I Do Appoint Thomas Parkhurst, Dorman Newman, Thomas Cockerill, and Thomas Simmons, to Print this Excommunicated Prince, etc. A Tragedy, and that no other Print the same.  
July 16. 1679. WILLIAM BEDLOE▪   

THE Excommunicated PRINCE: OR, The False Relic. A TRAGEDY. As it was ACTED BY His Holiness' Servants.  
Being the Popish PLOT in a PLAY.  
By Capt. WILLIAM BEDLOE.  
LONDON: Printed for Tho. Parkhurst, D. Newman, Tho. Cockerill, and Tho. Simmons, 1679.   

TO HIS GRACE GEORGE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, etc.  
May it please your Grace,  
IF Art, Wit, and Ingenuity, be Accomplishments no less than Illustrious, even in the meanest Pedant, advancing him to the embraces of Men of Dignity in the world; then how much more do these Oriental Gems send forth their lustre when rightly set within the highest Nobility? Such splendid men cannot be supposed to cultivate barren Nature by unwearied industry to make it bloom and bear such honourable Endowments only (if at all) to make a Trade of Art and Wit, or to use Ingenuity upon a Principle of mere necessity, thereby to advance a Livelihood. 'Tis not a little crediting to those whose Birth hath placed them among the most ignoble and mean, to bestow their Time and Life upon the good use and wise improvement of the intellectual and reasoning faculty, if so be their design tend to the lawful Pleasure, or necessary Profit of Mankind; but certainly, Art, Wit, and Ingenuity, can never be more magnificent, than where they are the offspring of pure choice, and where there is enough of the world to tempt the Owner to other Divertisements, and such as much more gratify or humour the Animal Life, that which Sense and the lower appetite doth much more incline unto. I am confident that these Excellencies which I have been magnifying, are truly the Character of your Grace, and here I doubt not to obtain the Votes of all experienced and impartial men to the truth of what I affirm. It's true, that in some other cases. your Grace hath sometimes been bespattered by evil tongues, and confronted by malign endeavours; but here it hath been your Glory to be vindicated by the Justice of the Nation, which by a small inspection into these men's Lives and Actions, hath placed them in the number of the most treacherous and vile, and so hath brought your Glory and Innocence from under the obscuring Cloud, without your own seeking: This hath tended much to your Greatning in the esteem of all those whose sobriety and consideration hath made them valuable.  
Let it be also observed, That your Grace hath well demonstrated your Religious Principles to be hearty and devout towards the Church of England, and therein with great zeal displayed your Loyalty towards His Majesty, by your constant encouraging the discovery of this late Damnable Popish Plot, which designed to cut off our Sovereign, and so our Church at one stroke. These things laid together, must needs render your Grace the most fit Judge and best Patron of what may in the least pretend to Art, Wit, or Ingenuity, of what also refers to an abused Prince under all his Dangers and Sufferings; and in the last place, of what belongs to the Intrigues and Malignity of cunning and desperate Plotters. I do therefore most humbly present what ensues, to your Grace's perusal and acceptance, begging leave to be ever,  
Your Grace's most humble, most obliged, and most obedient Servant, WILLIAM BEDLOE.   

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.  

TEimurazez, Prince of Georgia, Excommunicated by the Pope.  
Morinus, Brizander, Friends to the Prince, and Zealous for the established Religion and Government.  
Salvirus, Another of the Prince's Friends, poisoned by Zolazer.  
Piazer, A Divine of the Grecian Church: A fierce Preacher and Writer against the Papists, most unmercifully Murdered by some of the Conspirators.  
Polidorus, General of the Prince's Forces, who by the instigation of the Pope, Conspires the Prince's Death, and the Subversion of the Grecian Religion: For the better carrying on of this Design, he insinuates himself into the favour and good opinion of Teimurazez, pretending to be of the Grecian Church, though really he's of none at all.  
Zolazer, Governor of the Tower, a disguised Papist, another of the Pope's creatures.  
Miletas, At first one of the Conspirators, but travelling into England, was there converted to the Protestant Religion; and afterwards returning to Georgia, discovered the whole Conspiracy.  
Pedro, Servant to Miletas.  
Dubois, Lucan, Tyrone, Lumbus, Jesuits employed by the Pope to propagate the Popish Religion in Georgia, and to whose care the pretended Relic of Queen Ceteba was committed.  
