The SCENE Alba Aula Regalis.
Enter Papissa,
big Belly'd, convey'd by Povicena,
and Petrus Impostor.
Papissa.
THE Tempest of my Fury is o'repast,
And now my Rage is quenched by this last
Blast of Revenge, which hath dispers'd the Cloud
Of my Confusion, which fell out in Blood;
Wherein I swim, yet do not fear to sink;
More pleas'd with such a Sea than Meat and Drink.
Povi.
Came think no more of Rebels, but of things
Concerning Princes, Emperours, and Kings,
The time draws nigh, wherein you must prepare,
To furnish
Albion with a Lawful Heir.
Pap.
I've bore this Pillow, six months on my Womb,
And must do so, for three Months yet to come:
And since my Time of Labour doth draw nigh,
I must augment, and set the Pillow high;
Rip up the Prince, and put some Cotton in,
He will not cry altho you prick his Skin.
Pulleth the Pillow, from her Womb, and giveth it to the Lady, who stuffeth it with a pound of Cotton. Pointing at Petrus.
Call in the
Midwife, and
Petrona too,
I'll take advice of them how I shall do.
Pov.
This greasy Pillow is a nasty thing,
It ne're will be a good Prince nor a King.
Pap.
Leave off to jest, 'tis not a fitting time
Of that which known, would prove a deadly crime.
Enter Midwife, Petrona
big with Child, and Petrus Impostor.
Pap.
You know
Petrona that I do design,
To add an Heir unto the Royal line;
Which must be done by
Hocus means, when I
Shall counterfeit a Labour, and Out-cry,
You must be there, and privately convey
Your child to me if that it be a Boy,
When you are brought to Bed; and till you be,
I'll grunt and groan, that none may question me.
You are of my Religion you know how,
That this will all the Hereticks o'rethrow;
That live in
Albun, For their Prince shall be,
Prought up at
Rome, and train'd in Popery.
Now what shall I give for your Child, if it
Should prove a Boy, and all my projects hit.
Pet.
Five thousand pound the matter will decide,
My Child's a Boy, it lyes in the right side.
Pap.
Five thousand pound to make your Son a King!
This is a more than ordinary thing;
But will not stand what you have said to do,
If to a constant secrecy you'll vow.
Petron.
I, by our Lady's Girdle and her Garter,
Rather than speak one word will dye a Martyr.
Petrus.
That will not do; but whispering to prevent,
On what you say, you's take the Sacrament.
Papissa.
Let it be so; for then we'll have some ground,
Without delay, to pay five thousand Pound.
Pet.
But what if it should prove a Girl, when she
Hath got the Sum of Money? where are we?
Pap.
Tho it prove so, I shall have others there,
And surely one will serve me for an Heir.
There is no need the Money to restore;
For
Albion shall supply me still with more,
'Tis for the use of it, I lay it out,
And it shall buy me too a Baby-clout,
Povi.
Here is your Prince, whom you so much adore,
'Tis weightier by a pound, than 'twas before,
Povioena
giveth back the Pillow to the Queen.
Queen Papissa
taketh the pillow, and layeth it on her Belly, from whence she had taken it.
Midw.
It is too low,
Petro.
Make it like mine.
Petrus.
Set it higher, thus.
Midw.
Now it is too high.
Pov.
Pull it a little to the right side.
Petrus.
Let it be so,
Pap.
Now it is right.
I hope in time, to bring forth this my Son,
And end my Labour, e're it be begun.
Enter Romanus.
Rom.
What Intrigues here of self-confounding Wit,
That's good for all, and yet for nothing fit.
Pap.
Rouse up old Boy, altho thy vigour fails,
I will present thee with a —
Clappeth her hand on her Belly.
Rom.
That Prince will be my more than mor tal Foe,
And prove e're many years my overthrow.
For when the project is found out I shall,
With Shame, receive a sad and dismal Fall.
Pap.
