Act Iii.

Scene I. A Council-Chamber, great Table, Chairs, and Papers.

Enter two Clerks, who lay Papers in Order, and Doorkeeper.

Door. Come, haste, haste, the Lords are coming—keep back there, room for the Lords, room for the honourable Lords: Heav’n bless your Worships Honours.

Enter Lambert, Fleetwood, Whitlock, Wariston, discoursing earnestly; to them Duckenfield, Cobbet, Hewson, Desbro, and others; Duck. takes Wariston by the Hand, and talks to him.

War. Bread a gued, Gentlemen, I’s serv’d the Commonwealth long and faithfully; I’s turn’d and turn’d to aud Interest and aud Religions that turn’d up Trump, and wons a me, but I’s get naught but Bagery by my Sol; I’s noo put in for a Pansion as well as rest o ya Loones.

Cob. What we can serve you in, my Lord, you may command.

Duc. And I too, my Lord, when the Government is new moulded.

War. Wons, Sirs, and I’s sa moold it, ’twas ne’er sa moolded sen the Dam boon’d the Head on’t.

Duc. I know there are some ambitious Persons that are for a single Person; but we’ll have hot Work e’er we yield to that.

War. The faud Diel take ’em then for Archibald; ’tis warse than Monarchy.

Duc. A thousand times: have we with such Industry 375 been pulling down Kings of the Royal Family, to set up Tyrants of our own, of mean and obscure Birth? No, if we’re for a single Person, I’m for a lawful one.

War. Wons and ya have spoken aud, my Lord, so am I.

Due. But Lambert has a busy, haughty Spirit, and thinks to carry it; but we’ll have no single Person.

War. Nor I, ods Bread; the faud Diel brest the Wem of Lambert, or any single Person in England. I’s for yare Interest, my gued Lords. [Bowing.

Lam. My Lord Wariston, will you please to assume the Chair?

Enter Loveless, Freeman, and others with Petitions.

War. Ah, my gued Loord, I’s yare most obedient humble Servant. [Bowing to Lam. all set.

All. Hum, hum.

Fleet. My Lords and Gentlemen, we are here met together in the Name of the Lard—

Duc. Yea, and I hope we shall hang together as one Man—A Pox upon your Preaching. [Aside.

Fleet. —And hope this Day’s great Work will be for his Praise and Glory.

Duc. ’Bating long Graces, my Lord, we are met together for the Bus’ness of the Nation, to settle it, and to establish a Government.

Fleet. Yea, verily: and I hope you will all unanimously agree, it shall be your unworthy Servant.

Lam. What else, my Lord.

Fleet. And as thou, Lard, hast put the Sword into my Hand—

Due. So put it into your Heart—my Lord, to do Justice.

Fleet. Amen.

Due. I’d rather see it there than in your Hand— [Aside.

Fleet. For we are, as it were, a Body without a Head; or, to speak more learnedly, an Animal inanimate.

Hew. My Lord, let us use, as little as we can, the 376 Language of the Beast, hard Words; none of your Eloquence, it savoureth of Monarchy.

Lam. My Lord, you must give Men of Quality leave to speak in a Language more gentile and courtly than the ordinary sort of Mankind.

Hew. My Lord, I am sorry to hear there are any of Quality among this honourable Dissembly. [Stands up.

Cob. Assembly, my Lord—

Hew. Well, you know my meaning; or if there be any such, I’m sorry they should own themselves of Quality.

Due. How! own themselves Gentlemen! Death, Sir, d’ye think we were all born Coblers?

Hew. Or if you were not, the more the pity, for little England, I say. [In a heat.

Fleet. Verily, my Lords, Brethren should not fall out, it is a Scandal to the good Cause, and maketh the wicked rejoice.

War. Wons, and theys garr the loosey Proverb on’t te, when loons gang together by th’ luggs, gued men get their ene.

All. He, he, he.

Due. He calls you Knaves by Craft, my Lords.

War. Bread a gued, take’t among ye, Gentlemen, I’s ment weel.

