University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Alphonso, Pedro meet, with Souldiers on each side, Drums, &c.
Alph.
Stand: give the Word.

Pedro.
The Queen of Arragon.

Alph.
Pedro?—how goes the night?

Pedr.
She wears apace.

Alph.
Then welcom day-light: We shall have warm work on't:
The Moore will 'gage
His utmost Forces on this next Assault,
To win a Queen and Kingdom.

Pedro.
Pox o'this Lyon-way of wooing though:
Is the Queen stirring yet?

Alph.
She has not been abed: but in her Chapel
All night devoutly watch'd: and brib'd the Saints
With Vows for her Deliverance.

Pedro.
O, Alphonso,
I fear they come too late! her Father's crimes
Sit heavy on her; and weigh down her prayers:
A Crown usurp'd; a lawfull King depos'd;
In bondage held; debarr'd the common light;
His Children murther'd, and his Friends destroy'd:
What can we less expect then what we feel,
And what we fear will follow?

Alph.
Heav'n avert it!

Pedro.
Then Heav'n must not be Heav'n: Judge the event
By what has pass'd: Th'Usurper joy'd not long
His ill-got Crown! 'Tis true, he dy'd in peace:
Unriddle that ye Pow'rs: But left his Daughter,
Our present Queen, ingag'd, upon his death-bed,
To marry with young Bertran, whose curs'd Father
Had help'd to make him great.
Hence, you well know, this fatal War arose;
Because the Moore, Abdalla, with whose Troops
Th'Usurper gain'd the Kingdom, was refus'd;
And, as an Infidel, his Love despis'd.

Alph.
Well; we are Souldiers, Pedro: and, like Lawyers,
Plead for our Pay.

Pedro.
A good Cause wou'd doe well though:
It gives my Sword an Edge: You see this Bertran
Has now three times been beaten by the Moores:
What hope we have, is in young Torrismond,
Your brother's Son.

Alph.
He's a successfull Warriour,
And has the Souldiers hearts: Upon the skirts
Of Arragon, our squander'd Troops he rallies:
Our Watchmen, from the Tow'rs, with longing Eyes
Expect his swift Arrival.

Pedro.
It must be swift, or it will come too late.

Alph.
No more:—Duke Bertran.

[Enter Bertran, attended.
Bertr.
Relieve the Cent'rys that have watch'd all night.
To Ped.
Now, Collonel, have you dispos'd your men,
That you stand idle hero?

Pedro.
Mine are drawn off,
To take a short repose.

Bertr.
Short let it be:
For, from the Moorish Camp, this hour and more,
There has been heard a distant humming noise,
Like Bees disturb'd, and arming in their hives.
What Courage in our Souldiers? Speak! What hope?

Pedro.
As much as when Physicians shake their heads,
And bid their dying Patient think of Heav'n.
Our Walls are thinly mann'd: our best Men slain:
The rest, an heartless number, spent with Watching.
And harass'd out with Duty.

Bertran,
Good-night all then.

Pedro,
Nay, for my part, 'tis but a single life
I have to lose: I'll plant my Colours down
In the mid-breach, and by 'em fix my foot:
Say a short Souldier's Pray'r, to spare the trouble
Of my few Friends above: and then expect
The next fair Bullet.

Alph.
Never was known a night of such distraction:
Noise so confus'd and dreadfull: Justling Crowds,
That run, and know not whither: Torches gliding,
Like Meteors, by each other in the streets.

Pedro,
I met a reverend, fat, old, gouty Fryar;
With a Paunch swoln so high, his double Chin
Might rest upon't: A true Son of the Church;
Fresh colour'd, and well thriven on his Trade,
Come puffing with his greazy bald-pate Quire,
And fumbling o'er his Beads, in such an Agony,
He told 'em false for fear: About his Neck
There hung a Wench; the Labell of his Function;
Whom he shook off, i'faith, methought, unkindly.
It seems the holy Stallion durst not score
Another Sin before he left the world.

[Enter a Captain.
Capt.
To Arms, My Lord, to Arms.
From the Moors Camp the noise grows louder still:
Rattling of Armour, Trumpets, Drums, and Ataballes;
And sometimes Peals of Shouts that rend the Heav'ns,
Like Victory: Then Groans again, and Howlings,
Like those of vanquish'd men: But every Echo
Goes fainter off; and dyes in distant Sounds.

