THE Scottish politike Presbyter, Slaine by an English Independent.

OR, The Independents Victory over the Presbyterian Party.

The rigour of the Scotch Government, their conniving and bribing: the lewdnesse and debaucherie of Elders in secret.

A Tragi-Comedie.

Diruo & aedifico, muto quadrata rotundis.

Printed in the Yeere 1647.

The Persons.

  • DIrectory the Scotch Presbyter.
  • Sargus, Luxurio, two lewd Elders.
  • Anarchie, an Independent.
  • Priscilla, his Wife.
  • Liturgie, an Episcoparian.
  • Moneylesse, a Courtier.
  • A Pursevant.
  • Officers.
  • Mutes.

Prologue.

PResbyterie and Independencie
Have long time strove for the precedencie:
Here one kills t'other, when ye see him die,
Wish his destroyer fell by Liturgie.

The Scotch politike Presbyter.
A Tragi-Comedie.

Act 1.

Scene 1.

Enter Directory, Sargus, Luxurio, two Elders.
Direct.

IT must be so,

Sar.

If that hee'l not comply: have you heard no­thing from him.

Lux.

No, he seems to sleight our Summons.

Direct.

Let him smart for't Luxurio, denounce him to the horn, after excommunication ipso facto, what madnesse doth possesse him, that hee'l not buy his peace?

Sar.

I sent one of my Agents to him, who gave him timely no­tice, there was no way but punishment except a Fee.

Dir.

Have you already fram'd the Warrant?

S [...]r.

Yes.

Dir.

Read it.

Sargus reads.
B [...]shops Liturgie,

WE the Elders of the Congregation Demoniack, upon information and notice of some scandalls that you have g [...]ven whereof we are to take notice, do hereby as Offi­cers of the Church, requ [...]re and command you to appeare be­fore us, on Tuesday the seventh day of February, Anno 1644. to a [...]swer such things as shall be objected against you.

  • Directory,
  • Sargus,
  • Luxurio.
Dir.

Send it away with speed: fond man, doth he not know that we have scourged Lords, and trod on Kings? that temporall force will aid our spirituall plots; Knox and Melvill have left power to us, ample as that Romes Bishop claimes; Ile make my selfe as great as him if I get foot in England: I hug my Genius that doth prompt me on.

No dull and heavie fancie clogs my soule,
'Tis purest fire extracted from the Pole.

If that I can perswade the Englishmen to let me noose them, as their Brethren, Ile spread my pennons further yet:

And like a Comet in the evening skie,
Strike with amazement every wondring eye.

Let's be gone.

Exeunt.

SCENE 2.

Enter Liturgie, Dipwell.
Litur.

And why new Jordan?

Dip.

If we give credit to the Card, 'twill tell us, like to that river through which once Levites did beare the holy Ark. New River [...]lowes.

Litur.

But can those tender Virgins that resort there for to be rebap [...]i [...]ed, endure the bitter blasts of Boreas and Hyems frostie breath, and not be much impaired in their health?

Dip.

The water without doubt is sanctified, and as the holy Martyrs girt with flames, sang cheerfully, as if they nothing felt; so compassed about with ice and cold, those that we there do dip, receive no harme.

Litur.

Strange delusions.

Enter a Pursevant, with Officers.
Pur.

By the command o'th' ruling Presbyterie Demoniack, Sir I arrest your person.

Litur.

Where's your Warrant?

Pur.

Here.

Litur.

Ha, my inveterate foes have all conspir'd to work my ruine. Look here friend; because I did refuse to come when [Page 3]summoned, nor sent a Fee for my discharge, so to

Shews Dipwell the Warrant.

maintain their lust and luxury, who by their daily prodigality consume their aurum Tholosanum, in riotousnesse, a­dulterie, and fornication. O England! Wilt thou be slave to these vermine? the vulgar do not know what will ensue, should they accept of a Presbyterie; those that do sit at helme will not discover it, for that it tends to uphold their pride and wanton­nesse; good men are vassalls to the vile:

The Crowne stoopes to the mace,
The noble to the base.

While that the Fathers of the Church do walk like men dejected and forlorne,

Mourning like dolefull Pelicans, and howle
In desart places, like Minervas Owle.

Who would have thought so flourishing a State

As England was but seven yeeres ago,
Should now become the patterne of all woe:
Calamity and comfort comes and goes
From State to State, as Neptune ebbs and flowes:
With humane things a thing divine doth play,
Nothing arriv'd at height, but doth decay:
Earths ioyes are false, they bid us soon adieu,
Her during sorrowes are most certain true.