Fleet. I profess, my Lord Wariston, you make my Hair stand an end to hear how you swear.

War. Wons, my Loord, I’s swear as little as your Lordship, only I’s swear out, and ye swallow aud.

Due. There’s a Bone for you to pick, my Lord.

All. He, he, he.

Lam. We give my Lord Wariston leave to jest.

Des. But what’s this to the Government all this while? A dad I shall sit so late, I shall have no time to visit my Horses, therefore proceed to the Point.

Hew. Ay, to the Point, my Lords; the Gentleman that spoke last spoke well.

Cob. Well said, Brother, I see you will in time speak properly.

377 Duc. But to the Government, my Lords! [Beats the Table.

Lam. Put ’em off of this Discourse, my Lord. [Aside to War.

Des. My Lord Wariston, move it, you are Speaker.

War. The Diel a me, Sirs, and noo ya talk of a Speaker, I’s tell ye a blithe Tale.

Fleet. Ingeniously, my Lord, you are to blame to swear so.

Lam. Your Story, my Lord.

War. By my Sol, mon, and there war a poor Woman the other Day, begg’d o’th’ Carle the Speaker, but he’d give her nought unless she’d let a Feart; wons at last a Feart she lat. Ay marry, quoth the Woman, noo my Rump has a Speaker te.

All. He, he, he.

Due. But to our Bus’ness—

Des. Bus’ness; ay, there’s the thing, I’ve a World on’t. I shou’d go and bespeak a Pair of Mittins and Shears for my Hedger and Shearer, a pair of Cards for my Thrasher, a Scythe for my Mower, and a Screen-Fan for my Lady-Wife, and many other things; my Head’s full of Bus’ness. I cannot stay—

Whit. Fy, my Lord, will you neglect the bus’ness of the Day? We meet to oblige the Nation, and gratify our Friends.

Des. Nay, I’ll do any thing, so I may rise time enough to see my Horses at Night.

Lav. Damn ’em, what stuff’s here for a Council-Table?

Free. Where are our English Spirits, that can be govern’d by such Dogs as these?—

Lam. Clerk, read the Heads of what past at our last sitting.

War. In the first place, I must mind your Lordships tol consider those that have been gued Members in the Commonwealth.

Fleet. We shall not be backward to gratify any that have serv’d the Commonwealth.

378 Whit. There’s Money enough; we have taxt the Nation high.

Due. Yes, if we knew where to find it: however, read.

Clerk reads.] To Walter Walton, Draper, six thousand nine hundred twenty nine Pounds six Shillings and five Pence, for Blacks for his Highness’s Funeral.

Lam. For the Devil’s; put it down for Oliver Cromwel’s Funeral: We’ll have no Record rise up in Judgment for such a Villain.

Lav. How live Asses kick the dead Lion! [Aside.

Due. Hark ye, my Lords, we sit here to reward Services done to the Commonwealth; let us consider whether this be a Service to the Commonwealth or not?

Lam. However, we will give him Paper for’t.

Hews. Ay, let him get his Money when he can.

Lam. Paper’s not so dear, and the Clerk’s Pains will be rewarded.

War. Right, my gued Lord,’sbred, that Cromwel was th’ faudest limmer Loon that ever cam into lour Country, the faud Diel has tane him by th’ Luggs for robbing our Houses and Land.

Fleet. No swearing, my Lord.

War. Weel, weel, my Loord, I’s larne to profess and lee as weel as best on ya.

Hews. That may bring you profit, my Lord—but, Clerk, proceed.

Clerk reads.] To Walter Frost, Treasurer of the Contingencies, twenty thousand Pounds. To Thurloe, Secretary to his Highness—

Duc. To old Noll.

Clerk reads.] —Old Noll, ten thousand Pounds, for unknown Service done the Commonwealth—To Mr. Hutchinson, Treasurer of the Navy, two hundred thousand Pounds—

War. Two hundred thousand Pound; Owns, what a Sum’s there?—Marry it came from the Mouth of a Cannon sure.

