University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—Inside of the Great Cathedral of St Andrews.
In one part, Cardinal Beaton, Archbishop Dunbar, Principal Annan, Dr John Arbuckle, and the other Official Persons of the Convocation, seated, with Wishart's accuser, John Lauder; and in front of them, Wishart, Sir David Lindsay, Duncan of Airdrie, with Wishart's other Friends, and Auditors of the People.
CARDINAL,
(rising).
This honour'd diet of the Holy Church
Being now conven'd in form, and fenced in
With all required observances of statute,
The accuser, who has voluntarily chosen
That task, may now arise and do his duty.

LAUDER,
(rising).
George Wishart, I do here, in Church's name,
Arraign thee for the crime of heresy.—
Thou, trait'rous pestilential runagate!
Hast dared, in public places, to lift up
Thy voice against our supreme Holy Father,
Saying, His power is founded on a cheat,
On sand of falsehood, not on rock of truth,
And that thou art a priest as good as he:—
Thou hast avow'd, and from thy wicked mouth
Blown it most impudently among the people,
That Purgatory's penance is a fib,
Priest-forged, unscriptural, unreasonable,
Devised by cunning men, whereby t'extort
This world's good gold from terrified weak sinners:—
Thou hast maintain'd, and boasted to the sun,
That Mass is but a mumbling mummery;
And that the robed officiating priest
Is but an ape, drest up in foolery,
And playing antics to amuse the devil:—
Thou hast advised sin-burthen'd men to make
Confession, not to priests, but God alone:—
Thou hast expunged and blotted out at once
Five sacraments by thy reforming word:—
Thou hast declared the eucharistic cake
To be but as the baker's vulgar bread,
And, therefore, undeserving to be worshipp'd:—
Thou hast declared to the mean rabble's ears,
That holy water is but as the wash
Wherein the sordid pig luxuriates:—
Thou hast permitted lustful man to eat,
Contrarious to all sage decrees of councils,
Good flesh of kine each Friday of the week:—
Thou hast enjoin'd the rabble to reserve
Their prayers to God alone, and disregard
His saints; as if they were not throned in Heaven,
But only stuck in niches here on earth:—
Thou hast inveigh'd 'gainst the flesh-curbing vows
Of spotless friars, monks, and priests, and nuns;
Saying, 'tis lawful for such stainless ones
To carnalize according to this world:—
Lastly, thou hast contemn'd and vilified
All councils of the Church, and their decrees;
And, in averring thou would'st not obey,
Hast preach'd the people into disobedience:—
These are the charges, bloated heretic!
With which I cumber thy devoted head;
And crave, for the behoof of injured Church,
That punishment which is thy proper meed.—
Answer these charges, traitor, if thou can'st.

WISHART.
Accuser, I, with God to friend, appeal
From this convention, where I sitting see
Men who have hired assassins 'gainst my life,
And let them loose against me in the streets.
I do appeal from such prejudging men
To equal judges—my Lord Governor,
And all the Scottish temporal estate—
Let these, and God's good word, decide my cause.

LAUDER.
Hark ye, my lords and doctors, what he says?—
False heretic! has not Lord Cardinal
Enough of dignity and power august
Heapt on his radiant person, to entitle
And qualify him here to sit as judge
In this tribunal, soiling, as he does,
His noble ear with thy contemptuous words?—
Sir, is he not Lord Chancellor of Scotland?
Is he not Lord Archbishop of St Andrews?
Bishop of wealthy Mirepoix, in France?
The Commendator of Arbroath's good Abbey?
The Pope's Legatus Natus et a Latere?—
Are all these titles not enow for thee?

PRINCIPAL ANNAN.
Mark, how the traitor has already shown
The spirit of rebellion lodged within him,
By kicking proudly 'gainst authorities:
His words already damn him to the fire;
Recite his sentence, 'tis too long delay'd.

ARCHBISHOP DUNBAR.
Lord Cardinal, I advise to read again
His counts of accusation, one by one;
That, to the auditors, he may not seem
Injuriously or hastily condemn'd;—
A charge that otherwise we shall not 'scape.

CARDINAL.
Accuser, read again his articles.

LAUDER.
Thou, trait'rous, pestilential runagate!
Hast dared in public places to lift up
Thy voice against our supreme Holy Father;
Saying, his power is founded on a cheat,
On sand of falsehood, not on rock of truth,
And that thou art a priest as good as he.

