University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Bishop, Nuntio, and several other Priests.
Bish.
Since, Brethren, Friends, and Fellow-Sufferers all,
With one consenting Heart of general Woe
You feel the Church's Ruin, and your own;
Here we assemble, that each loyal Son,
Each daring Pastor of our sinking Faith
May give his well-known Grievances full Vent.
Nor is it fitting we assemble here
For the poor Comfort only to complain,
To sigh like Doves one heartless mournful Note,
But to consult how we may mourn no more,
And turn our present Injuries on those,
Who smile to see the Day so near their own.

Nunt.
Ay, Sirs, in a Convention form'd like this,
Compos'd of righteous enterprizing Spirits,
Ecclesiastick Souls, and Sons of Rome,
What Resolutions may we not expect,
Worthy ourselves, and worthy of our Cause?
Why, what a paultry Figure would it make,
When told in Times to come, to our disgrace,
That a Cabal of Priests, a Set of Men
From every other People fam'd the first
For sure Revenge, and Steddiness of Counsels;
Now when a tottering Church, a slighted Power,
And all that can inflame a Priestly Breast,
Summons the lazy Genius on its guard,
And thunders Vengeance to the deafen'd Ear,
With Tears debated, and with Fears resolv'd?
If you shed Tears, let them be happy Omens
Of all the Tears of Blood our Foes shall weep.

1 Priest.
No, Reverend Father, here are none but dare,
As far as Hope can wish, or Thought can form,
To second their Complaints with Hearts of Vengeance.
Propose the glorious Means, and curs'd be he,
Ten thousand Church-Anathema's his Doom,
Who shrinks from leaguing in the pious Scheme.

Nunt.
Then hear, ye honest true-born Sons of Rome,
Hear, and applaud this Dawning of Success,
With what industrious Zeal I have advanc'd
The Means for our Deliverance: Since I here
Resided Nuntio from the Holy See,
It chanc'd one day, that I remark'd a Youth
Walking demurely with a sullen Port,
A downcast lowring discontented Brow,
And dark with every Feature of Despair,
Angry at all; and mutt'ring to himself;
Him with a willing Heart I entertain'd,
Judg'd him a proper Instrument to form
For any desperate Enterprize in view,
And better than my Hopes, I find him out
To be State-mad, Religiously sick:
All of you know how well we may improve
The Lees of Education settled thus,
And work our Wills upon the Bigot Youth.

Bish.
Well have you chose, this is indeed a Tool
Worthy the subtle Statesman's nicest Care;
Where he may push the Danger from himself,
And act his Mischiefs by a second Hand:
This is an Engine for our present Work,
Looks it not, Brothers, with a lucky Face?
Did not this Henry's Predecessor fall
By the sharp Malice of a Friar's Hand,
A hot-brain'd Boy, that itch'd to live in Fame?
Why may not this, upon our present Scourge,
That Fosterer of Hereticks, and Source
Of all our Church's Grievance, act again
The Friar's part, and strike a second Blow.

All Priests.
There spoke the Heart and Purpose of us all.

Nunt.
I will produce him then: i'th' outward Room,
By my Appointment, he attends our Call;
I'll fetch him in: Break to him your Intent,
I'll answer on my Life for the Success.
[Exit Nuntio.

Bish.
If he comes up to his Description full,
We need but spur the young Enthusiast on,
With Views of Fame, and Promises of Heaven,
And he engages firm without a Pause.

The Nuntio returns with Ravilliac.
Nunt.
Come forth, Ravilliac, if thou still maintain'st
A Soul that labours with the Nation's Groans,
That feels with a Religious Christian Ire
Each sad Infringement on our Church's Right:
Hast thou a Heart of Vengeance, as prepar'd
To act as to complain, to dare as talk,
To this Assembly make the Motion out.

Ravil.
Yes, Holy Chiefs of our afflicted Church,
Young as I seem, these Years have I with Care
Employ'd in Politicks mysterious School,
Remark'd each Maxim, Turn, and Tide of State,
With deep Reflection, and a curious Eye,
The Publick Weal my own: then think not now
My Soul a Stranger to our present Griefs;
Fathers, it burns as hot as any here.
Indignant I behold a graceless King
Pervert the great Commission that he holds,
And countenance the Vice he should erase;
Whilst by Connivance from the Throne itself,
Fierce as an Inundation Schism pours in,
And overthrows our pure Establish'd Faith.

Nunt.
Then think, brave Catholick, true Christian Youth,
Our Country's Honour, and our Church's Pride,
How many pious Blessings wait the Hand
That shall attempt the Remedy, and free
By one auspicious Blow the suffering Land.