379 Clerk reads.] A Present to the Right Honourable and truly Virtuous Lady, the Lady Lambert, for Service done to the late Protector—

Hews. Again—say Cromwel.

Clerk. —Cromwel—six thousand Pound in Jacobus’s.

War. ’Sbread, sike a Sum wou’d make me honour the Face of aud Jemmy.

Clerk. To Mr. Ice six thousand Pound; to Mr. Loether, late Secretary to his High—

Whit. To Oliver Cromwel say, can you not obey Orders?

Clerk. —Secretary to Oliver Cromwel—two thousand nine hundred ninety nine Pounds for Intelligence and Information, and piously betraying the King’s Liege People.

War. Haud, haud, Sirs, Mary en ya gift se fast ya’ll gif aud away from poor Archibald Johnson.

Whit. Speak for your self, my Lord; or rather, my Lord, do you speak for him. [To Lam.

Lam. Do you move it for him, and I’ll do as much for you anon. [Aside to Whit.

Whit. My Lord, since we are upon Gratifications,—let us consider the known Merit of the Lord Wariston, a Person of industrious Mischiefs to the malignant Party, and great Integrity to us, and the Commonwealth.

War. Gued faith, an I’s ha been a trusty Trojon, Sir, what say you, may very gued and gracious Loords?—

Duc. I scorn to let a Dog go unrewarded; and you, Sir, fawn so prettily, ’tis pity you shou’d miss Preferment.

Hews. And so ’tis; come, come, my Lords, consider he was ever our Friend, and ’tis but reasonable we shou’d stitch up one another’s broken Fortunes.

Duc. Nay, Sir, I’m not against it.

All. ’Tis Reason, ’tis Reason.

Free. Damn ’em, how they lavish out the Nation!

War. Scribe, pretha read my Paper.

Hews. Have you a Pertition there?

Cob. A Petition, my Lord.

380 Hews. Pshaw, you Scholards are so troublesome.

Lam. Read the Substance of it. [To the Clerk.

Clerk. That your Honours wou’d be pleas’d, in consideration of his Service, to grant to your Petitioner, a considerable Sum of Money for his present Supply.

Fleet. Verily, order him two thousand Pound—

War. Two thousand poond? Bread a gued, and I’s gif my Voice for Fleetwood. [Aside.

Lam. Two thousand; nay, my Lords, let it be three.

War. Wons, I lee’d, I lee’d; I’s keep my Voice for Lambert—Guds Benizon light on yar Sol, my gued Lord Lambert.

Hews. Three thousand Pound! why such a Sum wou’d buy half Scotland.

War. Wons, my Lord, ya look but blindly on’t then: time was, a Mite on’t had bought aud shoos in yar Stall, Brother, tho noo ya so abound in Irish and Bishops Lands.

Duc. You have nick’d him there, my Lord.

All. He, he, he.

War. Scribe—gang a tiny bit farther.

Clerk. —And that your Honours would be pleas’d to confer an Annual Pension on him—

Lam. Reason, I think; what say you, my Lords, of five hundred Pound a Year?

All. Agreed, agreed.

War. The Diel swallow me, my Lord, ya won my Heart.

Due. ’Tis very well—but out of what shall this be rais’d?

Lam. We’ll look what Malignants’ Estates are forfeit, undispos’d of—let me see—who has young Freeman’s Estate?

Des. My Lord, that fell to me.

Lam. What all the fifteen hundred Pound a Year?

Des. A Dad, and all little enough.

Free. The Devil do him good with it.

Des. Had not the Lard put it into your Hearts to have given me two thousand per Annum out of Bishops Lands, 381 and three thousand per Annum out of the Marquess’s Estate; how shou’d I have liv’d and serv’d the Commonwealth as I have done?

Free. A plague confound his Honour, he makes a hard shift to live on Eight thousand Pound a Year, who was born and bred a Hedger.

Lov. Patience, Friend.

Lam. I have been thinking—but I’ll find out a way.

Lov. Or betray some honest Gentleman, on purpose to gratify the Loone.