Ceteba, Queen Dowager of Georgia, an Amcrous old Woman▪ in love with Polidorus, and in hopes of obliging him, is a great furtherer of the Conspiracy against her Son.  
Maada, Maid of Honour to the Queen, and taken prisoner with her.  
Cosmelia, Known for some time by the name of Melanthus; She was Wife to Miletas, in whose absence Polidorus enticed her to be his Miss; and afterwards growing weary of her, forceth her to serve him in a man's habit.   
With Guards, Soldiers, Attendants, several diseased persons, and strangers which came to see the Relics.  
The Scene is Cremen in Georgia.   

THE PROLOGUE.  
THough Limners in a face the Prospect see  
Of Nature, varying in deformity;  
The biased Pencil can new-mould the frame,  
And set to Venus' picture any Name.  
Had the Pope bribed me well, I'd done so too,  
Not speak the truth so plain as now I do:  
Faith, I'd a friend proposed it to a Priest,  
And did advise him that he'd grease my Fist.  
He did at the propasal smile, and say,  
That humour had more wit than all my Play.  
But he has found a cheaper way than that,  
He'll swear by all the Saints 'tis a mere cheat.  
Like the feigned Book of Martyrs; and a blot,  
False as the story of the Powder-Plot.  
So th' Sexton swore his Clock did never lie,  
What e'er the Sun said to the contrary.   

THE Excommunicated Prince. A TRAGEDY.  


ACT I. SCENE I.  Polidorus Solus. 
I'Ve so long worn a borrowed Shape, that now  
Deception is the only thing I know.  
Tracing Religions various Paths, I find  
Profit's the Centre whither they're inclined.  
But did I fear, Heaven should my Actions know,  
I'd Cheat the Devil, and 'scape his Clutches too.  
Those who would thrive in State, must bravely shun  
Those Narrow Paths, where Virtue sneaks alone;  
And prove new, wilder Ways: Religion there,  
Is but Design; what ere it is elsewhere.  
But yet that dark and jugg'ling Mystery,  
Must to a Crown, my Grave procurer be:  
Nor can the Queen an idle Agent prove,  
Whose doting Passion to that height does move;  
She'll put off Nature, to promote her Love,  
And Kill her Son.—  
Thomas one would think, she was so parched with Age,  
That Cupid could not pierce with all his Rage.  Enter Queen, having the Excommunication in her Hand. 
Oh, here she comes! whom I must gently soothe;  
And with soft Praise, her Aged Wrinkles smooth:  
But know not which the hardest Task will prove,  
For me to feign, or she to hide her Love.  
Glory of Queens!  [Saluting her Hand. 
I pay this Tribute to your sacred Hand,  
And my dear Love to your best Faith Commend.  Queen. 
With too much Ceremony, Sir, we greet:  
Kiss a dull Hand, that cannot taste the Sweet!  
Love's Votaries no such foolish State allow;  
Love finds all Equal, or else makes 'em so.  Polidorus. 
Excuse the awful Distance, which I may  
Yet as a Subject, to my sovereign pay.  
When you Present me Teimurazez Crown,  
Then may our Bodies, as our Minds, be one;  
And we may Love securely, when he's gone.  Queen. 
Name that no more! But think the Business done!  
Yes! I am resolved,— though he were thrice my Son.  
His Short-lif'd-State, with the next Sun shall Set;  
Nor can we fear, that he will rise with it.  
ere in these Arms, our Joys their Height commence,  
These Arms,—  
Which fondly lulled his Infant Innocence,  
Now, as gladly, will Conduct him to his Fate;  
For, since by th' Mother-Church—  
Since by this Paper he's Condemned to Die,  [Showing the Excommunication. 
A Mother's Love would Irreligious be.  
Besides, my Passion greater Things would do  
T'oblige Heaven, myself, and what's more, You.  
'Tis true, he is my only Son, though he  
Has canceled Nature by's Apostasy.  
But yet we need not want of Issue fear;  
For, surely, I am Young enough to Bear:  
What do you think, my Lord?  Polidorus. 
— By Jove! I thought,  Aside. 
Forty Years since, she had her Sex forgot.  
Madam, the Number of your Years, alone,  
Are through the Optics of your Reason known:  
As if you, Godlike, were allowed to be  
Beyond the Reach of Time's Artillery.  
I do my future Heaven anticipate,  
In the Compendium of your Arms;—  
Where all the Pleasures of both Worlds do meet.  