Come Ile along Sir with you: M. Dipwell, will you be witnesse of my usage with me?

Dip.

Sir, do not go, 'tis madnesse for a man to put himselfe into their hands that hate him.

Litur.

Should I not go, they'l give me over to the temporall sword, and in the Market-place proclaime me rebell, confiscate my estate, and send me into banishment.

Dip.

Will English men put on this Scottish yoke? I have a hope the Independents may send hence this government to be ab­hor'd, from England to Genevah, where 'twas born.

Litur.

Pray heaven it prove so. Now to my adversaries: my soule contemnes their most usurped power, though now it over­flowes in teares, whose current overflowes its banks.

[Page 4]
Where griefs Virago, upon either hand,
Worser t [...]en Scilla, or Charybdis stand.
Exeunt.

Act 2. Scene 1.

Enter Anarchy, Priscilla his wife.
Pris.

I'Le none of this same lowsie learning to make my son a Whoremaster, e're he hath seen the age of eighteen yeares, for when they once come but to conster, Ovid de Arte Amandi, their bowells earne to occupy the nine.

Anar.

Away thou foole, doth not even nature tell us, that lear­ning doth support the world, and taught the rustick Clowne the way to till the ground, to bind the corne in sheaves, and weild the flaile?

Pris.

I say I will not make my son a beggar, expose him to contempt and scorne, send him to Oxford, send him to Cairfax rather and see him caper in a string; no, no, we in this age of ours (the heavens be praised) have little use of learning, if he can read his Psalter, and cast up his accounts for bread and salt, he's a suffi­cient Scholler: besides heaven blesse the Parliament for their most pious Acts in generall, and in particular, that they have reduc'd those t [...]pp [...]g Black-coats to a new modell'd garbe, that where before they drank too much and eat too little, they now shall neither eat nor drink: what shall we doe with such Lobcocks, that must sit all the week in Taverns or Ale-houses, and on the Sa­turday bellow two houres in study, which when they utter the next day there's none can understand it.

Anar.

The b [...]ind cares not if Sol ne're shine, they still can grope their way, my son shall be a Scholler, and let the worldlings wallow in the dung, while he the Indies beares about him, none knowes the learneds blisse, but those that learned are, I do looke on Plato's D [...]i [...]y next unto Moses writings, fam'd Aristotles lear [...]ed Philosophy, next unto Jesseis sonnes rare Proverb, Livies large booke next to the Chronicles of Israels Kings, and Homers [Page 5]Deathlesse Verse, next unto Davids Laies: may hell conspire for to cast plagues on those would not have learning be advanc'd and honour'd, when ignorant Armies, ignorant Parliament, igno­rant Synods, ignorant Fools and Knaves

Shall lie unthought of, rotting in their graves,
The learneds songs when they in dust doe lie,
Shall wrastle even with eternitie.
Enter Monielesse.
M.

Monielesse, I joy to see you Sir.

Mon.

Sir, I made bold to presse into your privacies unawares, my ignoranc [...] will I hope purchase my pardon.

Anar.

Still complementing, you Courtiers feed on comple­ments as your meat, leave it and take more solid food, a thou­sand of [...]um will not staunch ones hunger: what newes, what newes abroad?

Mon.

Faith none that makes for me, the King must not yet see Whit [...] hall, 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 Gods appointment: how brave­ly Holland thrives uided by States, where people rule the peo­ple, there's a strong simpathy in nature, the mutuall 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 Monarchie, and would digresse even from your principles, should you allow of King­ly Government, which makes your words invalid.

Anar.

Well said, I like thee, that adversities bleake stormes have not unriveted thy fixt resolves, but thou still art faithfull 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 newes abroad?

Mon.

As I was coming to you, I met another meagre Cour­tiers face, and he shewed me a song, of which I begg'd the copie, [Page 6]I hope 'twill not offend your eares, if I doe sing them to you.

Anar.

Not the [...]east, let's hear.