Bertran,
Some false Attaque: expect on t'other side:
One to the Gunners on St. Jago's Tow'r; Bid 'em, for shame,
Level their Cannon lower: On my Soul,
They're all corrupted with the Gold of Barbary
To carry over, and not hurt the Moor.

[Enter second Captain.
2. Capt.
My Lord, here's fresh Intelligence arriv'd:
Our Army, led by Valiant Torrismond,
Is now in hot Engagement with the Moors;
'Tis said, within their Trenches.

Bertr.
I think all Fortune is reserv'd for him.
He might have sent us word though;
And then we cou'd have favour'd his Attempt
With Sallies from the Town.—

Alph.
It cou'd not be:
We were so close block'd up that none cou'd peepe
Upon the Walls and live: But yet 'tis time:—

Bertr.
No, 'tis too late; I will not hazard it:
On pain of Death, let no man dare to sally.

Pedr.
(aside)
Oh Envy, Envy, how it works within him!
How now! What means this Show?

Alph.
'Tis a Procession:
The Queen is going to the great Cathedral
To pray for our Success against the Moores.

Pedro.

Very good: She usurps the Throne; keeps the old King
in Prison; and, at the same time, is praying for a Blessing: Oh Religion
and Roguery, how they go together!

A Procession of Priests and Choristers in white, with Tapers, follow'd by the Queen and Ladies, goes over the Stage: the Choristers singing.

The Procession goes off; and shout within. Then enter Lorenzo, who kneels to Alphonso.
Bertr.
to Alph.
A joyfull Cry: and see your Son Lorenzo:
Good news kind Heav'n!

Alph.
to Lorenzo,
O, welcome, welcome! Is the General safe?
How near our Army? When shall we be succour'd?
Or, Are we succour'd? Are the Moores remov'd?
Answer these Questions first; and then, a Thousand more:
Answer 'em all together.

Lorenzo,
Yes, when I have a thousand Tongues, I will.
The General's well: His Army too is safe
As Victory can make 'em: The Moores King
Is safe enough, I warrant him, for one.
At dawn of day our General cleft his Pate,
Spight of his woollen Night-cap: A slight wound:
Perhaps he may recover.

Alphonso,
Thou reviv'st me.

Pedro.

By my computation now, the Victory was gain'd before
the Procession was made for it; and yet it will go hard, but
the Priests will make a Miracle on't.

Lorenzo.
Yes, Faith; we came like bold intruding Guests;
And took 'em unprepar'd to give us welcome:
Their Scouts we kill'd; then found their Body sleeping:
And as they lay confus'd, we stumbl'd o'er 'em;
And took what Joint came next; Arms, Heads, or Leggs;
Somewhat undecently: But when men want light
They make but bungling work.

Bertr.
I'll to the Queen,
And bear the News.

Pedro.
That's young Lorenzo's duty.

Bertr.
I'll spare his trouble.—
This Torrismond begins to grow too fast;
He must be mine, or ruin'd.

Aside.
Lorenzo.
Pedro, a word:—

(whisper.)
[Exit Bertran.
Alph.
How swift he shot away! I find it stung him,
In spight of his dissembling.
To Lorenzo,
How many of the Enemy are slain?

Lorenzo.
Troth, Sir, we were in hast; and cou'd not stay
To score the men we kill'd: But there they lye.
Best send our Women out to take the tale;
There's Circumcision in abundance for 'em.

[Turns to Pedro again.
Alph.
How far did you pursue 'em?

Lorenzo,
Some few miles.—
To Pedro,
Good store of Harlots, say you, and dog cheap?
Pedro, They must be had; and speedily:
I've kept a tedious Fast.

(Whisper again.)
Alph.
When will he make his Entry? He deserves
Such Triumphs as were giv'n by Ancient Rome:
Ha, Boy, What saiest thou?

Lorenzo,
As you say, Sir, That Rome was very ancient—
To Pedro,
I leave the choice to you; Fair, Black, Tall, Low:
Let her but have a Nose:—and you may tell her
I'm rich in Jewels, Rings, and bobbing Pearls
Pluck'd from Moores ears.—

Alph.
Lorenzo?

