have caus'd it.

Ler.
Why, didst thou meet the Confessor
That told thee?

Cald.
No.

Ler.
How didst thou hear it then?

Cald.
The quick-ey'd Rascals spy'd it.

Ler.
Who?

Cald.
Poor suffring fellows, whose business
Is to watch, on every change of power:
They have heard of the Kings smiles.
And are now in full cry, hunting after you.

Ler.
Good, Excellent.

Cald.
They were running on a wrong track
But I hollow'd 'em in—see my Lord—
They have found you; walk by
Leave 'em to my managing.

Enter two or three Suitors, they follow Caldroon fawningly and how to Lerma. He walks smiling.
Ler.
Good, very good.

Cald.
Well, My Lord is now a little busie.

Suit.
We ever pray'd for your Grace.

(Exeunt.
Ler.
Kind Rogues.
Her's an alteration, strange as Winters Thunder,
Not two days since neglected as the Grave,
That holds dead Inmates; now I grow warm,
The Flies begin to buzze and swarm about me;
What an attractive force has a Kings favour?
The Dogs now fawn upon me, that before
Started away, and barkt like little Curs
At some unusual Traveller; I was grown
Useless, like a dull piece of Iron of no vertue,
Till by a Loadstone toucht, and then it gathers.
Such a Magnettick power's in a King,
Where he but kindly touches, others Cling.

Exeunt.

Scene II.

Enter King, D' Alva, Alcara, and Bruchero at a distance, the King is pensive.
D' Alva.
What fatal sadness, like a sullen Cloud,
Hangs on his Growing Brightness?

Alca.
That cursed sight of Lerma's daughter
Has sunk the hopes, and fortunes of all Spain
When must our dangers have an End,
When Lerma can beget 'em?

King.
My Lords, I wou'd be private.

D' Alva.
Wou'd your heavy thoughts, Sir,
Were as obedient as we are
And would at your command depart.

King.
I have not yet desir'd 'em to be gone.

D' Alva.
Have you the power, Sir, to force 'em:

King.
I have not power enough, it seems
To compell your obedience.

Alca.
We will be gone, to death, when you command;
Let us but leave you happy in your life.

Bru.
Oh Mighty Sir—

King.
No more, I did not doubt your Loves, or Loyalty.
I have some business in my thoughts
That does require weighing: stay without.
Exeunt.
Oh, what a Traytor is my Love
That thus unthrowns me! I am no longer King
Of any thing but sorrow; and my griefs
Have but a half obedience, they will stay;
But wou'd not go, shou'd I command 'em from me;
I see the errors that I would avoid,
And have my Reason still, but not the use on't;
It hangs about me like a wither'd Limb
Bound up and numm'd by some diseases Frost,
The Form, the same, but all the use is lost.
Enter Lerma with Maria.
She comes, and in her Mighty Beauty
Has drawn new forces up; so wondrous powerful
That Reason shrinks, to
Venture the dispute.

Ler.
Mighty Sir,
We come, like Pilgrims creeping to a shrine
Of some blest Saint, by whom kind Heaven
Dispenc'd its showre of Mercies on their
Crown'd Devotions.

King.
And I, like him that gave me power
Am pleas'd with Mercies when acknowledg'd,
But this pilgrim, you better might have call'd
Your Saint, or Mine, for her fair Mediation
Is your Blessing. Rise, Maria;
Your knees must bow to nothing but to Heaven.

Mar.
That they do now for you, Sir, though to you:
For while I bend my knees, before my King,
I beg that Heaven would preserve you so,
And give you power over your self and others.

King.
Ha!

Ler.
Death; she will spoil me yet.

King.
Wou'd Heaven wou'd grant her Prayers!

Ler.
Fond Girl, no more of these dull Orizons—
aside.
Mighty Sir, I leave this Blessing of my life,
To be a witness of my Loyalty; malice it self
Cannot I hope, shake you against this testimony.

Exit.
King.
Why do you look with fears, Maria?
As if a King were by his name alone
Made powerful in his passions, as his Throne.
Those that obey may fear a slavery,
You now may be the Tyrant, but not I.