Beauty's Perfection sits Enthroned in you;  
The Architype of Art and Nature too.  Enter Teimurazez, Morinus, Salvirius, and Brizander. Teimurazez. 
All Worldly Greatness constant Tempests drive;  
And as in Raging Seas, do Monarchs live.  
This Globe we strive for, is a prickly Ball;  
Fortune has cozened Fools to play with all:  
With labouring Pain the Game is gained and lost,  
And they're least Happy, who do win the most.  
I do not covet any Neighbour's Crown;  
Yet I'm resolved, I will secure my own.  
Nor all the Thunder, that fierce Bull does bear,  [Pointing to the Excommunication in the Queen's Hand. 
Can make my Reason stoop to servile Fear:  
And ere (Proud Rome!) I'll to thy Idol bow,  
He shall Kiss mine, as other Slaves his, Toe!  Queen. [Showing the Excommunication. 
Then will not this? To seek a Son I'll go  
To some dark Place, which Nature never saw.  
I've yet too much a Careful Mother been;  
And with these Tears, I fear, increased your Sin.  [Pretending to Weep. 
Had not I mixed my Reasons with my Tears,  
And tyered Heaven, and You, with busy Prayers;  
This strong Resistance then less strange would be;  
And more Excusable to Heaven, and Me.  Teimurazez. 
'Cause from your Breasts, I my frail Passions drew,  
Would you fain ruin what's Immortal too.  
Madam! Seek not to rack me thus anew,  
Who am already so much lost in you:  
The Roman-Beast has robbed me of your Heart,  
Or razed out Nature's Image from that Part;  
Gasping and Cold beneath his Venomed Dart.  
Your Looks, methinks, such a new Strangeness wear,  
I cannot read one Glimpse of Mother there!  Queen. 
So much a Mother's Grief for you I know,  
I wish (ye Gods!) I never had been so.  
But Read this Paper!— My Heart's Winding-Sheet:  [Giving the Excommunication to Polidorus. 
Whilst I beg Heaven, it may Convert him yet;  
Whilst I beg Heaven, its Venge'nce may be quick,  
That I may be—  
No longer Mother to an Heretic.  
But yet, methinks, there's a more urgent Cause,  Aside. 
Than mere Religion, forcing Nature's Laws:  
Here different Passions to one End do move;  
I Hate my Son, 'cause Polidore I Love.  Exit Queen. Polidorus Reads as followeth: 
The Declaratory Sentence of Pope Paul the Fifth, against Teimurazez, the pretended Prince of Georgia, and all those who take his Part.  
PAul, the Servant of, etc. Being moved by the Impieties, which grow daily more Intolerable by the Means and Working of Teimurazez, the pretended and unlawful Prince of Georgia; we have by Necessity, taken ourselves to the Weapons of Justice: And, being strengthened by his Authority, who was pleased to seat us in this Supreme Throne, we do by the Fullness of our Apostolical Power, declare the aforesaid Teimurazez, an Heretic; and likewise, those who have taken his Part, to incur the Sentence of Anathema. And moreover, that he is deprived of the Right of his said Kingdom; and from all Rule, Dignity, and Pre-eminency, whatsoever: And also, his Nobility, Subjects, and People of the said Realm; and all others, that have Sworn unto him upon any account, are Absolved for ever from such Oaths; and from all Duty of Empire, Fidelity, Obedience, in such sort, as we do Absolve 'em by the Authority of these Presents. And we do command and forbid all, and singular of the Nobility, and his other Subjects, that they presume not to obey his Admonitions, Commands, or Laws: and whosoever shall do otherwise, we do involve them in the like Curse.  
Given at Rome, at St. Peter's, Anno Domini, 1614 And in the Tenth Year of our Papacy.  Teimurazez. Jove, 
Canst thou suffer this? Or, Has he stolen away  
Thy Thunder? Then take heed of thy own Godhead:  
For if this Tyrant's Rage, thus Kings pursues,  
Sure Thee for the next Sacrifice he'll choose.  
Proud Priest! What means such Insolence? Is this  
Th' Humility thy Title promises?  
Thou hast forgot to style thyself, The Poor  
And Humble Vassel of the Emperor.  
Such sordid Vapours, if they chance to rise  
As Comets, from a Dunghill to the Skies,  
They with their Blaze the higher Orbs offend,  
And th' Fall of States imperiously portend.  Salvirus. 
