that must sit all the week in taverns and ale-houses, and on the Saturday bestow two hours in study, which, when they utter the next day, there's none can understand it.

Anar. The blind cares not, if Sol ne'er shine, they still can grope their way; my son shall be a scholar, and let the worldlings wallow in the dung, while he the Indies bears about him; none knows the learned's bliss, but those that learned are; I do look on Plato's divinity, next unto Moses's writings; fam'd Aristotle's learned philosophy, next unto Jesse's sons rare proverbs; Livy's large book, next to the chronicles of Israel's kings, and Homer's deathless verse, next unto David's lays: May hell conspire to cast plagues on those would not have learning be advanc'd and honour'd, when ignorant armies, ignorant parliaments, ignorant synods, ignorant fools and knaves

Shall lie unthought of, rotting in their graves;

The learned's songs, when they in dust do lie,
Shall wrestle even with eternity.

Enter Moneyless.

Mr. Moneyless, I joy to see you, Sir.

Mon. Sir, I made bold to press into your privacies unawares; my ignorance will, I hope, purchase my pardon.

Anar. Still complimenting; you courtiers feed on compliments as your meat; leave it, and take more solid food, a thousand of 'em will not staunch ones hunger: What news, what news abroad?

Mon. Faith, none that makes for me; the King must not yet see Whitehall; Cromwell won't have it so.

Anar. We can grow great without him; what profit doth the world receive by Kings, who, at the best, are but relenting tyrants, whose power is dissonant from God's appointment? How bravely Holland thrives, guided by States, where people rule the people? There's a strong sympathy in nature; the mutual love they talk of, that was wont to be 'twixt subjects and their Kings, is now for ever lost.

Mon. Sir, I know you are an enemy to monarchy, and would digress even from your principles, should you allow of kingly government, which makes your words invalid.

Anar. Well said, I like thee, that adversity's bleak storms have not unriveted thy fix'd resolves, but thou still art faithful to thy master.

O, Courtier, curse them that have caus'd thy woe,

That like a skeleton thou now dost show:

You came, I know, to dine with me, and are most welcome: What printed news abroad?

Mon. As I was coming to you, I met another meagre courtier's face, and he shewed me a song, of which I begg'd the copy; I hope 'twill not offend your ears, if I do sing them to you.

Anar. Not the least, let's hear.

Moneyless sings.

THE King shall now enjoy his own,

And have the sovereignty,

Once more fill his refulgent throne

Like to some deity.

But first of all his charge must hear
For things most trivial;

Three kingdoms blood, Lilburne doth swear,
Upon his head must fall.

The parliament, as some report,
Intend for to disband;

And, if they would, we'd thank them for❜t,

And something give in hand.

They now have seven years sat,
And yet it will not be,
The army (shall I tell you what?)
Will never make them free.

Is it not pity, that at last,

When they intended flitting,
They should out of their house be cast,
And suffer for their sitting?

And all the gold that they have got,
And without fear extorted,
For to enjoy is not their lot,
O they are strangely thwarted.
His Majesty is quitted now

Of Brown that wooden jailor,
And in his stead, they do allow
Joyce, that same prick-louse taylor.

'Tis very good to ease our teen,
The army are so witty,
And many thousands of them seen
Incompassing the city.

Why sure it cannot but well hap,
And prove a good purgation,
That fourscore members, at a clap,
Are forced from their station?

The propositions now are gone,
And surely now the King
Will ratify them every one,
But I fear no such thing.

He cannot sure dare to resist,

If he intend to eat,

For 'tis well known he long hath mist
His wonted clothes and meat.

Our dearest brother (Jockey) now
Is his destruction wooing,

And very fain would something do

To purchase his undoing.

Their long-eared assembly'

Do grieve and groanin ire,

That their compounded presbytery
Should back to them retire.

Truth is, how much the more, at first,
Our splendor shined bright,

We are so much the more accurst,
Inveloped with night.

How like you this?

Anar. 'Tis an excellent song, yfaith; Shall I, Mr. Moneyless, crave a copy of it?

Mon. Both I and it are at your service.

Anar. Come, Mr. Moneyless, 'tis almost dinner-time, time was you welcomed me; 'tis fit I should be grateful; come wife.

Exeunt Anar. Priscilla, manet Mon. Did I e'er think that want should so oppress me, that I should be constrained to wait on this man for a dinner?

Yet, of my wants, how dare I so complain?
Shall I not suffer with my sovereign?

Whom yet I'll not despair to see plac'd in his throne, his crown on's head,
his scepter in his hand; the citizens now do triumph o'er the courtiers:
O why should fortune make the city proud,
And give them more than is the court allow'd?
The King's own brightness his own foil is made,
And is to us the cause of his own shade.

Exit.

ACT III.

Recorders, a Consistory of the Presbytery; then enter Directory, Sargus, Luxurio, after them, with officers, Liturgy, Dipwell afar off.