Mar.
If this, Sir, from your power does you remove
Against your self; there's Treason in your Love.

King.
It is your power that makes me any thing.

Mar.
I wou'd preserve you Sir, to be my King.

King.
Enthrone me in your heart, and make me so.

Mar.
A Throne of passion, for a King's too low.

King.
Were I no King, but blest like other men
Wou'd you despise, or chide my passion then?

Mar.
Oh, why Sir; do you send out treacherous spies?
Should they bring back such weak discoveries,
'Twere useless, as to say, what kind of Love
Angels shou'd have to leave their Joys above.

King.
Their joys are sure, but ours are shook with care.

Mar.
Oh, raise my Father from his black despair
While we our selves to Heavens practice raise
Your Love in Mercy's show'd, and mine in praise.

King.
'Tis yours, that may encrease his power and name;

Mar.
And shou'd his Glories, Sir, spring from my shame?

King.
Suppose your Father does my joys design

Mar.
Wou'd he to purchase Honour, ruine mine?
Yet his Commands makes not my guilt the less,
For Heaven allows no pious wickedness.

King.
Thy Father shall both Life, and Honours owe
Unto thy vertues; fair Maria, know
A miracle is done, I more admire,
And inlarg'd Love grows from confin'd desire.

Enter the Duke of Medina gazing at them.
The King stands admiring.
Med.
What blasting sight is this? I must
Disturb him, with an unwelcome piece of Duty.
Sir,

King.
Ha!

Mar.
Oh my Uncle!

Med.
I was afraid, Sir, that you were not well.

King.
Not well?—wou'd you be a Physitian?

Med.
With all my heart sir, wou'd you let me practice,
And wou'd prescribe such wholsome Medicines to you
That should prevent this great distemper
Growing on you and all the Nation.

King.
The Nation.

Med.
Yes, the Nation Sir, that will of you
Demand their King, when you have lost him
In Lerma's Charms: Think of your Father, Sir,
Who did despise that any Favourite
Shou'd be a lawful Traytor by permission;
And Usurp all the power.

King.
What do you mean?

Med.
I mean Lerma, Sir, whose wicked hand
Grasps at your painted Scepter; that Lerma
That was to sink into the lowest banishment
Is creeping up into your Throne, and power.
That he had never twisted with my Sister,
And like a Snake begotten such a Viper,
Whose sliding to your bosome will but leave
A sting upon your Conscience, and disturb
The Ashes of her sleeping Mother.

King.
Though your bold Duty might receive a pardon
For any large discourse; know yet,
(That ignorantly you may not snatch your Fate)
All injuries to Maria's virtues,
Shall be forgiven as I wou'd a malice
Studied to blast my Honour.

Lerma whispers to the King.
Med.
My Life, Sir, is a thing you once believ'd;
I did despise to ballance with your service.
For her, Sir; Nature be my witness,
I wou'd preserve her full as vertuous
As I believe her wretched Mother was,
But then she must not Sir, be the foul means
To charm your Sacred breast, to breath out honours
On every thing that is but Lermas Creature,
Whose hungry Poverties must eat as deep
As Famine to the Nation. Honours, mighty Sir;
When they meet fortunes, are support's to Thrones
But joyn'd to Poverty are the shakers of it:
And wasting Crowns, sink with such deep Consumptions.

King.
I can give no greater Testimony
That all your former services to my Father
Are not forgotten, then to pardon you now.

Med.
If this, Sir, that I say, be an offence,
Tha I wou'd have none to be King but you,
Take your forgiveness back; for I must live
A Traitor by your Mercy.

King.
If you despise our Mercy.

Med.
Oh Sir, upon my knees I beg it rather
But 'tis for all your Kingdom, not for me:
Think, Sir, what 'tis to fit upon your Throne
Without your Thunder; only so much left
As a swel'd Favourite will please to lend you.
Enter Lerma, whispers to the King.
To hurl at honest Truths; so, he may speak,
And at this idle time sure you may hear.
(to Maria.
What, is your Father turn'd your careful Bawd?
For his ambitious ends he wou'd have been
So to thy Mother too, but that her vertue
Had an unshaken soundness; thou art rotten
As he that did beget thee; only Nature
Painted thee over with a fair resemblance
Of her blest Image, wou'd it were blotted out.