'Twas some Infernal Gulf disgorged this Fury;  
Whose poisonous Pride has swelled him to that Greatness,  
That he must either spew it up, or burst.  Morinus. 
But dares this Basilisk, thus frown on Kings,  
To blast 'em with its Malignant Influence?  
Is not their Power on Earth the most Supreme?  
Or, Is the Bishop's Chair,  
Lately Converted to a Monarch's Throne?  
Why thrusts he his Sickle into your Harvest?  
Is it an Act of Holiness, to set your Kingdom  
On fire, by Seditions flaming Brands?  
But was You, as he terms you, an Heretic;  
Must he be at once both Judge, and Plaintiff?  
Or, why produced he not some Ancient Cannon,  
Imposing such a Penalty on Sinners,  
That they of Sov'reigns', must become his Vassals?  
Do any of the Fathers encourage him,  
Thus against Princes, to uncase his Thunderbolts?  
Knows he not the Date of this Papal Power,  
And th' Homage they anciently paid their Emperors;  
At whose Beck they humbly held their Mitres?  
And paid at their Investiture, a certain Tribute,  
Which was first Released by Confcantine, to Pope Agatho.  Brizander. 
Was ned Gregory the Seventh, the first Cyclops,  
Who forged these Papal Fulminations?  
And after the Gregorian Troubles,  
When th'impoverished Empire grew almost Breathless;  
Then the Rebellious Bishop crept into that Greatness,  
Which Strength and Policy have yet continued.  Prince. 
What Corner of the Christian, or the Heath'nish World,  
Is ignorant of this? Is not History  
Glutted with Black Instances of this Nature?  
How common is it, under the Pretence of Holiness,  
To Arm even Pagans against Protestant-Princes?  
Nay, Was not the Pope  
The Cause of our late Wars with Persia?  
Nor am I yet secure, from some Newborn Jealousies,  
Has whispered amongst those Credulous Infidels.  Morinus. 
And, Sir, believe it, in your own Kingdom too.  Polidorus. 
For to maintain his Usurped Right, the Pope  
May seem concerned, but can no conquest Hope.  
Your Subject's Loyalty so well is known,  
He cannot think to Corrupt those,—  
whose's Hearts are more their Princes, than their own.  
When the glad Crowd did to the Forums thrust,  
Each striving who should swear Allegiance first;  
I saw non's Conscience struggling in the Face,  
No one stood trembling to dispute the Case:  
But so much Pleasure in Obedience took,  
Their Hearts came to their Lips, to Kiss the Book.  
Then let's not fear, United thus at Home,  
The Persian-Deity, or that of Rome.  Salvirus. 
Who may not Treason in this Language see,  
And that too daubed with fulsome Flattery?  Aside. 
'Tis strange our Judgements thus should disagree,  To Pol. 
Yet both tend to one Centre, Loyalty.  
But by your Royal Leave, I'll be as brief, as free:  To Teim. 
No Deposed Prince, where Popish Subjects are,  
Is in the midst of his own Guards, secure.  
Any cursed Villain, may with Ease become  
Master of his Life, b'ing careless of his own.  
Then for the most obliging Oaths they take,  
At their own Pleasures, don't they give 'em back?  
They last no longer, than a Syrian Flower,  
That's born, and vanishes in the same Hour.  
So does the devil, now shining like a Saint;  
In the next Scene, wash off the Water-paint:  
These are my Thoughts.—  Morinus. 
— Exceeding Good and Brief.  Polidorus. 
Yet not so short, as is his Thread of Life.  [Aside. Prince. 
'Tis Councel-time; and I must now desire  
Each on's Opinion in this Grand Affair:  
For since my Reign, no Subject did afford  
More Ample Matter for a Council-Board.  Morinus. 
Unhappy Prince! I see, 'twill be his Fate,  
Amongst his Councillors, his Death to meet.  
Those Traitor's sure, can never miss their Ends,  
Who can persuade their Prince, to think 'em Friends:  
Even they must teach him, to believe me too;  
Tho not, Alas, till they have given the Blow.  
Finis Actus Primi.    


ACT II. SCENE I.  Polidorus Solus. Having newly Read a Letter he received from the Pope. 
SUre heavens' Exchequer, must needs Bankrupt be;  
For all its Treasures are bestowed on me.  
It's easy Powers to my Desires submit,  
And seem to lay their Heaven at my Feet.  