He shall be your adopted Son, and Reign
As much as he had been by Nature mine:
He is your artificial Child, and shall,
In spite of all opposers, have the Wall.
Pet.
I have a Son, my Husband never got,
Yet he's he the Father, for he doubts it not:
Believe he's yours, and your Son that's bought,
Will have, for whom, in Bed, you never wrought.
Rom.
To give three Kingdoms, one was never known,
Unto a Beggar's Child to cheat his own.
Pap.
I'll have it so, and if you dare deny;
My Will's a Law, and none shall ask me why.
Petrus.
Great Sir, You promised once to restore
The Church of Rome, as she hath been before.
This is the way, and only this will do,
A Popish Prince will make three Nations bow.
Rom.
Monster of Dragons, must I turn, and be
An ancient Fop of Inhumanity:
Let it be so, you shall have my consent,
But blame me not, when after you repent.
Pet.
You must appoint a solemn day of thanks,
To pray to Heaven, to cover all our pranks;
And write to
Rome, to save us from the Lurch,
To sing
Te Deum, in
St. Marry's Church.
Pap.
Were I with Child, I should fear, that the prayer
Of Protestants, should make me lose mine Heir.
But now
Papissa all their power defies,
Let them mock Heaven, to blind their own eyes.
Rom.
I'll call the Clergy, and appoint a Day
Of Fast, whereon the Hereticks may pray,
That you may not miscarry, but enjoy
A Popish Prince, their Pulpits to destroy.
Exit Roman.
Pap.
Now I am pleas'd, for 'tis a famous thing,
To be the mother of a potent King.
Come let us a play a Game at Cards for I,
Am not affraid that I'll in Child-birth dye.
Pap.
We'll play at Beast, for by our wit we shall,
Confound our Foes, and make them all to fall:
Perswading old
Romanus to a thing,
That's far below the Candour of a King.
Petr.
What shall we play for?
Pap.
Fifty pound a Game.
Petr.
My Duce against your Ace.
Pap.
Out fie shame,
That you, who must forgive me all my Sin,
Should proffer thus my Gravity to win.
He shuffleth and dealeth the Cards, and turneth up a Pick Trump.
Petrus.
Come, Picks are Trumph.
Pap.
Here is a Royal King.
She playeth the King of Hearts.
Pet.
Here I'm above him.
Petrus
playeth the Knave above him.
Pap.
That's an unjust thing.
A royal Prince of his right to bereave,
Papissa
stoppeth him from taking the Trick.
Eclips'd by any Varlet, Clown, or Knave.
It will not do, but here am I my self.
[playeth the Q. of Diamonds.
Petr.
And here am I above you.
Petrus
playeth the Knave above the Queen.
Pap.
This is a thing that I will not allow,
I try'd the Trick, and know it will not do.
Here is my
Ace of Clubs.
Pet.
Sure I'll have that.
Pap.
Pray hold your hand, and tell me first for what.
Stoppeth him from taking the Trick.
Pet.
Here is my Trea of Picks, and that is Trumps.
Pap.
Pray take it then.
Enter Povioena
in haste, and whispereth Queen Papissa
in the ear,
telling her that Six of the Nine women with Child, were in Labour,
desiring her, in all haste, to take her Labour too, and
make choice of a Prince, or Royal Heir. Exeunt Papissa
& Povioena.
Pet.
I am the wit of
Europe, and what's more,
(aside)
The man that must the Church of
Rome restore:
I can out-wit the wise, in every thing,
And by the Nose I lead
Great Albion's King.
My policy the Queen with Child begot,
Now I'm a hatching of a Powder-plot,
That will destroy the Hereticks, and those
That strive the
Roman Interest to oppose.
Enter Romanus, Alberlo, Cancellarius,
and Calamus.
Cal.
How now? dost thou thus talk unto thy self?
Like some Hob-Gobbling Ghost or Fairy-Elf.