King.
Ha! she weeps, that insolent Man
That dares draw tears from fair Marias eyes
Shall drop his blood as fast: Without there, my Guards.

Mar.
Let mine, Sir, drop, before you shed my Uucles.
Think how the world would curse me, when they hear
Medina's love to vertue, lost his life.
He talkt to me of nothing but of goodness;
And when he spoke of that, (as he must needs)
He nam'd my Mother, and by chance I wept.

King.
Thy vertue is too excellent, let thy goodness
Punish him for the injuries he did thee,
Though I forgive him; and hence forward
I will send for you when I want your Council,
to Medina.
Till then, forbear my sight.

Ler.
Mighty Sir;
Perhaps his wilde and unbecoming passions
Had their beginnings from an ill-tim'd Duty.
(If boldness to a Sovereign may be call'd so)
Yet I dare swear, his Loyalty is perfect,
Though my fond Nature is a partial surety
For what I Love.

Med.
Oh, spare your partial kindness, good my Lord;
'Tis your old Craft to whet your sharpest weapon
Upon pretended friendship; and cut a Throat,
as smoothly, as if it were good manners.

King.
No more, left your rude breath raise an anger
More fatal then you snarling: from hence be
Duke of Lerma, and your next friend, what you
Will call him—Come Maria,
At thy fair sight my blushing anger shrinks
As if some Angel from above descended,
Whose powerful vision made all passions cease,
But only Love, still waited on by peace.

Exeunt.
Manet Medina.
Lerma looking back upon him
Med.
What a look was there
To out-stare honesty?
Sure he practices to set his eyes,
As some do Guns to make 'em carry right,
But he can take no Aim but at the fearful;
Those he may hit perhaps; his full-charg'd eyes
Will hardly carry level to brave minds.
I must do something I think it is no Treason
To snatch a King from falling down a precipice:
But in Marias eyes, lies Lerma's power
And I must find a way to put those Lights out,
Nor will I leave to help him one small spark
Then let him grope for power in the dark.
Enter D'Alva, Alcar. and Bruchero.
How now my Lords, do you seek any thing?

D' Alva.
The King, my Lord.

Med.
He's lost.

Alca.
Does not your Lordship know which way he went?

Med.
Wou'd you find the King?

D' Alva.
Yes.

Med.
Look in his Fathers Grave then; for his Ashes
Do yet retain more Majesty then he.
If you look after him that shou'd be King.
You may perhaps find him in Lerma's pocket.

Alca.
We are miserable.

Med.
It tamely adds to misery to talk on't,
Like hearts weaken'd with griefs, that spend
Faint sorrows on their dying friends
When they should strive
Rather to give them help; my worthy Lords
Were all your Courages, and Wisdoms ready
To snatch at any honest opportunity
That fortune offers: keep near the King,
And cross him not, till you hear more of me:
Something I'le do to merit from you all,
At least, deserve your pity, if I fall.

Exit.
D' Alva.
Heaven prosper and direct you;
This mans soul is greater then his Title.

Alca.
We have new Titles.

Bru.
And likely to have more, all the Spawn
Of that poor slave, Caldroon, must be
Call'd Something, as well as he is now
They say a Marquis.

D' Alva.
The Queen! her looks are full of sorrow,
All is not well.

Enter the Queen and Catilina with Ladys.
D' Alva.
Madam.

Alca.
Royal Lady.

Bru.
Is your Majesty not well?

Queen.
Ha! I was thinking of the King.

D' Alva.
What of him Madam?

Queen.
I know not what, but yet he lately seeks
Retirements from his friends, and from himself.
A fatal sadness grows upon his youth
And makes him haste (before it comes) to age.

D' Alva.
He has ill Council, Madam.

Alca.
From Lerma too.

Queen.
I thought e're now, he had been banisht.