And Rome itself, dressed me in this Disguise,  
That undiscerned, I might to Sceptres rise.  
The Grecian-Churches Viz'rd, I must wear;  
And like an Imp of Hell, in Robes of Light appear.  
Scattering, in Private, various Plagues abroad;  
And unseen Toils, I spread in every Road.  
That sneaking Virtue, Loyalty—  
Shall at my Feet a Bloody Victim fall;  
And the False King, no longer King I'll call.  
He, and his Gang, shall throng the Shades below:  
And them the Road, with Bloody Paths, I'll show.  
I'll tire the Destinies, and dispatch more,  
Than Charon's Labouring Boat can well waft o'er.  
Then may Religious Fools securely pay  
Honours to Heaven, and Rewards to Me.  Enter Zolazer, Dubois, Lumbus, Tyrone, and Lucan. 
Thus Happy Angels at a Wish appear!  Zolazer. 
Hail, most Mighty Polidore!  Dubois. 
Hail Rome's great Hopes, and only Favourite!  Tyrone. 
Hail Noble Sir! and Hail ye Glorious Train!  
Which for your Safety, careful Heaven maintain!  
Each Guardian there, will interpose a Shield;  
And on our Foe's crushed Neck, our Empire build.  Zol. 
Saw you the Prince, since he is Sentence read?  [To Polidore. 
Does he retain the Shape, and Form he had?  Polidorus. 
But now I from his open Bosom came,  
And saw it wounded at the Pope's dread Name:  
Fear and Revenge his Thoughts at once did bear;  
He fears Assaults, and yet disdains to fear.  Lumbus. 
Methinks, I see the deposed Monster dead,  
And the Crown Flourish on your Royal Head.  Polidorus. 
Last Night I dreamed, (as he took up and read  
The fatal Paper, in his Passage laid)  
From his loathed Head, the Crown came tottering down,  
Whilst his weak Hand could hardly hold it on.  
O'erwhelmed with Fear, methought I saw him stand;  
And's Sceptre grew too weighty for his Hand.  Lucan. 
After his Death, we'll this Report for true;  
And th' Ignorant Crowd will soon believe it so.  Polid. 
Whilst with both Hands, he pressed it to his Head,  
Th' enchanted Gem in ' Thousand pieces fled:  
At which, methought, the frightened Prince fell dead.  
Then of bright Spirits, came a numerous Train;  
Who gathering up the scattered Parts again,  
Artfully reunite the shattered Crown,  
And adds a Thousand Jewels of their own:  
Then, with just Ceremony, Crowned my Head;  
And having sung an Heavenly Anthem, fled.  
At this I 'woke; and when I cast my Eye  
Towards that part I dreamed the Vision lay,  
I saw my Page, who with this Letter came;  
Which at first Reading, did explain my Dream.  He gives the Letter to Zolazer, who Reads it as followeth: 
Pope Paul the Fifth, to the Lord Polidore.  
Beloved Son! Salutation, and Apostolical Benediction, etc.— Having taken into our Consideration, the late Cruelties inflicted on our Catholics at Georgia; particularly, that unlawful Oath, of paying Allegiance to an Heretic Prince. We have therefore not only Issued out our Excommunication against Teimurazez, but do likewise (in requital of your undoubted Loyalty, and many other Christian Virtues) use our utmost interest, to place you in his Throne.  Zolazer. 
Thus does just Heaven Heroic Actions bless!  Polidorus. 
— It could not give me more.  Dubois. 
— Nor did you merit less.  
And that our Excommunication may not pass unattended by a sudden Omen, the Persians (by our Insinuation, being raised to an higher Resentment of the late Injuries offered them) are resolved, within these few days, to visit Teimurazez; and are sworn by their great Prophet, not to return without his Head. Nor does this Province seem so difficult, if we consider the profound Security the Prince is now in; sleeping, and dreaming of no such violent Blow: And that the most considerable part of his Army, is at present, at Altuncula. Now, I need not advise you, how to manage yourself in this Interval; whether to secure yourself by Absence, or a pretended Fit of Sickness, till this hazardous Storm be overpast. And when you find the Throne empty, you need not fear to Ascend it, in the Right of our well-beloved Daughter, Queen Ceteba; who I understand, is by Contract, already your Wife. It is our Will, That this Epistle be Communicated to all Faithful Sons; particularly, to Zolazer, Dubois, Lucan, Lumbus, and Tyrone.  