Lorenzo,
Somewhat busie
About Affairs relating to the publick.—
—A seasonable Girl, just in the nick now:—

[to Pedro.
[Trumpets within.
Pedro,
I hear the General's Trumpets: Stand, and mark
How he will be receiv'd; I fear, but coldly:
There hung a Cloud, methought, on Bertran's brow.

Lorenzo,
Then look to see a Storm on Torrismond's:
Looks fright not men: The General has seen Moores,
With as bad Faces; no dispraise to Bertran's.

Pedro,
'Twas rumour'd in the Camp, he loves the Queen.

Lorenzo,
He drinks her Health devoutly.

Alph.
That may breed bad bloud 'twixt him and Bertran.

Pedro,
Yes, in private:
But Bertran has been taught the Arts of Court,
To guild a Face with Smiles; and leer a man to ruin.
O here they come.—
Enter Torrismond and Officers on one side: Bertran attended on the other: they embrace; Bertran bowing low.
Just as I prophesy'd.—

Lorenzo,
Death and Hell, he laughs at him:—in's Face too.

Pedro,
O, you mistake him: 'Twas an humble Grin;
The fawning Joy of Courtiers and of Dogs.

Lorenzo
, (Aside)
Here are nothing but Lyes to be expected:

I'll e'en go lose my self in some blind Alley; and try if any courteous
Damsel will think me worth the finding.

[Exit Lorenzo.

Alph.
Now he begins to open.

Bertran,
Your Country rescu'd, and your Queen reliev'd!
A glorious Conquest; Noble Torrismond!
The People rend the Skyes with loud Applause;
And Heav'n can hear no other Name but yours.
The thronging Crowds press on you as you pass;
And, with their eager Joy, make Triumph slow.

Torr.
My Lord, I have no taste
Of popular Applause; the noisie Praise
Of giddy Crowds, as changeable as Winds;
Still vehement, and still without a cause:
Servants to Chance; and blowing in the tyde
Of swoln Success; but, veering with its ebbe,
It leaves the channel dry.

Bertran,
So young a Stoick!

Torr.
You wrong me, if you think I'll sell one drop
Within these Veins for Pageants: But let Honour
Call for my Bloud; and sluce it into streams;
Turn Fortune loose again to my pursuit;
And let me hunt her through embattell'd Foes,
In dusty Plains, amidst the Cannons roar,
There will I be the first.

Bert.
I'll try him farther—
(aside.)
Suppose th'assembled States of Arragon
Decree a Statue to you thus inscrib'd,
To Torrismond, who freed his native Land.

Alph.
to Pedro,
Mark how he sounds and fathoms him, to find
The shallows of his Soul!

Bertr.
The just Applause
Of God-like Senates, is the Stamp of Vertue,
Which makes it pass unquestion'd through the World:
These Honours you deserve; nor shall my suffrage
Be last to fix 'em on you: If refus'd,
You brand us all with black Ingratitude;
For times to come shall say, Our Spain, like Rome,
Neglects her Champions, after Noble Acts,
And lets their Laurels wither on their heads.

Torrismond,
A Statue, for a Battel blindly fought,
Where Darkness and Surprise made Conquest cheap!
Where Virtue borow'd but the Arms of Chance,
And struck a random blow! 'Twas Fortune's work;
And Fortune take the praise.

Bertr.
Yet Happiness
Is the first Fame: Vertue without Success
Is a fair Picture shown by an ill light:
But lucky men are Favorites of Heaven:
And whom should Kings esteem above Heaven's Darlings?
The Praises of a young and beauteous Queen
Shall crown your glorious Acts.

Pedro
to Alphonso,
There sprung the Mine.

Torr.
The Queen! That were a happiness too great!
Nam'd you the Queen, My Lord?

Bertr.
Yes: You have seen her, and you must confess
A Praise, a Smile, a Look from her is worth
The shouts of thousand Amphitheaters:
She, she shall praise you; for I can oblige her:
To morrow will deliver all her Charms
Into my Arms; and make her mine for ever.
Why stand you mute?

Torr.
Alas! I cannot speak.

Bertr.
Not speak, My Lord! How were your thoughts employ'd?

Torr.
Nor can I think; or I am lost in thought.

Bertr.
Thought of the Queen, perhaps?

Torr.
Why, if it were,
Heav'n may be thought on, though too high to climbe.

Bertr.
O, now I find where your Ambition drives:
You ought not think of her.

Torr.
So I say too;
I ought not: Madmen ought not to be mad:
But who can help his frenzy?

