Enter Torrismond, Leonora, Bertran, Raymond,
Teresa, &c.
Tor. He lives! he lives! my royal father lives!
Let every one partake the general joy.
Some angel with a golden trumpet sound,
King Sancho lives!" and let the echoing skies
From pole to pole resound, "King Sancho lives!"
O Bertran, ô! no more my foe, but brother,
One act like this blots out a thousand crimes. 470
Bertran. Bad men, when 'tis their interest,
may doe good.
I must confess, I counsel'd Sancho's murther;
And urg'd the queen by specious arguments:
But still, suspecting that her love was chang'd,
I spread abroad the rumour of his death,
To sound the very soul of her designs.
Th' event, you know, was answering to my fears;
She threw the odium of the fact on me,
And publickly avow'd her love to you.
Ray. Heaven guided all, to save the innocent. 480. Bert. I plead no merit, but a bare forgiveness. Tor. Not onely that, but favour; Sancho's life, Whether by vertue or design preserv'd, Claims all within my power.
My prayers are heard;
And I have nothing farther to desire,
But Sancho's leave to authorize our marriage.
Tor. Oh! fear not him! pity and he are one;
So mercifull a king did never live;
Loth to revenge, and easie to forgive.
But let the bold conspirator beware,
For heaven makes princes its peculiar care.
Finis. Below a line marking this off stands in Q1: Lately printed. | Lucius Junius Brutus, Father of his Country; A Tragedy acted | at the Duke's Theatre: Written by Mr. Lee. | Contemplations upon the Life of the Holy Jesus, written by the Bishop of Exesr. Both Sold by 7. Tonson.
BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S
There's none, l'am sure, who is a friend to love,
But will our Fryar's character approve :
The ablest spark among you sometimes needs
Such pious help for charitable deeds.
Our church, alas! (as Rome objects) does want
These ghostly comforts for the falling saint ;
This gains them their whore-converts, and may be
One reason of the growth of Popery.
So Mahomet's religion came in fashion,
By the large leave it gave to fornication.
Fear not the guilt, if you can pay for't well;
There is no Dives in the Roman hell:
Gold opens the strait gate, and lets him in ;
But want of money is a mortal sin.
For all besides you may discount to heaven,
And drop a bead to keep the tallies even.
How are men cozen'd still with shows of good!
The baud's best mask is the grave fryar's hood;
Though vice no more a clergy-man displeases,
Than doctors can be thought to hate diseases;
'Tis by your living ill, that they live well,
By your debauches, their fat paunches swell.
1 l'am. Q2, Q3, Q4, Sb, I am.
'Tis a mock-war between the priest and devil;
When they think fit, they can be very civil.
As some who did French counsels most advance,
To blind the world have rail'd in print at France,
Thus do the clergy at your vices bawl,
That with more ease they may engross them all.
By damning yours, they do their own maintain;
A church-man's godliness is alwaies gain:
Hence to their prince they will superiour be;
And civil treason grows church-loyalty.
They boast the gift of heaven is in their power;
Well may they give the god they can devour.
Still to the sick and dead their claims they lay;
For 'tis on carrion that the vermin prey.
Nor have they less dominion on our life,
They trot the husband, and they pace the wife.
Rouze up, you cuckolds of the northern climes,
And learn from Sweden to prevent such crimes.
Unman the Fryar, and leave the holy drone
To bum in his forsaken hive alone;
He'll work no honey when his sting is gone.
Your wives and daughters soon will leave the cells,
When they have lost the sound of Aaron's bells.
29 maintain. Period after this, Qq.
|