Ravil.
I take the glorious Hint, that part be mine:
Yes, with a niggard Breast I to myself
Engross the great Atchievement, and the Praise.

Bish.
A Praise refin'd, exalted, and divine,
Beyond th'Ambition of a common Toil;
Such Praise as Martyrs reap, or Saints attain,
Shall crown the holy meritorious Deed.
Be speedy and resolv'd, nor doubt th'Event;
Our Church shall mark thee in the sacred List
Of her best Champions, and her foremost Sons.
Who would not venture on this glorious Push,
Life but the Hazard, and the Purchase Heaven?
One Act like this atones an Age of Sins.
Be secret, to absolve thee be our Care:
What may be Murder deem'd from other Hands,
In us our Function sanctifies as Justice.

Ravil.
Conclude it done; I am as firmly fix'd
As Oath could bind, or Conscience can engage;
Let Time and Opportunity present,
With a sure Hand I'll make my Contract good,
And give our Church new Life from Henry's Blood.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

King,
solus.
Why should the Bondman struggle with his Chains,
When his weak Efforts add the heavier Load,
When thinking to be free, he only thinks
With aggravated Pain, on what he is?
Am I a King, invested with a Power
To judge and punish a poor Subject's Crime;
And none to censure, judge, or punish me?
Oh frail abandon'd Monarch, royal Slave!
All, all claim Right to judge and censure Thee!
For Punishment no added Pains I need,
My Crime itself is Punishment too bad:
My useless Titles blaze but to display
My Weakness fuller to the publick Eye.
Charlotta! wherefore dwells my Soul on her?
I know she cannot, must not be possess'd,
And yet I know, I cannot cease to love;
My Resolutions, transitory Dreams,
Strong for one moment, and the next forgot:
Oh Heaven! find out some Medium for Redress,
Or give me her, or take away Desire.

SCENE III.

Charlotta.
From place to place my restless Griefs explore
A momentary Refuge from Despair,
But still to me, as to a bankrupt Wretch,
One Misery seldom comes alone, the World
Takes flying Fortune's part, each thriving Knave
Puts forth an envious Hand to keep him down;
Each place looks dark, and gloomy as myself,
And keeps the Face of Horror still before me:
What Friend but Death shall my Afflictions court?
The Close of Life the surest Close of Woe.
The fatal Day of Marriage scarce expir'd,
The Monarch-Husband shews his Tyrant-Reign,
He marks me with a fiery jealous Eye,
And holds me guilty in his sullen Thoughts.
Hah! Angels be my Guard, the King is here!

[She sees the King, and starts.
King.
Yes, Madam, 'tis the King; but why this Start,
This false unkind Alarm of causeless Fear?
Are you surpriz'd, ungenerous Maid, to see
Him you with cruel Pride have seen so oft
Stript of th'encircling Rays of beaming Glory,
In all the fiercest Agonies of Love,
Low humbled at your Feet a begging Slave?
Why do you mock me with the Name of King,
But to insult me on my lost Renown,
And triumph in the Power you have usurp'd?

Charl.
Why will my Royal Master thus descend
To do my guiltless artless Conduct wrong?
Oh, Sir, if these unhappy Charms have won
An undesigning Victory, on them
(And I will join you in the direful Musick)
Unload a thousand Curses of Revenge.
I did what Duty forc'd, I heard your Pains,
With all the just Return that I could make;
I gave you Pity, tho I could not Love.

King.
That, that undid me, Pity was my Curse,
The sweet-tongu'd Syren-Charm that led me on
Thro a deceitful Maze of flattering Hope:
But thee, my Fair, no more will I upbraid;
No, rather on my own rebellious Heart,
My guilty Passions, and my vicious Thoughts
On aught but thee, Charlotta, charge the Blame.

Charl.
Oh Virtue, Virtue, why must thou support
A Tryal so severe? Unhappy King!
Thou know'st but little of Charlotta's Soul;
[Aside.
I can out-number with thee Groan for Groan,
I burn, I love, and I despair like Thee.

King.
By all my Hopes she weeps! Oh costly Drops!
How, were they Tears of Love, should I be bless'd!
Why may they not? To think not, would be base,
And call thee Cruel and Ungrateful still:
No, if a broken Heart has Claim enough
To merit this Return, they shall be mine;
The watry Tribute shall be all my own!

Char.
Aside]
Ye Guardian Pow'rs! look down on my Distress!
Is Pity banish'd Your Divine Abodes,
That You with-hold Your needful Succours now?