Dost thou invoke the Furies, from below,
To work thy King
Romanus overthrow?
Pet.
The Queen crys out; and I but pray that she,
The Mother of a Royal Prince may be;
A Prince that may on Hereticks pass Doom,
And make the Universe submit to
Rome.
Rom.
Cry out! how so? methinks you're mad indeed,
Such foolish Fancies in your Brains to breed:
I am asham'd such idle talk to hear,
For 'tis too soon, I'm sure by half a year.
Pet.
She is in Labour, for I heard her cry,
Wipeth his eyes as he were crying.
And I'm afraid that Queen
Papissa dye.
Cal.
Good time, with easy Labour, like a Nun,
May she enjoy, and for her pains a Son.
Canc.
A Son that may this stubborn Nation bring
In more subjection, to a potent King.
The cry of a woman in Labour is heard without.
Alb.
I heard a cry, and judge that it may be,
The Queen in Labour—
All hearken, but hear nothing.
Enter Two Bishops in Surplices.
Rom.
Pray who comes here? Two Bishops? get you gone,
I'm busie now, but you may come anon.
Bish.
We hear the
Queen's in Labour, therefore we
Should in her privy Chamber present be,
That if she have a Son we may declare,
Him
Albion's Royal, True and Lawful Heir.
Rom.
Seditious Apes, you Trumpeters of Treason,
Be gone, or else I'll send you both to Prison.
What's your concernment? what should you declare?
I'm old enough to look to my true Heir.
Exeunt Bishops.
Enter Midwife, bearing a Basket, with a naked Baby in it.
Midwife.
Great Sir, I'm come before your eyes to bring,
A Royal Prince, that may in time, be King
[
To King Romanus,
whilst Alberlo
standeth at a distance.
Of these three Nations, pious, wise and just;
After you're Dead, and are dissolv'd in dust.
Come welcome him into the world, and see
If e're you knew a finer Child than he.
Presenteth her Basket.
Rom.
It is a pretty Child, take him away.
Midw.
There never was a finer made of clay.
Canc.
It is a Girl, I vow, pray Midwife look.
Midw.
I from the number, have the wrong Child took,
But will bring in another.
Rom.
Pray thee do.
Midw.
I can another, and another too:
[
Exit Midwife.
Cal.
These foolish women are for nothing fit,
They will betray the projects of our wit.
Pet.
I'd rather give ten thousand pound, in Gold,
Than it were known, the Child were bought and sold.
Alb.
Your words are dark, I know not what you mean.
Be bought and sold, and children of the Queen.
Canc.
He only talks of things, he knows not what,
Of Monks and Friars, and Nuns, and this and that.
Rom.
Alberlo, prithee for an hour be gone,
We have a private project to be done.
Alb.
How e're so private, you may tell it me,
But scorn that I a burden now should be.
Exit Alber.
Enter Midwife bearing two Baskets.
Midw.
Here are two Children, take your choice and see,
Which Child is fit a royal Prince to be.
They take the two Children out of the Basket, and hand them from one to another.
Canc.
This is the fattest.
Rom.
And the fairest too.
Pet.
We'll seek no other, for the same will do.
Exit Midwife.
Let every
Roman Catholick now sing
In Expectation of a Popish King,
Who will the
Church of Rome again renew,
And all the stiff-neck'd Hereticks subdue.
Rom.
Call in the Bishops, now, that they may see,
My Lawful Heir, and Royal Progeny.
Exit Calam.
Pet.
Great Sir, Will you admit them to behold
Young
Innocent? and dare they be so bold,
With eyes and breath Heretick to prophane
The Prince that will restore our Church again:
We of their company stand not in need,
Much less to see, or touch the
Royal Seed.
Rom.
Impostor, should I counsell'd be by you,
[aside.
I should my self and all that's mine undo;
I might look great a while, but must confess,
I quickly should be Crown, and Kingdomless.