Bru.
He'l banish us all, if his power holds.
He hangs in the Kings bosome like his Crucifix,
And with no less an Adoration.
He may be safe in power, that can beget
Those beauteous Charms that have subdu'd the King,
Power seems to grow, nay grow his own Inheritance.

Queen.
We must quickly try to prevent
This growing danger to us all, and Spain,
Where's Medina?

D' Alva.
Shall he be sent for?

Queen.
Ha!—I feel a coldness creeping in my veins
What haste it makes to my griev'd heart.—
Ah me!—

She faints.
Bru.
Carry her in, this news
Has troubled her.

The Queen is carried off.
D' Alva.
I cannot tell, I am suspicious of all Accidents.

Alca.
These fainting fits seem as if she were
With Child.

D' Alva.
With Death, I fear.

Enter Catalina.
Alca.
How now, how does the Queen?

Cata.
I fear there is as little hopes now left,
As signs of life; just as we laid her on the bed,
She fetcht a heavy groan mixt with a sigh,
I fear all the small stock of breath
That she had left.

D' Alva.
This is sudden.

Cata.
'Tis fit your Lordship know all my suspicion;
I doubt she's poyson'd, this fatal day:
There came a Fryer with a face unknown
To the Queens Anti-chambet;
To all, a stranger, and to the Queen her self;
By him, a Letter was deliver'd to her,
Which had no name, but in its matter fair:
When she had half read o're the fatal Paper
Her eyes seem'd to grow weary, and her pulse
Kept an uneven, and a heavy time, and then
Just as you saw her now, she fainted.

Alca.
What became of the Fryer?

Cata.
'Tis not yet known; for in this hurry
While every one was careful of the Queen
He vanisht.

Bru.
'Twas poyson on my life.

D' Alva.
'Tis evident, we must make further
Search into't.

Bru.
You must assist us Madam; and by your faith
Revenge the murder of your Mistriss.

Cata.
Doubt not my Faith or Secresie,
I must return I fear, to a dead woman.

Exit.
Alca.
Here's a strange Relation:

Bru.
It must be kept with secresie:
We are Hunted, and the toyls pitcht about us.

Enter to them, Caldroon, the Arch-Bishop of Toledo.
Alca.
See the new Indian Stars.

D' Alva.
Silence, he gapes; a Proclamation sure.

Cald.
The Duke of Lerma, Constable of Spain;
By Father Francisco late Confessor to
His Majesty, now Arch-Bishop of Toledo
And me Roderigo del Caldroon, Marquis
Of Mirida; and Treasurer of Spain;
Commands thee, Philip Duke D' Alva
Don Pedro, Marquis of Alcara;
And Don Bruchero, Great Major Domo;
Within an hour to meet in Council.

D' Alva.
Here's a volley of Titles.

Cald.
We must inform you further, of
The Queens death.

Alca.
The Confessor should have told us that.

Bru.
The Arch-Bishop, you forget your self:

Arch.
Markt ye that my Lord?

Cald.
Why my Lords, the truth is nothing lessen'd
In my Report.

D' Alva.
No nor the sadness: we shall attend the Constable.

Arch.
I do not like that word of Alcara.

Exeunt D' Alva, Alca, and Bru.
Cald.
Pish, 'tis a fond fear, who shou'd
Reveal it to him? he slept not since
'Twas done, and cou'd not dream it.

Arch.
Wou'd 'twere undone.

Cald.
Oh, your treacherous Conscience
Wakes too late; who shou'd betray it?

Arch.
The disguiz'd Fryer.

Cald.
He was ignorant of what he carry'd,

Arch.
I have some business that commands
Me hence, the rest your self can mannage.

Cald.
Be constant, or you loose us—
Exit.
I like him not, this scrupulous Church-man
Has a shrinking Liver, that stops the motion
Of his bloud sometimes, and such another
Fright, may like an Earthquake
Shake him into discoveries of all;
A blush, in such a case as this,
Is evidence sufficient for a Jury.
But I'le confirm him, or send his faint
Contrition to th'other world, and he
Shall be the messenger.
He must be held in use, or he will Rust,
We must find mischiefs out to keep him busie,
Lest he have time to think how to be good;
Leisure begets relapses in his Blood.

Exit.