Farewell. Given under our Signet at Rome, Anno Domini 1614 And in the Tenth Year of our Papacy.  Zolazer. 
Who would not think, by this Sublimer Strain,  
Ceased Oracles had found their Tongues again?  Polidorus. 
As long tossed Ships in Sight of Harbour come,  
We want but one kind Gale to blow us Home:  
And Fortune seems to beg this short Delay,  
To reckon what vast Sums she is to pay.  
We need no more poorly depend on Fate;  
But Wealth and Honours, as our Slaves shall wait.  
This Office his, Another's that; and all  
The Church Revenues to your Shares will fall.  [To the Jesuits. 
Have you a Friend, you would promote? A Foe,  
You would Revenge? the only time is now.  
Is there a Famous Beauty, you would woe?  
Let the glad Father, or kind Husband know;  
They'll boast the Honour of procuring her for you.  Lucan. 
We need not then in these strange Shapes appear.  
Wear others Looks, or speak in Character:  
Nor need we then, like patient Anglers wait,  
Till th'Squeamish Conscience please to take the Bait.  
But to our Wears, thousands at once we'll force,  
Cull out the Ripe,—  
And send the Fry to our own Pools to Nurse.  Polidorus. 
But what great Things, Zolazer, have you done,  [To Zol. 
Since you've Governed Georgia's Garrison?  
It is the greatest Trust I could bestow;  
And an Employment only fit for you:  
It does, at least, Ten thousand Arms-contain;  
Which I design, shall be our Magazine.  
And do expect, that every Soldier shall▪  
Honour their Prince, less than their General.  Zolazer. 
Of those two Thousand Soldiers I have there,  
Eightscore already of our Party are▪  
No'ne shall the Offers I propose refuse,  
I will such Crafts and Subtle Methods use.  
Those Soldiers which most likely seem, I'll try;  
Which if the least unwilling to Comply,  
They soon shall by some private Torture die.  Polidorus. 
Were there in all, one Thousand Faithful found,  
Better than Millions we suspect unsound.  
One Stragler's Wildeness all the Herd misleads;  
One Houses Plague, through a whole Kingdom spreads:  
And one that's False, may like small Fire unknown,  
Spread its destructive Flames through the whole Town.  Zolazer. 
Let me desire, this prove no more your Care;  
But of th'Event, a good Opinion bear.  
I've seen all Countries, can all Humours guests:  
And th'Saints ne'er yet denied my Plot's Success.  
What flattering Language can't, this Sword shall do:  Pointing to his Sword. 
'Thas cut down Thousands, yet no'ne heard the Blow.  
I'll Kill with Poison, yet the Cause conceal;  
And's Death, by which I merit Heaven, bewail.  
These forty Years, unseen as Night, I've gone  
Through snaky Ways; and more strange Shapes put on,  
Than Proteus could, with all his Witchcraft guests,  
Or Ovid gave his Metamorphosis.  
And when our Plot is to a Ripeness grown,  
Rome must confess, She never yet has known  
So Rich a Conquest, and so Cheap a One.  Tyrone. 
Th'first Year I did to Artaxissa come,  
(Where I a grave Physicians Garb put on)  
At least Five hund'red Proselytes I gained,  
And done what Poets hardly could have feigned.  
A Pestilential Fever raging there,  
Which only I did then pretend to Cure:  
Those who would turn, and to our Pictures fall,  
I Raised again, as by a Miracle.  
But Poison was the Physic I did use,  
To purge away their Souls, which did my Charms refuse.  
So Heretics did in such number Dye,  
That Death grew weary of the Slavery:  
And Charon's Self, sat sweating at his Oar,  
Needing a Fleet to waft my Patients o'er.  Lumbus. 
My Conquests in Vasada are well known;  
Both Armastic ' and Lybium are grown  
More supple far: I've taught 'em, by Degrees,  
To touch our Beads, and look on Images.  Dubois. 
What need I boast? But should I strive to show  
Those Deeds twice sixteen Winters saw me do,  
You would grow Old with hearing me, and Death,  
ere I'd half told you, would demand my Breath.  
The Furies were my Slaves, who surely struck  
Thousands of Rebels, when my Looks but spoke.  
And should I when I die,—  
For each I Killed, a Marble-Pillar have,  
You might walk up to Heaven on my Grave.  