Lam. And, Gentlemen, I am bound in Honour and Conscience to speak in behalf of my Lord Whitlock; I think fit, if you agree with me, he shou’d be made Constable of Windsor Castle, Warden of the Forest, with the Rents, Perquisities, and Profits thereto belonging; nor can your Lordships confer a Place of greater Trust and Honour in more safe Hands.

Due. I find he wou’d oblige all to his side. [Aside. Has he not part of the Duke of Buckingham’s Estate already, with Chelsey House, and several other Gifts?

Lam. He has dearly deserv’d ’em; he has serv’d our Interest well and faithfully.

Due. And he has been well paid for’t.

Whit. And so were you, Sir, with several Lordships, and Bishops Lands, you were not born to, I conceive.

Duc. I have not got it, Sir, by knavish Querks in Law; a Sword that deals out Kingdoms to the brave, has cut out some small parcels of Earth for me. And what of this? [Stands up in a heat.

Whit. I think, Sir, he that talks well, and to th’ purpose, may be as useful to the Commonwealth as he that fights well. Why do we keep so many else in Pension that ne’er drew Sword, but to talk, and rail at the malignant Party; to libel and defame ’em handsomly, with pious useful Lyes,

Which pass for Gospel with the common Rabble, And edify more than Hugh Peter’s Sermons; 382 And make Fools bring more Grist to the publick Mill. Then, Sir, to wrest the Law to our convenience Is no small, inconsiderate Work.

Free. And which you may be hang’d for very shortly— [Aside.

Lam. ’Tis granted, my Lord, your Merit’s infinite—We made him Keeper of the Great Seal, ’tis true, ’tis Honour, but no Salary.

Duc. Ten thousand Pound a Year in Bribes will do as well.

Lam. Bribes are not so frequent now as in Old Noll’s Days.

Hews. Well, my Lord, let us be brief and tedious, as the saying is, and humour one another: I’m for Whitlock’s Advance.

Lam. I move for a Salary, Gentlemen, Scobel and other petty Clerks have had a thousand a Year; my Lord sure merits more.

Hews. Why—let him have two thousand then.

Fleet. I profess ingeniously, with all my Heart.

Whit. I humbly thank your Lordships—but, if I may be so bold to ask, from whence shall I receive it?

Lam. Out of the Customs.

Cob. Brotherly Love ought to go along with us—but, under favour, when this is gone, where shall we raise new Supplies?

Lam. We’ll tax the Nation high, the City higher, They are our Friends, our most obsequious Slaves, Our Dogs to fetch and carry, our very Asses—

Lov. And our Oxes, with the help of their Wives. [Aside.

Lam. Besides, the City’s rich, and near her time, I hope, of being deliver’d.

War. Wons a gued, wad I’d the laying o’ her, she shou’d be sweetly brought to Bed, by my Sol.

Des. The City cares for no Scotch Pipers, my Lord.

War. By my Sol, but she has danc’d after the gued 383 Pipe of Reformation, when the Covenant Jigg gang’d maryly round, Sirs.

Clerk. My Lords, here are some poor malignant Petitioners.

Lam. Oh, turn ’em out, here’s nothing for ’em; these Fellows were petitioning my Lady to day—I thought she had given you a satisfactory Answer,

Lov. She did indeed, my Lord: but ’tis a hard Case, to take away a Gentleman’s Estate, without convicting him of any Crime.

Lam. Oh, Sir, we shall prove that hereafter.

Lov. But to make sure Work, you’ll hang a Man first and examine his Offence afterwards; a Plague upon your Consciences: My Friend here had a little fairer Play; your Villains, your Witnesses in Pension swore him a Colonel for our glorious Master, of ever blessed Memory, at eight Years old; a Plague upon their Miracles.

Fleet. Ingeniously, Sirrah, you shall be pillory’d for defaming our reverend Witnesses: Guards, take ’em to your Custody both.

Free. Damn it, I shall miss my Assignation with Lady Desbro; a Pox of your unnecessary prating, what shall I do? [Guards take ’em away.