Direct. BRING forth those weeds of shame-apparel him. [A coat of sackloth brought out.]

Litur. I hope I shall have licence for to speak.

Direct. Not a syllable; 'tis known thou art by name and nature an enemy to our government, and hast avouch'd it to be tyrannous; saying, that Scotland, by their policy in bringing their church-form amongst us, do put assassinate our monarchy, thirsting to be our lords, all which here openly recant, or we'll surrender thee.

Litur. I recant, ye Cacodemons; hear me, and mark,

First, leathern swains shall plow amid the sky,

Thames turn his course, and leave his channel dry;
Sodom's dead lake revive, and entertain

Leviathan and Neptune's hungry train;

Fishes the flood forsake, and fowls of heaven
Bedeck'd with scales, and in the ocean driven;
The brightest flame of heaven shine by night,
And horned Cynthia give diurnal light,

Before I change my settled constant mind,

To damn myself, that you may count me kind;
Cemonian stairs, Phalarian bulls, nor all
Torments that flow from cruel tyrants gall;
Tarpeian mountains, altars of Busire,
Or furnaces of Babylonian fire,

Sha'nt make me stoop to such base fools as you,
Or unto your intentions for to bow.

Sarg. He raves: Sir, these loose words will but augment your sorrow in the end; do you know where you are?

Litur. Very well, lecherous Sargus, better than thou knowest to be honest.

Direct. Stop his mouth, were ever heard speeches so desperate?
Dare you, before this holy convocation, to prate so peremptorily?
Litur. Dare you, ye sots, assume unto yourselves the name of holy?
Methinks your cheeks should, knowing you to blame,
Out-blush the crimson of your gowns for shame;
You are more cruel than the crocodile,

That mangles Memphians on the banks of Nile;
That kills, with weeping tears, for hunger's need,
But you can smile, and murder for no meed.

7

Lux. Venerable fathers, this is unsufferable; if with audaciousness you thus dispense, hereafter never look to be reverenc'd, but to be scorn'd and laugh'd at.

Direct. Satan hath sure inspired him; bring forth the engine; support him up. [The stool of repentance brought forth, contrived in the fashion of a pulpit, covered over with black. Litur. He that lays hand on me, encounters death.

[Plucks forth a dagger. Direct. Hear then your sentence: Since you deny to be a penitent, we here confiscate all is yours, to be employ'd for pious uses, yourself within three days for to depart the land, and never to return, on pain of death; this is your doom, and now break up the court. [Exeunt. Litur. O my mild judges, you shew your pity and your piety; your utmost wrath can't hurt my inward man, I there am still the same, and not exil'd.

Guilt sorrow, shame, horror attend you still,

And let wild Ate lead you where she will.

Dipw. Heaven keep me stedfast to my principles, Is this a limb of the presbytery?

Direct. Yes; but his merits make him fit to be lopped off, for it; Who could be infected worse than they are?

Dipw You hear your sentence, will you depart the land?

Litur. No, I'll not forsake my native soil upon such slender grounds, I'll live a while in private; I know an independent army will crop presbytery in the bud, and break this bed of snakes, the only way that now is visible for to repair my breaches; O thou etern, the true almighty Jove, suffer not innovations to go on, to bring this kingdom to destruction; but why, alas, do I now talk of Jove?

For now, alas! no Jupiter is found,
. But in all lands Pluto a God is crown'd.

Exeunt:

ACT IV.

Enter the two elders, Sargus and Luxurio, singing.

Sarg. NOW sable night hath with her ebon robe
Darken'd the surface of this earthly globe,
And drowsy Morpheus, with his leaden key,
Lock'd up the doors of every mortal eye;
Come let us fall unto our wonted games;
Let us be blith, and nourish wanton flames.
Lux. What Lyncian eye discerns our lewd delight,
Cover'd with darkness of the cloudy night?
Why should we censure fear, or idle sound
Of human words, that are inviron'd round
With marble walls? The wit of mortals can
Not find our wiles, past finding out of man,
And heaven regards not the works of men;
Come let us boldly feast and frolick then.
Sarg. Come forth, ye creatures of delight,

And let us in embraces spend the night.

[Six whores put forth on two beds, three on a bed, musick, they rise and dance with the two elders.

A SONG.

MEET, meet, and kiss,

And girt each others waist,
And enjoy the lover's bliss,
Until the night be past.
Elders, that are holy men

All day, must sport at night,
So, so, to't agen,

Twill heighten appetite.

Sarg. Those three are thine, these mine, let's to't

Like monkies, or the reeking goat.

[They ascend each on a several bed, and are drawn in.

SCENE II.

Enter Priscilla sola.

Prisc. Methinks the hours fly not with winged haste as they were wont, or is't the expectation of my love, that makes the night seem tedious; my heart extremely throbs, methinks the walls seem as wash'd o'er with blood; 'tis my fantasy, thought, like a subtle juggler, makes us see things that really are not; there's something in me whispers fatal