The Female Prelate being The History of the Life and Death of Pope Joan. A tragedy |
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Scene the Last. |
 | The Female Prelate |  |
Scene the Last.
Enter a Rabble of Romans.From within.]
A Procession! a Procession! A Procession!
Rom. 1.
Well Neighbours, since his Holiness is pleased to give
us a Holy-day, let us improve it, and make the best use on't, that
is, go to the Tavern, and be down-right drunk.
Rom. 2.
I, Neighbour, for I never knew any other use of a Holy-day,
but first to go to Church, and then be drunk.
Rom. 1.
You make a just interpretation: but here lies the question,
whether we shall sit in the Tavern like Sots, and not be
drunk till night, or go and be presently drunk, then go home,
beat our Wives, and sleep an hour, then rise and be drunk again
before Sun-set, this I take to be the improvement of the day.
Rom. All.
I, I, 'tis, 'tis.
Rom. 2.
But heark you, Neighbour, do you never go to Church?
Rom. 1.
Positively, no; my reasons I will render. First, you
do not take me for the least Fool amongst you.
All.
No, no!
Rom. 2.
Nor the least Knave, Neighbour's.
All.
No, No.
Rom. 1.
Then I conclude I'll never pray at all, whilst we
we have such Shoals of Church Men to do it for us, as Cardinals,
Monks, Abbots, Priors, and a thousand Orders more; and with
all these Holy Men about us, 'tis impossible we should be damn'd,
Neighbours.
Rom. 2.
Ay, but, Neighbour, you ought to help at a dead lift,
'tis hard trusting to other mens prayers.
Rom. 1.
Why, don't I pay for it, I tell thee it goes against the
grain to pray and pay too, I'll not do't not I, and if I be damn'd,
at their peril be it.
Rom. 2.
Then I perceive, Neighbour, you are in a desperate
condition.
Rom. 1.
Not at all, for always when I pay the Priest his duties
I always take an acquittance, and those Acquittances I take as
a Passport to slip me by Purgatory into the other world.
But which of those other worlds do you think to go to?
Rom. 1.
So I 'scape Purgatory, no matter which.
Rom. 2.
But I am afraid this will not do your Work, Neighbour!
Rom. 1.
Then let the Church 'bate me my Peter-pence, and I'll
pray for my self: and ne'er trouble them, and that I think is fair.
All.
Aye, Aye!
Rom. 1.
Besides that's taking the bread out of the Priests
Mouths, and that's no other than Sacrilege, 'tis plain Intrenchment.
Rom. 3.
Intrenchment! what's Intrenchment!
Rom. 1.
Are you such a fool you don't know what Intrenchment
means, why Intrenchment is a hard word, and you all know
what a hard word is,
All.
I, I.
Rom. 1.
Why, 'tis medling with what we have nothing to do
with, which is no better than picking ones Pocket; why Neighbour,
you keep a reverend Brandy Shop, and would not you take
it ill if a Cardinal should set up, and sell Brandy by you? In troth,
he'd go nigh to break you.
Rom. 3.
I dod, would he?
Rrm. 4.
I'll undertake, if a Cardinal should sell Brandy, he'd
be the richest man in all Rome.
Rom. 1.
I'll undertake then I'll find you one shall do't.
Enter the Duke of Saxony with Attendants, bearing in the dead body of the Dutchess of Saxony.
Rom. 2.
But see that which you call'd a Procession looks more
like a Funeral.
D. Sax.
Oh, worthy Romans, here behold a sight
Will fill your Eyes with Tears, and Hearts with Grief;
And if this sight alone shall fail to move,
For Deaths are common in the Stretes of Rome,
Yet will the Story, when unfolded, strike
You all with sudden horrour and amazement.
Rom. 1.
Dad, he speaks well.
Sax.
Say worthy Roman's
If freely you'll afford your Charity
And injuries, lays by his Honours
And Titles to become your humble Suppliant.
Rom. 2.
Our humble Suppliant.
Sax.
Nor do I doubt, but when you have heard my Story,
You will afford your pity and revenge.
Rom. 1.
Well Sir, I understand you are a Prince, and that
your good Lady is dead, and you'd have us make her alive again.
We can do you no good in it; 'tis not every man that lives in
Rome can do that Job, but if you'll speak to the Pope, or one of his
Cardinals they'll do it for a word speaking.
Sax.