Lam. And now, my Lords, we have finished the Business of the Day. My good Lord Fleetwood, I am entirely yours, and at our next sitting shall approve my self your Creature—

Whit. My good Lord, I am your submissive Vassal.

War. Wons, my Lord, I scorn any Man shou’d be mere yare Vassal than Archibald Johnson. [To Fleetwood.

Scene II. A Chamber in Lady Desbro’s House.

Enter La. Desbro, and Corporal in haste.

L. Des. Seiz’d on, secur’d! Was there no time but this? What made him at the Committee, or when there why 384 spoke he honest Truth? What shall I do, good Corporal? Advise; take Gold, and see if you can corrupt his Guards: but they are better paid for doing Mischief; yet try, their Consciences are large. [Gives him Gold.

Cor. I’ll venture my Life in so good a Cause, Madam. [Exit.

Enter Tom.

Tom. Madam, here’s Mr. Ananias Gogle, the Lay-Elder of Clement’s Parish.

L. Des. Damn the sham Saint; am I now in Condition to be plagu’d with his impertinent Nonsense?

Tom. Oh! Pray, Madam, hear him preach a little; ’tis the purest Sport—

Enter Ananias.

Ana. Peace be in this Place.

L. Des. A blessed hearing; he preaches nothing in his Conventicles, but Blood and Slaughter. [Aside. What wou’d you, Sir? I’m something busy now.

Ana. Ah, the Children of the Elect have no Business but the great Work of Reformation: Yea verily, I say, all other Business is profane, and diabolical, and devilish; Yea, I say, these Dressings, Curls, and Shining Habilliments—which take so up your time, your precious time; I say, they are an Abomination, yea, an Abomination in the sight of the Righteous, and serve but as an Ignis fatuus, to lead vain Man astray—I say again— [Looking now and then behind on the Page.

L. Des. —You are a very Coxcomb.

Ana. I say again, that even I, upright I, one of the new Saints, find a sort of a—a—I know not what—a kind of a Motion as it were—a stirring up—as a Man may say, to wickedness—Yea, verily it corrupteth the outward Man within me.

L. Des. Is this your Business, Sir, to rail against our Clothes, as if you intended to preach me into my Primitive Nakedness again?

385 Ana. Ah, the naked Truth is best; but, Madam, I have a little work of Grace to communicate unto you, please you to send your Page away—

L. Des. Withdraw—sure I can make my Party good with one wicked Elder:—Now, Sir, your Bus’ness. [Ex. Tom. —Be brief.

Ana. As brief as you please—but—who in the sight of so much Beau - - ty—can think of any Bus’ness but the Bus’ness—Ah! hide those tempting Breasts,—Alack, how smooth and warm they are— [Feeling ’em, and sneering.

L. Des. How now, have you forgot your Function?

Ana. Nay, but I am mortal Man also, and may fall seven times a day—Yea verily, I may fall seven times a day—Your Ladyship’s Husband is old,—and where there is a good excuse for falling,—ah, there the fall—ing—is excusable.—And might I but fall with your Ladyship,—might I, I say.—

L. Des. How, this from you, the Head o’ th’ Church Militant, the very Pope of Presbytery?

Ana. Verily, the Sin lieth in the Scandal; therefore most of the discreet pious Ladies of the Age chuse us, upright Men, who make a Conscience of a Secret, the Laity being more regardless of their Fame.—In sober sadness, the Place—inviteth, the Creature tempting, and the Spirit very violent within me. [Takes and ruffles her.

L. Des. Who waits there?—I’m glad you have prov’d your self what I ever thought of all your pack of Knaves.

Ana. Ah, Madam! Do not ruin my Reputation; there are Ladies of high Degree in the Commonwealth, to whom we find our selves most comforting; why might not you be one?—for, alas, we are accounted as able Men in Ladies Chambers, as in our Pulpits: we serve both Functions—

Enter Servants.

Hah! her Servants— [Stands at a distance.