Witchcraft I studied, and all Poisons too,  
Whose Use, as well as Nature's self, I know▪  
Augurs, who 'f Lives and Deaths could less Divine,  
May come and harden their soft Hearts by mine.  
Did ned the late King, three Brothers, and one Son,  
Fall by my Art?  Lucan. 
But Teimurazez is Immortal grown:  
Those Poisons which did do their Business, are  
To him Familiar, as his other Fare.  
A thousand Snares I for his Life have laid,  
But some evil Spirit, even my Thoughts betrayed.  
Let Mirabilians keep no more ado,  
His Life's the only Miracle I know.  Dubois. 
Georgia did know no Catholic, before  
I with the Queen, Converted thousands more.  
Her Love for You, my Praises did Inspire;  
I first did Kindle, and then Blowed the Fire.  
By me, you Hopes are almost certain grown;  
For one unkinged lies dying in your Throne.  Polidorus. 
The Gods came short of each of you, when they  
Were Candidates for Immortality.  
And on your Merits such high Price I lay,  
That only those Impartial Powers can pay.  There is heard from Without, the Sound of Trumpets, and Beating of Drums. Enter Soldier. Soldier. 
To Arms! To Arms! The Persins are— To Arms!  Polidorus. 
What makes this Fool fright us with false Alarms!  Enter Brizander Brizander. 
Hell is broke loose! and all its devils appear  
In Persian Shapes, to bring their Torments here!  
They to our Walls, on Wings of lightning fly:  
Whilst th'wounded Air, touched with a Sympathy,  
In Groans of Thunder, bided our Destiny.  Enter another Soldier. Soldier. 
To Arms! To Arms! They the South-Gate Attack!  
But th'Prince in Person, bravely beats 'em back!  Polidorus. 
Curse on their Hart! 'Tis such a quick Surprise,  
I have no time to put on a Disguise.  
But since I must appear in Fight, I'll stand  
Beyond the reach of Dangers Bloody Hand!  Brizander. 
Ye Gods, give Fortune now her Eyes, that she  
May see to lead us on to Victory.  
Let's not raise Fears, to fight with too; but show  
What Courage armed by Despair, can do.   

SCENE II.  Enter Ceteba and Maacla. Queen. 
BRave Nero, may thy Soul my Breast inspire!  
Whose sacred Harp sang Praises to Rome's Fire!  
Whilst Buildings in the Sky, like Meteor's throng,  
And danced Levaltoes to thy Charming Song.  
That Childish thing, we Human Nature call,  
Pity, Compassion, things we fool withal,  
Are given us as our Raiment, or our Food,  
To use, or lay aside, as we think good.  
That must be Lawful, which does Profit bring;  
Cruelty's but a Name, there's no such thing.  
What? Tho I see my Country overthrown,  
And its cursed Her'tick Prince, (no more my Son)  
Sink in its Ruin: Tho each Persians Hand  
Were a Death's-Head, t'un-people this Cursed Land,  
And I the Cause; though Georgia should prove  
(Dear Polidore) a Victim to our Love;  
Must I be thought Unnatural, or Severe,  
Because I only of myself, and Thee, take care?  
No, even Nature justifies me here.  
Self-Int'rest, and Self-Preservation,  
Is th'only Law of Nature I can own:  
That only Just, un-alterable One.  
I care not, though th'whole World to Chaos fall,  
So we survive the Mighty Funeral;  
And force from thence a better Progeny:  
Deucalion you, and Phyrra I will be.  Maacla. 
Juno could neither Do, nor Speak, like You,  
When her keen Rage did Hercules pursue.  
Your Courage Polidore's Affection moves;  
That, next your Beauty, and your Wit, he loves.  Queen. 
Courage belongs to Man; and b'ing above  
Our Sex, their Envy raises, not their Love.  
It is not that I Conquer him withal:  
No, I dare swear, he thinks me Beautiful.  [She looks in the Glass. 
How does this Face become me, Girl? Look here!  
Does not this Wrinkle through the Case appear?  
The Fucus was not well laid on; nor is  
It White enough.—  Maacla. 
— I see, it is amiss.  [Taking the Pencil, and mends it. 
The Sun has to the Ceruse given a Taint.  Ceteba. 
To Morrow we shall have another Paint,  
Far Richer, and more lasting.— Prithee view:  [Looking in the Glass. 
Nay, Don't I look as Clear, and Young, as thou?  
My Palsy, and my Gout, no longer rage;  
And, I believe, Medea has renewed my Age.  