And is this all the attention you can give me!
Oh, Rome, how is thy wonted Braveness changed,
Since thy Inhabitants at call of Anthony
Flock'd round the Body of their murder'd Cæsar;
With Tears they wash'd his Wounds,
And mixt a Deluge with his gushing Blood;
Then starting from the Corps with noble rage,
Revenge and Justice through the Streets they cryed.
Oh, Romans, you will live to see that day
When from your Roofs your Daughters will be dragg'd,
Their Virgin Innocence abused with dust,
And thus brought home a lamentable Spectacle.
Thus shall your Wives and Daughters all be ravished,
Dishonour'd, Poyson'd.
Rom. 2.
Why, has the Princess been so serv'd!
Rom. 1.
So it seems, if you'll believe a dead woman.
Sax.
If this dear Beauty, born of Noble Blood,
By Wedlock planted in a Prince's Bosom,
Could not escape from Treason, Rapes and Death,
How shall your Wives, your Daughters, and your Sisters,
To whom no Awe, nor Guard makes difficult approach.
Be safe; no, I presage they shall be prostituted all,
Defiled, abused, torn up with impious lust;
And to conceal the wicked Actors names,
Be murdered as mine has been.
Rom. 2.
But, pray, Sir, if a man may be so bold, who was the
Dog that did this plaguy Job; by S. Winnifred, my Fingers do so
itch to be at him.
Ay, do but tell us where we may find the Dog, and
we will roast the Rogue: and make the Devil a Feast of him.
Sax.
I, that's the thing I ask, revenge, revenge me.
And to encourage you for this great deed;
Take this, and this for your Reward, and Heaven
And Justice for your Leaders.
Rom. 1.
Gold, Boys!
Rom. 2.
A noble worthy Prince, and we'll live and die by him.
Sax.
But Gentlemen, when I have recounted the strange
Actors, and the more strange Villainy,
I fear the Story will appear so monstrous
That you'll scarce dare believe me.
Rom. 2.
How, not believe, and live at Rome.
Rom. 1.
Do we believe in Images, and Relicks, and Holywater,
and Miracles, and not believe an honest golden Price?
Sax.
Then, generous Romans, know,
I owe mine and this Beauteous Martyrs ruine
To your accursed Pope.
Rom. 1.
The Pope!
Rom. 2.
The Pope!
Rom. 3.
Take heed Sir, what you say; the Pope!
But that you have greas'd us in the fist, or else—
Udslid, the Pope!
Sax.
Nay, Romans, do not think I utter ought
Against Romes Majesty, but Romes Usurper;
Not that great Office, and the blessed Prelacy,
But the accurst Impostor that profanes it:
Oh, Gentlemen, that seeming Royal Head
To which you kneel and pray, is an abhorr'd,
Loath'd Sorceress, a filthy rank Adulteress,
A Woman damn'd in Lust, whilst the vile Schriech Owl
Broods in the Nest of Eagles.
Enter Lorenzo.
Lor.
The murder'd Angeline, and the Saxon Duke.
This Ground's too hot for me.
[Offers to go.
Sax.
Stay Villain, stay.
Prepare thy Soul for everlasting Fire.
Lor.
I will not fight with thee.
Sax.
Not fight!
Art thou a Brute so rank, and yet so fearful.
But do I talk, a Minutes life's too long.
[Fights.
Lor.
Thou hast kill'd me, and Damnation thank thee for't.
[Dies.
Sax.
Thus far, blest Saint, thy great revenge succeeds.
Enter Pope, Cardinals, Priests, and other Officers, as in form of a Procession.
Pope.
Lorenzo murder'd, and that Saxon Basilisk
Alive, and in the head o'th' Multitude!
I am betrayed, undone.
[Aside.
Sax.
Romans, Lords, Cardinals, to you I speak,
That brand of Hell—
Pope.
Now by yon bright Omnipotence,
Some black design against Romes awful Godhead.
Sax.
No, by yon bright Omnipotence I come
For Justice, Justice against Romes Scarlet Whore.
Pope.
Dear adored Devil, save me but this once.
Sax.
Oh Romans, Romes once shining Dignity
And dazling Glory is eclipsed for ever.
Instead of Majesty t'adorn a Throne,
That mitred Monster is a Whore, Hag, Sorceress.
Pope.
Heavens, can your Thunder sleep, and tamely hear
Such Blasphemies within the Walls of Rome.