King.
No, I will court thee on a lawful Claim;
Nor shall my former Marriage bar that Hope:
Consent, and be my Bride, this very Hour
The Priest shall make us One in sacred Bands,
And Wedlock consecrate the Legal Joy.

Ch.
Witness, Ye Pow'rs! how pleas'd, could I embrace
What now a sad Necessity denies!
Be silent Love, and let my Griefs reply.
[Aside.
Now, Sir, I must remind You, that You err
To a severe Extravagance indeed;
You sink beneath the Majesty, that ought
To bear You up thro' ev'ry Scene of Life,
With suiting Grandeur, and a Royal Pride.
For Shame! let Glory summon You from hence;
(That I must speak so distant from my Soul!)
[Aside.
I am too just, too generous, to derive
A mean Advantage from my Master's Chains.
No, Sir, You shall not find me Woman there:
I meet my Triumph with a bleeding Heart,
And will rejoice, nay, aid to set You free.

King.
Charlotta, but I said I would not blame thee,
How many Tyrants might I call thee now?
Thou know'st, I am as able to perform
All the Herculean Labours o'er again,
Level the Alps, to turn the Danube's Course,
Or take from Fire its Quality of Heat,
As to dislodge thy Image from my Breast:
Why do You then impose the endless Toil?

Char.
You see not, Sir, how much I am Your Friend,
I love You, and in This evince my Love:
You sue a Beggar-Beauty to Your Bed,
Already Rich and Honourably fill'd:
You lay before my Eyes such dazling Spoils
Of rifled Majesty, and sully'd Fame,
As make the Victor blush. Indeed, I love You,
And would not have a base, licentious World
Say, to my King's Disgrace, That He, whose Name
Strong as his foremost Ensigns, push'd Success,
Made Armies shudder, and their Chiefs turn pale,
Whom Swords have fear'd, and Darts flew pointless by,
Was thus transpierc'd, and vanquish'd by a Glance.
Your Virtue suffers, if Your Flame succeeds;
Then judge how much I by denying, love;
To prize Your Honour, whilst I guard my own.

King.
Off Honour! Pride of Majesty, be gone!
Tumble thou Empire from thy Golden Height!
Fade all ye pompous Diadems of Pow'r!
Let me have Thee in lieu; a trivial Loss.
O Love! the Ravage thou hast acted here!
O Royalty! thou glitt'ring pageant Load,
Or fly thy miserable Wearer's Shame,
Or learn him to dare something that deserves thee.
Yes, Madam, I must take Your cruel Counsel;
Some happier Rival-Suit may claim Your Ear,
And I intrude: But I'll from hence remove:
O that I could with equal Steps from Love!

[Exit.
Char.
Go where thou wilt, ill-fated Royal Lover,
Indulge thy Griefs, alone thou shalt not grieve:
Let Poison, Racks, and Daggers tear thy Frame,
My Heart shall bear thee Company thro' All,
And nobly triumph in superior Tortures.

[Prince of Conde coming forward.
Pr.
Are Tortures, Racks, and Poison Nuptial Sounds?
Sweet Hymeneals for a new-made Bride!
No! Racks and Daggers are for Him, thou Trait'ress,
Whom you have drawn to your polluted Bed,
And cozen'd in, a Cov'ring for your Lust.
Nay, do not shake with a dissembled Horror,
Nor, as my Reason doubts not, but you are
A perfect Mistress in your Sex's Arts,
Think to elude me with a specious Look
Of Innocence, Surprize, and virtuous Rage:
The Artifice is stale; I've seen and heard
Enough, beyond Suspicion's pale Distrusts,
To damn me with the Knowledge of my Fate.

Char.
Art thou my Husband?

Prince.
Sink, sink, dire Remembrance!
Be blotted out the Time when first I saw thee!
Perish the Hours that aided to my Shame,
And witness'd when I woo'd thy treach'rous Charms!
Curs'd be my Blindness, and thy own Deceit!
Curs'd be thy Father, when he gave Consent;
The Priest that join'd us in the fatal Tie,
And All that were assistant to my Ruin!

Char.
Think not I gave thee that detested Name,
(For now I dare to own that I abhor thee)
To draw thee into Pity for a Crime
My Soul as much with honest Pride disdains,
As to asperse me with th'unmanly Slander,
Betrays thy own both villainous and mean.