Bertr.
Fond young Man!
The Wings of your Ambition must be clipt;
Your shamefac'd Vertue shunn'd the Peoples Praise,
And Senates Honours: But 'tis well we know
What price you hold your self at: you have fought
With some Success, and that has seal'd your Pardon.

Torr.
Pardon from thee! O, give me patience Heav'n!
Thrice vanquish'd Bertran; if thou darst, look out
Upon yon slaughter'd Host, that Field of bloud:
There seal my Pardon, where thy Fame was lost.

Ped.
He's ruin'd, past redemption!

Alph.
to Torr.
Learn respect
To the first Prince o'th' bloud.

Bert.
O, let him rave!
I'll not contend with Madmen.

Torr.
I have done:
I know 'twas Madness to declare this Truth:
And yet 'twere Baseness to deny my Love.
'Tis true, my hopes are vanishing as clouds;
Lighter then childrens bubbles blown by winds:
My merit's but the rash results of chance:
My birth unequal: all the stars against me:
Pow'r, promise, choice; the living and the dead:
Mankind my foes; and onely love to friend:
But such a love, kept at such awfull distance,
As, what it loudly dares to tell, a Rival
Shall fear to whisper there: Queens may be lov'd,
And so may Gods; else, why are Altars rais'd?
Why shines the Sun, but that he may be view'd?
But, Oh! when he's too bright, if then we gaze,
'Tis but to weep; and close our eyes in darkness.
[Exit Torrismond.

Bert.
'Tis well: the Goddess shall be told, she shall,
Of her new Worshipper.
[Exit Bertran.

Pedro.
So, here's fine work!
He has supply'd his onely foe with arms
For his destruction. Old Penelope's tale
Inverted: h'has unravell'd all by day
That he has done by night.—What, Planet-struck!

Alph.
I wish I were; to be past sense of this!

Ped.
Wou'd I had but a Lease of life so long
As till my Flesh and Bloud rebell'd this way
Against our Sovereign Lady: mad for a Queen?
With a Globe in one hand, and a Sceptre in t'other?
A very pretty Moppet!

Alph.
Then to declare his Madness to his Rival!
His Father absent on an Embassy:
Himself a Stranger almost; wholly friendless!
A Torrent, rowling down a Precipice,
Is easier to be stopt, then is his Ruin.

Ped.
'Tis fruitless to complain: haste to the Court:
Improve your interest there, for Pardon from the Queen.

Alph.
Weak remedies;
But all must be attempted.
[Exit Alphonso.

Enter Lorenzo.
Lor.

Well, I am the most unlucky Rogue! I have been ranging
over half the Town; but have sprung no Game. Our Women
are worse Infidels then the Moores: I told 'em I was one of
their Knight-errants, that deliver'd them from ravishment: and I
think in my conscience that's their Quarrel to me.

Pedro.

Is this a time for fooling? Your Cousin is run honourably
mad in love with her Majesty: He is split upon a Rock; and
you, who are in chase of Harlots, are sinking in the main Ocean.
I think the Devil's in the Family.

[Exit Pedro.

[Lorenzo solus.
Lor.

My Cousin ruin'd, saies he! hum! not that I wish my
Kinsman's ruin; that were Unchristian: but if the General's ruin'd,
I am Heir; there's comfort for a Christian. Money I have,
I thank the honest Moores for't; but I want a Mistress. I am willing
to be leud; but the Tempter is wanting on his part.

Enter Elvira veil'd.
Elvira.

Stranger! Cavalier—will you not hear me? you
Moore-killer, you Matador.—

Lor.

Meaning me, Madam?

Elvira,

Face about, Man; you a Souldier, and afraid of the
Enemy!

Lor.
I must confess, I did not expect to have been charg'd first:
I see Souls will not be lost for want of diligence in this Devil's reign:
—Aside—
To her.

Now; Madam Cynthia behind a cloud; your will and
pleasure with me?

Elvira.

You have the appearance of a Cavalier; and if you
are as deserving as you seem, perhaps you may not repent of your
Adventure. If a Lady like you well enough to hold discourse with

you at first sight; you are Gentleman enough, I hope, to help her
out with an Apology: and to lay the blame on Stars, or Destiny;
or what you please, to excuse the Frailty of a Woman.