Card. 1.
Inhumane Insolence.
Card. 2.
Exquisite Traytor!
Sax.
No, willful blind deluded Prelates, no,
Eternity blast me, if she be not a Woman,
And the most rank Damnation ever shaped.
And to make up her loathed Abominations
By her contrivance was this Beauty
First ravished, and then murder'd:
Whilst th'Hell-burnt Lust of the adult'rous Hag
Within these blasted Arms supplyed her Room.
Oh Rome, and Romans,, lest the wrath of Heaven
Should rain down Fire upon your guilty Heads:
Upon the forfeit of your Souls revenge me.
Sax.
Revenge my Wrongs, and this fair Martyrs Blood.
Oh right the Honour of Romes injured Majesty,
And burn the Enchantress.
Pope.
Oh right the Honour of Romes injured Majesty,
And seise the Heretick.
[Saxony draws, and makes at the Pope, but is disarm'd by the people.
All the Card.
Burn, burn the Traytor.
The Rabble.
Burn him, burn him, burn him.
[Exeunt the Rabble, forcing out Saxony to execution.
Pope.
This dread Encounter, (oh my staggering frame)
Has loosen'd every Vein about my Heart,
And I am all o'er Convulsions. But lead on,
And end the Sacred Business of the day,
His Treason stopt, but his Blood clears our way.
[Exeunt.
The Scene opens, and discovers a Stake and Faggots, with Priests with Lighted Torches to kindle the Fire, and the Rabble hurrying Saxony to the Fire.
Sax.
Burn at a Stake, doom'd like a Slave, a Traytor!
Farewel thou Royal rank Church Whore, farewel,
Live and reign on, yes hot Inchantress live
Romes universal Teeming, Fruitful Prostitute:
Brood on Romes cursed Chair, brood like a hatching Basilisk:
Entail thy Lust t'a thousand Generations,
And warm the Nest for all thy bloody Successors:
May not that Beast of Prey, a Pope, succeed thee,
But be thy Bastard, Not a Cell nor Cloyster
But be thy Brothel.
And not a fawning Cardinal but thy Bawd:
And lest thy hopeful progeny shoul fail,
Mix thy black Lust with some engendring Devil,
And people thy curst Rome with Imps and Goblins.
And to employ all Hells whole stock of Fire,
May all thy race be Cardinals, Popes, Abbots,
Rabble.
Burn him, burn him.
[Scene shuts.
Enter Cardinals.
Card. 1.
By all that's good, a Whore, a Witch,
Confusion? Romes dread Majesty transform'd
T'a teeming Hag, and an abortive Bastard!
Card. 2.
Miscarried in the Street, i'th' open face of day.
Card. 3.
Frighted, no doubt, with that fierce hectoring Duke:
The puny, half got, weak, untimely Bastard
Fell from the brooding Fiend.
Card. 4.
Romes Royal Chair,
Once the bright Seat of Heavens great Deputies,
Profaned and sullied by a Whore, a Syren;
May this curst day, and this more cursed deed
From Romes great Annals be for ever torn.
Card. 1.
No let her shame be branded to posterity.
First be her Body into Tyber thrown,
Then hers and her unshapen Bastards Image
Be fix'd upon a Pyramid in Rome:
And lastly, in all future times
No Mitred Prelate in divine Procession,
Presume to pass through that detested Street
Where this curst Sorceress fell.
Card. 2.
But my good Brothers,
How shall we guard our Mother Churches Brightness
From new pollutions; fence her holy Throne
From new Impostors: from all future Sorceries?
Card. 1.
Oh Brothers, by immediate revelation,
Touch'd with a Spark from yon Celestial Orb,
I've have found that happy glorious great design,
For which our yet even unborn Heirs shall thank me.
Card. 3.
Oh speak.
Card. 1.
Thus then the Coronation Porphyry,
On which Romes installed Bishop, Heavens
Lieutenant takes his great Commission,
Shall thro' it have that subtle concave form'd
Card. 2.
Now by yon Stars inspired by some good Angel,
I guess thy glorious purpose.
Card. 1.
Now Devils we defie your utmost power,
Romes awful Throne shall be profan'd no more.
Put Whores and Bawds upon us, if you can,
Romes Mitred Head henceforth shall be a Man.
[Exeunt omnes.
| The Female Prelate | |