L. Des. Shou’d I tell this, I shou’d not find belief. [Aside.

386 Ana. Madam, I have another Errand to your Ladiship.—It is the Duty of my Occupation to catechize the Heads of every Family within my Diocese; and you must answer some few Questions I shall ask.—In the first place, Madam,—Who made ye?

L. Des. So, from Whoring, to a zealous Catechism—who made me? what Insolence is this, to ask me Questions which every Child that lisps out Words can answer!

Ana. ’Tis our Method, Madam.

L. Des. Your Impudence, Sirrah,—let me examine your Faith, who are so sawcy to take an account of mine—Who made you? But lest you shou’d not know, I will inform you: First, Heav’n made you a deform’d, ill-favour’d Creature; then the Rascal your Father made you a Taylor; next, your Wife made you a Cuckold; and lastly the Devil has made you a Doctor; and so get you gone for a Fool and a Knave all over.

Ana. A Man of my Coat affronted thus!

L. Des. It shall be worse, Sirrah, my Husband shall know how kind you wou’d have been to him, because your Disciple and Benefactor, to have begot him a Babe of Grace for a Son and Heir.

Ana. Mistake not my pious meaning, most gracious Lady.

L. Des. I’ll set you out in your Colours: Your impudent and bloody Principles, your Cheats, your Rogueries on honest Men, thro their kind, deluded Wives, whom you cant and goggle into a Belief, ’tis a great work of Grace to steal, and beggar their whole Families, to contribute to your Gormandizing, Lust and Laziness; Ye Locusts of the Land, preach Nonsense, Blasphemy, and Treason, till you sweat again, that the sanctify’d Sisters may rub you down, to comfort and console the Creature.

Ana. Ah! Am—

L. Des. Sirrah, be gone, and trouble me no more—be gone—yet stay—the Rogue may be of use to me—Amongst the heap of Vice, Hypocrisy, and Devils that 387 possess all your Party, you may have some necessary Sin; I’ve known some honest, useful Villains amongst you, that will swear, profess, and lye devoutedly for the Good Old Cause.

Ana. Yea, verily, I hope there are many such, and I shou’d rejoice, yea, exceedingly rejoice in any Gadly Performance to your Ladiship.

L. Des. This is a pious Work: You are a Knave of Credit, a very Saint with the rascally Rabble, with whom your seditious Cant more prevails, your precious Hum and Ha, and gifted Nonsense, than all the Rhetorick of the Learn’d or Honest.

Ana. Hah!

L. Des. —In fine, I have use of your Talent at present, there’s one now in Confinement of the Royal Party—his Name’s Freeman.

Ana. And your Ladiship wou’d have him dispatch’d; I conceive ye—but wou’d you have him dispatch’d privately, or by Form of Law? we’ve Tools for all uses, and ’tis a pious Work, and meritorious.

L. Des. Right, I wou’d indeed have him dispatch’d, and privately; but ’tis hither privately, hither to my Chamber, privately, for I have private Bus’ness with him. D’ye start?—this must be done—for you can pimp I’m sure upon occasion, you’ve Tools for all uses; come, resolve, or I’ll discover your bloody Offer. Is your Stomach so queasy it cannot digest Pimping, that can swallow Whoring, false Oaths, Sequestration, Robbery, Rapes, and Murders daily?

Ana. Verily, you mistake my pious Meaning; it is the Malignant I stick at; the Person, not the Office: and in sadness, Madam, it goeth against my tender Conscience to do any good to one of the Wicked.

L. Des. It must stretch at this time; go haste to the Guard, and demand him in my Husband’s Name; here’s something worth your Pains—having releas’d him, bring him to me, you understand me—go bid him be diligent, 388 and as you behave your self, find my Favour; for know, Sir, I am as great a Hypocrite as you, and know the Cheats of your Religion too; and since we know one another, ’tis like we shall be true.

Ana. But shou’d the Man be missing, and I call’d to account?—

L. Des. He shall be return’d in an hour: go, get you gone, and bring him, or—no more— [Ex. Ana.

For all degrees of Vices, you must grant, There is no Rogue like your Geneva Saint. [Exeunt.