You hatch'd the
Prince, within your fiery Brain,
And I'm afraid the plot will prove in vain.
Canc.
There is no danger, and you need not fear,
If you'll conceal all from the Subjects ear.
Pet.
The Child is yours, tho Protestants should prate,
From Clown to Prince, he's Transubstantiate.
Rom.
I wish it prove so, and that no man may,
My
Hocus Tricks, and juggling Acts betray.
Enter two Bishops, Manlius,
and Oxonius, with Calamus Tremeb.
Manl.
May't please your Majesty, I hear the Queen
Hath these two Weeks, in cruel Labour been;
And now brought forth a Son, as we did pray,
When we, at
Christmas last, kept Holy day,
Rom.
I have a Son that is both plump and fair,
And hope will prove
Great Albion's Lawful Heir.
Enter Papissa, Povioena,
and the Midwife, bearing the young Prince.
Rom.
My wife you're welcome to the world again,
You have not spent your Labour now in vain.
Pap.
I was so deadly sick, I tell no story,
That I was near the Gates of Purgatory.
The King saluteth his Queen Papissa,
and every one kisseth her Hand round.
Here is your Royal Heir which I did bring,
Taketh the Child from the Midwife, and giveth it to the King.
From Death's dark door, to be Great
Albion's King.
Come hug and hand him all, from one another,
I shall not run the hazard of another.
Man.
This Birth strikes Rebels blind, turns to despair,
Manlius
taketh him in his Arms.
Their hopes of Contest for a Royal Heir.
Sedition sinks down dead, and every Traytor
Metamorphos'd is to another creature.
Rebellion puts on black, and sadly crys,
And Turn-coat Treason desperately dies.
Oxon.
Then may he live, and wear his Father's Crown;
Oxonius
taketh the Prince in his Arms.
And gain his Kingdom's Honour and Renown.
Like
Solomon, for wisdom let him be,
And good
Josiah for true piety;
Not furious, fierce, but merciful and kind;
Like
Jonathan, in constancy of mind:
[Page 49]
Like
Moses meek, Majestick in his word,
To sway the Scepter, and unsheath the Sword;
To cherish Subjects, and promote the good,
To cut off Rebels, and cast down the proud.
That all his Subjects may (like Flowers in
May)
With peace and plenty, flourish in his day.
Pap.
These are two honest Hereticks, and I
Will still be mindful of their Loyalty.
Enter Messenger in haste.
Mess.
Great Sir, I'm come in haste, to let you know,
Of a more fierce and powerful
Western Foe.
The
Golden Prince from
Belgium is come o're,
With fifty Sail of Ships, and on our shore
Hath landed Twenty thousand men in Arms,
Which do surprize us with their fresh alarms.
Your Peers and Subjects joyn with him apace,
And every opposition gives him place.
He doth affirm and solemnly declare,
The
Royal Prince to be no Lawful Heir,
But a dark Pillow-Prince, hatch'd in the night
By Popish pranks, to cheat him of his right.
The groaning Nation, and the Subjects crys,
The Widows Tears, and Orphans weeping eyes,
Your banish'd Subjects, Liberties, and Laws,
And his own right make up a Lawful Cause,
Of bloody War; Therefore he vows to fight
Against your Popish Crew, for his own right.
Your Souldiers, Subjects, Peers, and all accost
His coming in, and joyn unto his Host,
Which call themselves the Safe-guard of the Nation;
And to confirm all, here's his
Declaration.
He giveth Romanus
a paper, which he looketh a little on.
Rom.
I will make haste, to muster all my Host;
I'll fight in person, e're my Crown be lost.
Go Messenger, in haste, and view the Force
Of all the
Prince's Army, Foot and Horse.
And, when you have done so, return to me,
And for your pains, you shall rewarded be,
Exit Mess.
[Page 50]
This is the Fruit of your confounded pranks,
Speaketh to Q. Pap.