Prince.
Then you will brave it out!—

Char.
Vile Monster! Wretch!
Almost beneath Resentment or Disdain;
Since my ill Stars have doom'd thee to the Pow'r,
Now Lord it on, and exercise the Husband
In ev'ry furious Quality of Vengeance.
Since you have stab'd my Fame, behold my Breast
Thus open, thus impatient for thy Sword.
Nay,—kneeling will I beg the cruel Mercy:
There, pierce the next, the kinder, lesser Wound:
Thou say'st, that I have wrong'd thee; prove it Here!
Here justifie thy Charge. The Sin lies now
Heavy on me; if now unpunish'd then,
I live to sin again, it is thy own.

Prince.
Thou canst not surely be confirm'd so deep
In the lewd Trade and Cunning of Intrigues,
As to out-face me that these Eyes were blind,
These Ears have lost their Faculty, and all
Gave false Reports, all faulty but thy Virtue!
No less a Suiter than the King Himself?
Then you may well be proud; His Pow'r, no doubt,
Can gild and countenance the lawless Joy.

Char.
Go on as far as Jealousie can drive thee,
Writhe to and fro with Thought corroding Anguish:
Be that the Justice that my doubted Fame
And bleeding Reputation shall inflict.
Clear in my self, I scorn to give Reply,
Or make a false Suspicion wear the Face
Of Truth, by fondly striving to confute
The weak Chimæra's of a poison'd Brain.
Since you distrust me once, distrust me still;
Let thy own Mind thy own Tormentor be,
And on thy self revenge thy Wrongs to me.

[Exit.
Prince.
Go, thou black Pattern of thy subtle Sex;
Leave this dull Tool, this Husband to his Shame.
Go to thy am'rous Sports again, and hug
The Royal Letcher in thy wanton Arms.
The King!—Ay, there Resentment must be mute.
O had another, potent as Himself,
Unguarded by the Sanction of that Name,
Dar'd to invade my Property, my Tongue
Had then been silent, and my Sword had spoke!
Yet, I have Her, that Strumpet of a Wife;
There shall my Vengeance strike a double Blow:
Yes, she shall suffer strangely for them both;
Whilst I shall punish Him, in torturing Her.

Enter Count Montmorency.
Mont.
My Son, I come upon a Father's Claim,
To know this Cloud of Grief, and whence the Cause,
Now when my Daughter promises thy Love
A Virgin Banquet on thy Bridal Night.

Prince.
Millions of burning Engines carry on
A fiery Devastation thro' my Breast.
Hah! who art thou, that with this hoary Guile,
This venerable Villany, com'st here,
To chase my Wounds, and play upon my Tortures?
Dost thou thus gravely ask the Cause? Thy self
And thy perfidious Daughter know't too well.

Mont.
What dar'st thou mean? I counsel thee beware;
My House's Honour, and my Daughter's Fame,
Will not admit this License of thy Madness.

Pr.
Perish thy House, thy Daughter, and thy Self!
Why did you lay this Train of Horrors here?
Dost thou bid me beware? I say, Give her,
Thy False, thy Strumpet Daughter, that Advice:
Go, caution her to keep her Body pure,
Nor glory in a rank adult'rous Bed.

Mont.
This is too much! We shall indeed deserve
Th'injurious Scandal, should I longer brook
Thy infamous Reproaches unchastiz'd.
In me my injur'd Daughter's Virtue arms,
[Draws.
And with the Name of Villain thus defies thee.

Pr.
Put up thy feeble Sword; thy Death, Old Man,
Would only blunt my nobler Stretch of Vengeance.
Go, bear this welcome Message to thy Daughter;
Tell her, I shall not come to Bed to Night;
She may provide her Man, and whore secure.

Mon.
Unworthy of thy Blood, thy Birth or Name,
Dost thou traduce her with a Traitor's Tongue;
But since thy Coward Baseness has declin'd
To do me open Justice with thy Sword,
I'll have my Pause of future Vengeance too.

[Exit.
Prince.
Thou dost mistake; my real Injuries blaze
Too fierce, to let me pause upon Revenge:
No, she shall rather die Ten thousand Deaths,
Than live another's Boast, and my Disgrace.


Thus, steering homeward, with a swelling Mind,
With a rich Cargo, and a flatt'ring Wind,
The greedy Sailor counts his future Gain;
When, on a sudden, scowring o'er the Main,
Some stout-mann'd Pyrate, trembling he descries,
Chase with a threatning Sail, his Golden Prize.
What can he chuse? On what can he rely?
Fight him he must not, and he cannot fly:
Loath to enrich his Rival by his Fall,
He sinks his Treasure, Vessel, Self, and All.