Moneylesse sings.
The King shall now enioy his owne,
And have the S veraigntie,
O [...]ce more fi [...]l his refulgent Throne
Like to some Deitie.
But first of all his charge must heare
For things most triviall,
Three Kingdomes blood, Lilburne doth sweare,
Upon his head must fall.
The Parliament, as some report,
Intend for to disband,
And if they would wee'd thanke them fort,
And something give in hand.
They now have seaven yeares sate,
And yet it will not bee,
The Army (shall I tell you what?)
Will never make them free.
Is it not pity, that at last
When they intended flatting,
They should out of their House be cast,
And suffer for their sitting.
And all the gold that they have got,
And without feare extorted,
For to enioy is not their lot,
O they are strangely thwarted!
His Majesty is quitted now of Brown that wooden Jaylor,
And in his stead they doe allow Joyce, that same prick-louse Taylor.
'Tis very good to ease our teen, the Army are so witty,
And many thousands of them seene 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 ratifie them every one, but I feare no such thing.
He cannot sure dare to resist, if he intend to eate,
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 doe to purchase his undoing,
Their long-ear'd Assembly doe grieve and groan for ire,
That their compounded Presbyterie should back to them retire.
Truth is, how much the more at first our splendor shined bright,
We are so much the more accurst, invelloped with night.

How like you this.

Anar.

'Tis an excellent Song yfaith, shall I Mr. Monilesse crave a copie of it?

Mon.

Both I and it are at your service.

Anar.

Come Mr. Monilesse, 'tis almost dinner time, time was you welcomed me, 'tis fit I should be gratefull, come wife.

Exeunt Anar. Priscilla, manet Mon.

Did I ere think that want should so oppresse me, that I should be constrained to wait on this man for a dinner.

Yet of my wants, how dare I so complaine?
Shall I not suffer with my Soveraigne,

whom yet Ile not despaire to see plac't in his Throne, his Crowne on's head, his Scepter in his hand; the Citizens now doe triumph o're the Courtiers:

O why should Fortune make the City proud,
And give them more then is the Court allow'd;
The Kings owne brightnesse, his own foile is made,
And is to us the cause of his owne shade.
Exit.

Act. 3.

Recorders, a Consistory of the Presbytery, then enter Directory, Sargus, Luxuria, after them, with Officers, Liturgie, Dip-well afarre off.
Direct.

BRing forth those weeds of shame — apparell him.

A Coat of Sackcloath brought out.
Litur.

I hope I shall have licence for to speak.

Direct.

Not a syllable, 'tis knowne thou art by name and nature an enemy to our Government, and hast avoucht it to be tyrannous; saying, that Scotland by their policie in bring­ing their Church-forme amongst us, doe but assacinate o [...] Monarchy, thirsting to be our Lords, all which here openly recant, or wee'l surrender thee.

Litur.
I recant yee Cacademons, heare me, and marke,
First, Leatherne Swaines shall plow amid the skie,
Thames turne his course, and leave his Channell dry;
Sodomes dead Lake revive, and entertaine
Leviathan and Neptunes hungry traine;
Fishes the Flood forsake, and Fowles of Heaven
Be deckt with scales, and in the Ocean driven;
The brightest flame of Heaven shine by night,
And horned Cynthia give diurnall light,
Before I change my setled constant minde,
To damne my selfe, that you may count me kind;
Cemonian staires, Phalarian Bulls, nor all
Torments that flow from cruell Tyrants gall,
Tarpeian Mountaines, Altars of Busire,
Or Fornaces of Babylonian fire,
Shan't make me stood to such base fooles as you,
Or unto your intentions for to bow.
Sar.

Hee raves, Sir these loose words will but augment your sorrow in the end, doe you know where you are?

Lit.

Very well, letcherous Sargus, better then thou knowst to bee honest.

Direct.

Stop his mouth, was ever heard speeches so despe­rate? Dare you before this holy Convocation to prate so pe­remptorily?

Litur.

Dare you, yee sots, assume unto your selves the name of holy?

Methinks your cheekes should, knowing you to blame,
Out-blush the crimson of your Gownes for shame,
You are more cruell then the Crocodile,
That mangles Memphians on the bankes of Nile,
That kills, with weeping teares, for hungers need,
But you can smile, and murder for no meed.
Lux.

Venerable Fathers, this is unsufferable, if with auda­ciousnesse you thus dispence, hereafter nere looke to be reve­renc'd, but to be scorn'd and laught at.

Dir.

Satan hath sure inspired him,

The stoole of Repen­tance brought forth, contrived in the fashi­on of a Pulpit covered ore with blacke.

bring forth the Engine, support him up.

Litur.

Hee that layes hand on mee, encounters death. plucks forth a Dag.

Direct.