For which I owe the old Impostor thanks,
And must confess, not without provocation,
That now the Prince invaded hath the Nation.
Cal.
I oft times told thee what would be the end
Of all the projects which thou didst intend;
And hadst thou taken but advice of me,
Thou of this Scene of Sorrow hadst been free;
Which, now, is like to work thy fatal fall,
And, in a moment, to undo us all.
Canc.
Promotion is the Curse of men, and I
Am so astonish'd that I fear to dye.
Pet.
I'm so cast down and terrify'd in mind,
That I'm affraid a Remedy to find.
Pap.
Shall I who have in so great splender been,
Preferr'd to be
Great Albion's Royal Queen,
Be forc'd to live in shame, and great disdain,
And steer my course to
Italy again.
I can but wring my hands, and stamp and stare,
And, half distracted, tear my curled hair.
Rom.
And why so much affraid? I question not
To serve him as I did the R—
I'll go, with speed, an army to provide,
Which will all quarrels with the Sword decide:
Calam.
I will, in spite of every former Crime,
Turn to a State
Hermophrodite of Time.
I'll whine and wheedle, side with every thing,
That will my projects to perfection bring:
Yet, come what will, I shall until I dye
Be sure to serve your
Soveraign Majesty.
Exit Calamus.
Canc.
I've so behav'd my self, that I shall dye,
If catch'd; and now can neither stay or fly;
I am so terrify'd and stung whith Guilt
Of Villanies, and Blood that I have spilt:
My Brains distracted, Fear doth me possess,
My Joynts do tremble for my Wickedness.
Petr.
I will return to
Rome, from whence I came,
And strive to set all
Europe in a flame,
Yet
Albion, tho I should contrive a Plot,
Will slight my Wits, and find an Antidote.
Enter Messenger in haste.
Mess.
I have survey'd and view'd the
Western Host,
And now three Kingdoms, with your Crowns, are lost.
Your Guards, with all your Military Force,
Of Men and Arms, of Infantry and Horse,
Have joyn'd themselves unto your mortal Foes,
Whose power the
Church of Rome cannot oppose.
The War is ended, e're it be begun,
And there is now no Remedy but, Run.
Drums beat and Trumpets sound without.
The Enemy's at hand, therefore be gone,
Preserve your self, if you should lose your Throne.
Rom.
He'll take the projects, which the
Romish Crew
Have, by their Conjurations, forc'd me to.
Now I must steer my Course, I know not where,
And all is long of this your Royal Heir.
Pap.
I'll strait to
Gallia, and use all my Arts,
Wherewith I use to conquer greatest Hearts;
I'll try them all, and see what power I have,
To make that Generous Monarch's heart my Slave.
And if in this the Fates will be but kind,
As with this Prince I may such favour find,
To grant but power sufficient to subdue
This Fortunate, and too Victorious Foe;
They quickly then shall my resentments see,
And find what 'tis to injure mighty me.
I'll bring such Monsters, as shall make a Flood
Of
English Hereticks, and Rebels Blood.
Pet.
May Heav'n be kind, and your endeavours bless,
Whilst I invoke the Gods for your success.
Rom.
When your kind Fate to
Gallia shall you bring,
My best Respects to the Most Christian King;
Tell him he little doth deserve that Name;
And also what a most prodigious shame
'Twill be, unto the Faith he doth profess,
If he my Grievances don't soon redress:
I, who to th' brink of wretchedneis am come,
And all for being true to th'
Church of Rome.
[Page 52]
The Enemy's at hand,
Papissa, go,
And get but force to oppose this Mighty Foe,
We'll enter
Albion, and such spoil will make
Shall cause the proudest of their hearts to ake;
We then shall our Revenge most sweetly taste,
We'll Ravage, Plunder, Burn, Destroy, lay Waste,
And not a Rebel leave alive at last.
The Queen tyeth the Prince on Father Petrus
's back, and all run out in great haste.