University of Virginia Library

Scene 2.

The Scene a fine Apartment.
Enter the two Abbots, Grimchi and Vaneufe.
A. Van.

Methinks, Brother, you look very chearfully to day;
these pleasing smiles of yours do not suit with the Calamity of
the Times.

A. Grimchi.

What necessity is there, I should be dull and cloudy
because the Times are so?

A. Vaneufe.

Great reason, our humours should always sympathise
with melancholy occasions.

A. Grimchi.

No Brother, I had a Cordial sent me to day from
the French Kings own Closet, [shews a Purse of Gold]
smell
on't, d'ye think 'tis rightly prepar'd.

A. Vaneufe.

I believe I can match it,— [shews another Purse]

'tis exactly the same Colour, and prepar'd by the same hand, I
believe; you know how to use it, I suppose.

A. Grimchi.

I were a blockhead else.

Enter three Women.
1 Wom.

Oh Lord, Father, I am in such a fright, I shall never
be recover'd again.

2 Woman.

Oh Father, these Guns, these filthy Guns have
made me almost distracted.

3 Woman.

Oh the Pains and Perils of Child-birth, are but a flea-biting

to the Fears I hourly suffer. Oh! my poor Husband
was thrown down in a Croud, and has bruis'd his little Finger,
I'm afraid he'll never recover again.

A. Grimchi.
Forbear, Daughters, these sad complaints,
You must look further than the outward cause,
Heaven has a good design in these Afflictions,
To humble us, and make us still more Vertuous.

1. Woman.

I shall be humbled I think with a Witness, I have
neither washt my face nor comb'd my head since the siege began,
besides a large Trunk in our Garret took fire, and burnt
all my best Linnen.

2. Woman.

Nay, a Bomb that fell into our Yard, spoil'd me
nineteen Dutch Cheeses, and five Firkins of Butter; Oh Lord,
I'm undone, undone, why, I shall never eat a good Meal agen.

A. Vaneufe.
Patience, Daughters, patience.
'Tis Heavens High Pleasure, and there's no contending.

3. Woman.

Oh these wicked French, they have kill'd all my Poultry,
and the noise of the Cannons has sow'rd all the Liquor in my
Cellar.

A. Grimchi.

Cease those Complaints, as fruitless all, we charge you,
By scratching of the Wound you make it fester.

1. Woman.

I have not seen my poor Husband this three days,
I'm afraid he was kill'd at the Horn-work.

2. Woman.

And mine had been kill'd too, If I had not lock'd him
up in the Cellar poor Man.

A Bomb falls at some distance, and makes a great noise, at which the Women and Priests fall down flat on their Faces, crying out.
W. and P.

Oh Lord, I am dead, I am dead, O Jesu Maria, libera nos.

Enter a great number of the most cowardly Burghers, with other Rabble, running hastily into the Room for shelter, they stumble over the Priests and the Women.
1. Burg.

Hey day, hey day, here's fine doings; my Wife upon
the Floor with two Priests, they talk of Horn-Works in the Town,
I believe there has been some Works of that nature going forward
here.

1. Woman.

Oh Lord, Hubby, are you alive?—When the Bomb
went off I fell in a Trance, and fancied your Corps appeared to
me, and methought you were so stiff.

1. Burg.

Come, come, no more fooling.

After some time, they all get up, and every one bows to the Priests, who bless them with the sign of the Cross, and sprinkle Holy Water on them.
2. Burg.

Will our Misfortunes never have an end?
'Tis now a thing to me indifferent, whether we keep Mons or no,
for my part I'm undone already.

3. Burg.

And I too, I am not worth the twentieth part of a
Ducat.

2. Woman.

Oh, my Husband and I, when we were first married,
had a great deal of good House-hold-stuff, but 'tis all destroy'd excepting
a hard flock Bed, and a joint stock.

1. Woman.

I wish the French had the Town for my part so the
Inhabitants were but at quiet.

2. Burg.

And I too, let the Turk have it rather than live this sad
noisie Life.

1. Burgh.

But they say we shall be relieved by the Confederate
Army.

2. Burg.

Yes, by doomsday in the Afternoon.

A. Grimchi.

Friends, Citizens—

3. Burgh.

Silence there, silence there, let the Father speak.

[a great silence.
A. Grimch.
Friends, Citizens, Inhabitants of Mons,
By the offended hand of Heaven, you suffer
These sad Calamities of Fire and Sword,
Some very grievous Crimes you have committed;
Which thus has caus'd the Face of Heaven to frown,
Your Town besieged by the French, has suffer'd
All the Misfortunes that attend a Siege;
But they are Catholicks, and so are you;
Shall these fall out? Forbid it, oh just Heaven,
The Succours which pretend they would relieve you,
Are Hereticks' mark that, my Friends, the'yr Hereticks;
Would you to have your Town preserv'd by Hereticks,
Hazard the safety of the true Religion
The Sacred Roman Apostolick Faith?
Consider this, and tell me then yee sufferers,
Whether yee are true Christians, yea or no?

1. Burgh.

What think you, Neighbour, does Father Grimchi
speak truth or no—ha.

2. Burg.
A notable Speech o' my Conscience,
But how, Father shall we help our selves?

F. Grimchi.
Will you for once my Ghostly Counsel take

All.
Ay, ay, all of us, Father,—silence.

A. Grimchi.
Then putting on your most dejected looks,
Your selves and Wives shall to the Governour hasten.
But lest through hopes and fears you grow unruly.
The Reverend Father Vaneufe and my self,
Will go before you in a large Procession,
And tell him the Calamities you suffer.
And that 'tis better to surrender far,
Than still to feel the dire effects of War.

All
cry out.
A surrender, a surrender, we'll Capitulate.

A. Vaneufe.
Let every one by different ways repair

[Exeunt, the Rabble one way, the Priests another.