Heare then your sentence, Since you deny to be a penitent, wee here confiscate all is yours, to be imploy'd for pious uses, your selfe within three dayes for to depart the Land, and nere for to returne, on pain of death; this is your doome, and now break up the Court.

Exeunt.
Litur.

O my mild Judges, you shew your pitty 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 vile Atae lead you where she will.
Dip.

Heaven keep mee stedfast to my principles, is this a limbe of the Presbyterie?

Direct.

Yes, but his merits make him fit to be lopt off were it, who could be infected worse then they are?

Dip.

You heare your sentence, will you depart the Land?

Direct.

No, Ile not forsake my Native soile, upon such slen­der grounds, Ile live a while in private, I know an Indepen­dent Army will crop Presbyterie in the bud, and breake this [Page 10]bed of Snakes, the onely way that now is visible for to repairs my breaches; O thou Etern, the true Almighty Jove, suffe not Innovations to goe on, to bring this Kingdome to destruction; but why alas doe I now talke of Jove,

For now alas no Iupiter is found,
But in all Lands Pluto a God is crown'd.
Exeunt.

Act. 4.

Enter the two Elders, Sargus and Luxurio singing.
Sar.
NOw sable night hath with her ebbon Robe
Darkned the surface of this earthly Globe
And drowsie Morpheus with his Leaden Key,
Lockt up the doores of every mortall eye,
Come let us fall unto our wonted games,
Let us be blithe, and nourish wanton flames.
Lux.
What Lincian eye discernes our lewd delight,
Cover'd with darknesse of the cloudy night,
Why should we censure, feare, or idle sound
Othumane words, that are inviron'd round
With Marble walls, the wit of Mortalls can
Not finde our wiles, past finding out of man,
And Heaven regards not the workes of men,
Come let us boldly feast and frolicke then.
Sar.
Come forth yea creatures of delight,
And let us in imbraces spend the night,
Six Whores put forth on two beds, three on a bed, Musicke they rise and dance with the two Elders.
A SONG.
Meet, meet, and kisse,
and girt each others waste,
And injoy the Lovers blisse,
untill the night he past.
[Page 11]
Elders that are holy men
all day, must sport at night.
So, so, to't agen,
'twill heighten Appetite.
Sar.

Those three are thine, these mine, let's to't Like Monkies or the reeking Goat.

They ascend each on a severall bed, and are drawne in.

SCENE 2.

Enter Priscilla solus.
Prisc.

Methinks the hours flie not with winged hast as they were wont, or is't the expectation of my Love, that makes the night seeme tedious, my heart extreamely throbs, methinkes the walls seem as washt o'r with blood, tis my fantasie, thought like a subtile Jugler makes us see things that really are not; there's something in me whispers fatall things, and tell me 'tis not safe to sleepe betwixt my Lovers Armes to night; why sure I dream, I was not wont to have these dubious fancies? I have begun to love him, and will now never desert his friend­ship untill death, but thus I tamper poyson for my selfe, but were I sure to drinke the banefull draught, I could not now goe backe.

For when the flesh is nuzled once in vice,
The sweets of sinne makes Hell a Paradise.
Enter Directory.

O you are welcome Sir.

Direct.

Worthy of all Loves joyes, hast thou not blamed my tardy stay? thou art most certaine sure thy husband is farre off, if hee should take me with thee, his jealousie and wrath might prompt him to strange actions.

Prisc.

I have not the least feare of his approach.

Anar.

Come then my Ptixdra, and let us taste those joyes thy Husband is unworthy of.

Act. 5.

Directory and Priscilla put forth in a bed both sleeping. Enter Anarchy with a Torch.
Anar.
TItan to the Antipodes is gone,
To luminate another Horizon,
Tis now dead midnight, Morpheus Deaths eldest brother▪
Hover about this place, and charme the sence
Of these two creatures made of impudence;
Are they so shallow, to conceive that I
Am made of Mamicall Pantominie.

O woman, woman, who art compounded of all ill, I durst have pawn'd my soule this wife of mine, had harbored a soule white as the Alpine snow, but she is ulcerous and deformed, who knowes how often they have met, and wallowed in their active sweats? what woman may be trusted?

Lust is a subtile Syren▪ ever training
Soules to destruction by her secret faining.
She is the Prince of darknesse eldest daughter,
Wanting no craft her cunning Syre hath taught her:
Tis like Medusa's Tresse, and if it be
Twound in the body of mans living tree,
Mans heart of flesh converts, if he have one,
By secret vigour to unliving stone.
Dam'd strumpet, have I tane you with your Letcher.
Affrican Panthers, Hircan Tygers fierce,
Cleonian Lions, and Danonian Beares,
Are not so ravenous, whom hunger pin'd,
As women that are le [...]cherously inclin'd.