Lorezo,

O, I love an easie Woman: there's such a doe to crack
a thick shell'd Mistress: we break our Teeth; and find no Kernel.
'Tis generous in you, to take pity on a Stranger; and not to suffer
him to fall into ill hands at his first arrival.

Elvira.

You may have a better opinion of me then I deserve;
you have not seen me yet; and therefore I am confident you are
heart-whole.

Lorenzo,

Not absolutely slain, I must confess; but I am drawing
on apace: you have a dangerous Tongue in your head, I can
tell you that; and if your Eyes prove of as killing metal, there's
but one way with me: Let me see you, for the safeguard of my
Honour: 'tis but decent the Cannon should be drawn down upon
me, before I yield.

Elvira.

What a terrible Similitude have you made, Colonel? to
shew that you are inclining to the Wars: I could answer you with
another in my Profession: Suppose you were in want of Money;
wou'd you not be glad to take a Sum upon content in a seal'd
bagg, without peeping?—but however; I will not stand with
you for a sample.

[Lifts up her Veil.
Lorenzo.

What Eyes were there! how keen their Glances!
you doe well to keep 'em veil'd: they are too sharp to be trusted
out o'th' Scabbard.

Elvira,

Perhaps now you may accuse my forwardness; but
this day of Jubilee is the onely time of freedom I have had: and
there is nothing so extravagant as a Prisoner, when he gets loose
a little, and is immediately to return into his Fetters.

Lorenzo,

To confess freely to you, Madam, I was never in love
with less then your whole Sex before: but now I have seen you,
I am in the direct road of languishing and sighing: and, if Love
goes on as it begins, for ought I know, by to morrow morning
you may hear of me in Rhyme and Sonnet. I tell you truly, I do
not like these Symptoms in my self: perhaps I may go shufflingly
at first; for I was never before walk'd in Trammels; yet I shall
drudge and moil at Constancy, till I have worn off the hitching
in my pace.

Elvira.

Oh, Sir, there are Arts to reclaim the wildest Men, as
there are to make Spaniels fetch and carry: chide 'em often, and

feed 'em seldom: now I know your temper, you may thank your
self if you are kept to hard meat:—you are in for years if you
make love to me.

Lorenzo.

I hate a formal obligation with an Anno Domini at end
on't; there may be an evil meaning in the word Years, call'd Matrimony.

Elvira.

I can easily rid you of that Fear: I wish I could rid
my self as easily of the bondage.

Lorenzo.

Then you are married?

Elvira,

If a Covetous, and a Jealous, and an Old man be a
husband.

Lor.

Three as good qualities for my purpose as I could wish:
now love be prais'd.

[Enter Elvira's Duenna, and whispers to her.
Elvira
, (Aside.)

If I get not home before my Husband, I shall
be ruin'd.
[—to him.
I dare not stay to tell you where—farwell—cou'd I once
more—

[Exit Elvira.

Lorenzo,

This is unconcionable dealing; to be made a Slave,
and not know whose livery I wear:—Who have we yonder?
(Enter Gomez,)
By that shambling in his walk, it should be my
rich old Banquer, Gomez, whom I knew at Barcelona: As I live
'tis he—

To Gomez,
What, Old Mammon here?

Gom.

How! Young Beelzebub!

Lorenzo,

What Devil has set his Claws in thy Hanches, and
brought thee hither to Saragossa? Sure he meant a farther Journey
with thee.

Gom.

I alwaies remove before the Enemy: When the Moores
are ready to besiege one Town, I shift quarters to the next: I
keep as far from the Infidels as I can.

Lor.

That's but a hair's breadth at farthest.

Gom.

Well, You have got a famous Victory; all true Subjects
are overjoy'd at it: there are Bonfires decreed: and the times had
not been hard, my Billet should have burnt too.

Lor.

I dare say for thee, thou hast such a respect for a single
Billet, thou would'st almost have thrown on thy self to save it:
thou art for saving every thing but thy Soul.

Gom.

Well, well, You'll not believe me generous 'till I carry
you to the Tavern, and crack half a Pint with you at my own
charges.

Lor.

No; I'll keep thee from hanging thy self for such an extravagance:
and, instead of it, thou shalt doe me a meer verbal
courtesie: I have just now seen a most incomparable young Lady.

Gom.

Whereabouts did you see this most incomparable young
Lady? my mind misgives me plaguily.—

(Aside.)
Lor.