WISHART.
I have taught nothing but the Sacred Word:
There have I read, that every holy man,
That understands and feels the Spirit's power,
Is made a king and priest unto his God;
Serving him every day rejoicingly
Within the quiet temple of his heart.
I have read nought of Holy Father Paul;
And of the fancied power to bind or loose,
Assumed by ignorant time-serving men,
And blindly used, according as they list:
Such have no warrant or to bind or loose;
They want the instrument, the sacred word.

LAUDER.
Hear how the bloated heretic blasphemes!

DR JOHN ARBUCKLE.
The spirit of the devil is within him;
Nay, he has Legion housed within his head,
Enriching all his tongue with blasphemies.
We sin in list'ning to his loathsome words;
Read him his second count—have done with him.

LAUDER.
Thou hast avow'd, and from thy wicked mouth
Blown it most impudently among the people,
That purgatory's penance is a fib,
Priest-forged, unscriptural, unreasonable,
Devised by cunning men, whereby t'extort
This world's good gold from terrified poor sinners.

WISHART.
I have taught nothing but the sacred word;
And I have search'd its every nook to find
On the pure leaves the name of purgatory.
There I have never found it—If 'tis there,
Turn up the leaf, and read the text aloud;
Then I'll believe it, and will preach of it.

LAUDER.
O heretic, how fraudulent thy tongue!

DR ARBUCKLE.
Thou fool, thou hast been far too conversant
With mystic books, that do mislead weak men
Into fantastical, upsetting thoughts:
Hadst thou but thumb'd thy Virgil half as much
As Luther's mis-translated Testaments,
Thou mightst have known how Rome's transcendent bard,
(A greater man than he of Isleben,)
Utter'd in sounding Latin his belief
Of purgatory and a middle state,
Where sin-black souls are bleached white for heaven:
'Tis Æneid fifth or sixth—I think the fifth.

SIR D. LINDSAY,
(aside).
Shame, shame to learning and to college-cowls!

CARDINAL.
What need we more? the man's sin-tainted mouth
Condemns his carcase to the punishment:—
Hear then thy sentence, man of blasphemy!
Thou shalt be taken hence again to prison;
There thou shalt be allow'd six hours to put
Thy dead-clothes on, and fit thy soul for death;
For, on the seventh, the executioner
Shall drag thee from thy dungeon to the stake,
Whereto thy body chain'd, shall expiate
In fiery tortures thy foul spirit's stains:
Go then! and may thy latter hours be peace,
Such peace, at least, as heretics may find!

WISHART,
(kneeling).
O Thou, by whose permissive providence
Thy servants suffer wrong for thy name's sake,
Forgive the men, that in their ignorance
Do thus adjudge me to a cruel death;
As I forgive them, O do thou forgive them!

SIR D. LINDSAY,
(stepping forward).
My Lords and Doctors, ere this good man go,
I come before your faces, in the face
Of this assembled conscious multitude,
Within these walls, which our forefathers built
For this alone, that gospel-gentleness
Might hence, as from a centre, circulate,
And radiate salvation round the land;
Before this altar of the living God,
Which stands unveil'd t'upbraid and to confound
His mercy-slighting ministers with shame,
I come for this good man, and for myself,
And for the world, and for posterity,
And for the honour of that purest faith,
Wherewith the God of truth hath bless'd the world,
To make my protestation solemnly
Against the verdict of this rev'rend Court,
As being most iniquitous and cruel,
Most persecuting in its origin,
Pernicious in example and effect,
In execution savagely unchristian,
In all its motives, tendencies, inflictions,
To God and man alike dishonourable.
Look ye to heaven, my Lords,—behold, the throne
Of God is compass'd ever by the steps
Of sweet-eyed Mercy, in her cherub dance;
But Cruelty is ever found on earth,
Chain'd, with her burning tortures in her hand,
To thrones of tyrants and usurping kings!

CARDINAL,
(rising and interrupting him).
We cannot hear you, sir—the diet's closed:
Heresy, heresy, all smells of heresy;
I have it in my nostrils here like brimstone;
We'll all be chok'd, unless we go forthwith.—
Macers, apparitors, clear the Court—away—
Let's off, i'God's name, I am sick of it.—

SIR D. LINDSAY.
Then be this good man's blood upon your head!

[Wishart is led away by pursuivants. The Court breaks up, and disperses in confusion and uproar.