But I prolong their lives, and tire the Ferry-man with expect­ation— Stay, it is not wisdome to cope with two that strugle for their lives— These are the bonds of death.

Ties e [...] to th' bed.

So awake you lustfull paire.

They awake.
Direct.

Ha,— we are undone.

Anar.

Yes Directory, ere winged time adde one hour more [Page 13]to this declining night, thou shalt be numbred with the dead.

Direct.

O my unhaphy fate!

Prisc.

Deare Husband spare our lives, and then inflict what punishment thou wilt.

Anar.

O my fine Directory cam'st thou from Scotland hi­ther, to cheat us out of our Religion, our lives, our King, and covering thy ills with vertues cloake, act even those crimes, which but to heare them nam'd, would fright the Caniballs; and shall we not strive to circumvent thee?

Direct.

I pray heare me Sir.

Anar.

Hath guilt emboldned so thy mind, that thou dar'st view my face, and speake.

Prisc.

Sir, I confesse my crime cannot be expiated but with blood, but if mild pitty harbour in your breast, I doe implore your mercie.

Anar.

Peace, vile strumpet, thou mayst as well attempt to scale the Heavens, and ride on the Sun beames, as strive with talke to mitigate my fury, and stay the course of my revenge, but first good Directory Ile stab you by the book, and torture you not opening a veine.

Dumbe Shew.
Solemne Musicke.
One representing Directory, accompanied with a rabble in the habit of Elders, running as flying from Souldiers, who pursue them with their swords drawne.

Did you behold the Pageant, great Babylon is falne, an English Army hath extirpated Presbyterie root and branch, the Elders may in Scotland court Susanna, here are too many Daniels to sift them; and now Sir you must goe, but not to Scotland, that's but Purgatory, yet where youl find many Blew Bonnets more, I meane to Hell — Thus I dismisse thy soule.—

Direct.

Hold Sir, and ere you send my soul to wander in the ivisible Land, heare what I now shall utter; by Heaven and Earth, and him that made them both, I nere was guilty not in thought, til this dire hour, of the defiling of your Mariage bed.

Anar.

Dost thinke dull foole, that all thy protestations, thy heav'd up hands, and sighs, were they as numerous as the sand hid in the Battick Sea, should raise my heart for to relent; no, [Page 14]in thy death England gathers life, whose happines I wish; thus for it worke.

Stabs him with a Poniard.
Direct.

O thou hast opt a flood-gate, which will not close till my heart blood in drain'd.

Pris.

If thou wert born of woman spare my life.

Anar.

O thou luxurious Strumpet, hath not thy guilt or feare bereft thy tongue of utterance; methinks thou shouldst, when thinking on thy fact, convert to stone, and save my hand a labor to send thee to another world. There strumpet stabs her.

Pris.

O heaven!

Anar.

So,—how like you this, Phlebotomizing only can care the feaver in your blood, why don't you mingle limbes? get up and at it.

Direct.

Like to a Ship dismembred of her sailes and cuft from side to side by surly waves, so doth my soule fare,

As that poore Vessell rests my brittle stay,
Neerer the Land, still neerer cast away.

Presbyterie in my fall receives its mortall wound, and ne'r must look in England to beare sway; O, O, I see in this the power of providence. Whose stronger hand restrains our wilful powers

A will above doth rule the will of ours.

He dies.
Anar.

He's dead, but she remains with life, and wilt thou not acompany thy letcher, that he may man thee into Charons boat.

Pris.

My soule disdaines her habitation, and now wil needs be fleeting; know Sir, for now I fear not all your fury. I lov'd Directory as my own soul, and knew him oftner then your self, for which may heaven forgive me; for his sake I could wish to live, but now he's gone, what should I doe on earth.

Death our delights continually doth sever,
Vertue alone abandoneth us never.
She dies.
Anar.

She's gone▪ farewell for ever, may heaven forgive thy fault. I would not prosecute revenge so farre, as wish thy sou'e destruction, what now remaines for me I must be gone far hence ere Sol visit our Horizon, let Fortune do her worst.

Her frownes he feares not, nor her hot'st Alarmes,
That beares against them patience for his Armes.
Exit.
FINIS.

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