Here, man; just before this Corner-house: Pray Heaven
it prove no Bawdy-house.

Gom.
(Aside.)

Pray heaven he does not make it one.

Lor.

What dost thou mutter to thy self? Hast thou any thing
to say against the Honesty of that house?

Gom.

Not I, Colonel, the Walls are very honest Stone, and
the Timber very honest Wood, for ought I know. But for the
Woman, I cannot say, till I know her better: describe her person;
and, if she live in this quarter, I may give you tidings of her.

Lor.

She's of a middle Stature, dark colour'd Hair, the most
bewitching Leer with her Eyes, the most roguish Cast; her
Cheeks are dimpled when she smiles; and her Smiles would tempt
an Hermit.

Gom.
(Aside.)

I am dead, I am buried, I am damn'd.—Go
on—Colonel—have you no other Marks of her?

Lor.

Thou hast all her Marks; but that she has an Husband;
a jealous, covetous, old Huncks: speak; canst thou tell me News
of her?

Gom.

Yes; this News, Colonel; that you have seen your last
of her.

Lor.

If thou helpst me not to the knowledge of her, thou art
a circumcised Jew.

Gom.

Circumcise me no more then I circumcise you, Colonel
Hernando: once more you have seen your last of her.

Lor.
(Aside.)

I am glad he knows me onely by that Name of
Hernando, by which I went at Barcelona: now he can tell no
tales of me to my Father.

To him.

Come, thou wert ever good-natur'd, when thou couldst
get by't:—Look here, Rogue, 'tis of the right damning colour:
—thou art not Proof against Gold, sure!—do not I know
thee for a covetous,—

Gomez,

Jealous, old Huncks: those were the Marks of your
Mistresse's Husband, as I remember, Colonel.

Lor.

Oh, the Devil! What a Rogue in understanding was I, not
to find him out sooner!

(Aside.)
Gom.

Do, do, Look sillily, good Colonel: 'tis a decent Melancholy
after an absolute Defeat.

Lor.

Faith, not for that, dear Gomez;—but,

Gom.

But—no Pumping, My dear Colonel.

Lor.

Hang Pumping; I was—thinking a little upon a point
of Gratitude: we two have been long Acquaintance; I know thy
Merits, and can make some Interest: go to; thou wert born
to Authority: I'll make thee Alcaide Mayor of Sarragossa.

Gom.

Satisfie yourself; you shall not make me what you think,
Colonel.

Lor.

Faith but I will; thou hast the Face of a Magistrate already.

Gom.

And you would provide me with a Magistrate's Head to
my Magistrate's Face; I thank you Colonel.

Lor.

Come, thou art so suspicious upon an idle Story—that
Woman I saw, I mean that little, crooked, ugly Woman; for
t'other was a Lye;—is no more thy Wife:—As I'll go
home with thee, and satisfie thee immediately, My dear Friend.

Gom.

I shall not put you to that trouble: no not so much as
a single Visit: not so much as an Embassy by a civil, old Woman:
nor a Serenade of Twinckledum, Twinckledum, under my windows:
Nay, I will advise you out of my tenderness to your Person, that
you walk not near yon Corner-house by night; for to my certain
knowledg, there are Blunderbusses planted in every loophole,
that go off constantly of their own accord, at the squeaking
of a Fiddle, and the thrumming of a Ghittar.

Lor.

Art thou so obstinate? Then I denounce open War against
thee: I'll demolish thy Citadel by force: or, at least, I'll
bring my whole Regiment upon thee: my thousand Red Locusts
that shall devour thee in Free quarter.—Farwell wrought
Night-cap.

[Exit Lorenzo.

Gom.

Farwell Buff! Free-quarter for a Regiment of Red coat
Locusts? I hope to see 'em all in the Red-sea first!—But oh,
this Jezabel of mine! I'll get a Physician that shall prescribe her
an ounce of Camphire every morning for her Breakfast, to abate
Incontinency: she shall never peep abroad, no, not to
Church for Confession; and for never going, she shall be condemn'd
for a Heretick: she shall have Stripes by Troy weight;
and Sustenance by drachms and scruples: Nay, I'll have a Fasting

Almanack printed on purpose for her use; in which,

No Carnival nor Christmass shall appear;
But Lents and Ember-weeks shall fill the year.
[Exit Gomez.