I justly may mistrust my Memory,  
Which says, These Eyes did threescore Winters see.  Maacla. 
Each Feature does a fair Narcissus wear:  
And gaze not on that Mirror long, for fear  
It should reflect Sparkles of your Beauty's Fire;  
And like to him, you in Self-Love expire.  Venus 
did but a Tauny-Gypsie show,  
Dirty, and Sunburnt, when compared with You.  
She pines with Grief, seeing You Shine more clear;  
And Mars Your Charms, before all Hers, prefer.  Ceteba. [Breathing into Maacla's Mouth. 
Girl! Smell my Breath! How does it Scent to Day?  
I hope, the Dentifrice has ta'en away,  
The Hogoe those few Teeth I've left, did—  Maacla. 
— Excellent well!  
Odours, chafed by the Sun, less Fragrant smell:  
And on your Balmy Lips, both Indies dwell.  
I mean, this Carrion smell, which I endure,  
Arabia can't, with all its Spices, cure.  Aside: 
Nor can she of her Form, too Curious be,  
Who'd hold the Heart of Polidorus; He  
To heavens' bright battlements, his Glories raise;  
And strikes the Stars, till each rebounds his Praise.  
Thrice Happy Queen, in his Embraces! who  
Is more a God than Cupid; and can do,  
More with one Glance of his All-conquering Eye,  
Than all the Shafts of that Blind Deity.  Ceteba. 
Thou'st spoken well; and I believe thy Mind:  
Thou shalt Rewards, great as thy Merits, find.  
In the first Place, an Husband we'll procure;  
A Doctor, that shall thy Green-sickness Cure.  
What think'st thou of Melanthus?  Maacla. 
Melanthus! Force me first to dwell  
In a Nun'rys Cloistered Cell:  
Where the Sight of some Old Priest  
Once a Month, would be a Feast.  
I loathe that shame-faceed, Beardless Thing;  
A lazy Drone, without a Sting:  
One, a Fever cannot warm,  
Nor flaming Poison work upon.  
At first, I sent my Choicest Charms,  
To bring him fettered to my Arms:  
Mustered all our Female Arts,  
Our ay'ry Gins, and Traps for Hearts;  
Breasts, where Love in Ambush lies;  
Killing Looks, and Dying Eyes.  
But nought could make his Nature yield;  
'Tis frozen to an Icy Shield.  
Grief in his Heart, such Root has took,  
'Tis mixed with every Word and Look:  
Which his fierce Sighs through the Air do strew,  
And into Storms, and Tempests blow.  Ceteba. 
I never did believe the Garb it wears;  
Breeches do illy suit with Sighs, and Tears:—  
But often Reason had to guests,  
'Tis but a Woman in Disguise;  
Which Polidore—  [Enter Persians in Disguises. 
These by their Garb, should to the Prince belong,  
And here with News from the Engagement come:  
But my Prophetic Doubts! He's safe, I fear;  Aside. 
Joy swells their Looks, and Rides in Triumph there.  
Is my dear Son! Speak! Is the Prince secure?  
Lives yet a Persian, to withstand his Power?  
Those worst of Monsters!—  1 Persian. 
— Yes, we Live; and know,  
If we are Monsters, you shall find us so!  
By our Highpriest, a sacred Oath we've made,  
Not to return without the Prince's Head.  
But though his Courage won't of that allow,  
Yet yours may in its stead, fulfil our Vow;  
And be, perhaps, as Advantageous too.  Ceteba. 
Then are ye Persians! Were I sure of that,  
One Word of mine, would worthier Thoughts Create.  
I hope, you know the End, which brought you here.  2 Persian. [Gagging Cetebe. 
That we are Persians, may by this appear.  3. Persian. Gagging Maacla. 
In vain you strive; For when your Queen is slain,  
You in the other World, must bear her Train.  [Exeunt Persians carrying off Ceteba, and her Maid 

CHORUS.  

I.  
GEorgia, Thou hast too Fruitful been!  
Thy Death's by thy own Children sought.  
So I've unnatural Branches seen,  
Drop Venom on their Mother-Root.  
Call here Arabia's Savages;  
For they can better Doctrine Teach.   

II.  
Unhappy Prince! Thy Country's Fate,  
And Thine, alike in this do show.  
She's in her Son's Unfortunate,  
As in a Mother's Malice you.  
Such Monsters, that 'gainst Nature prey;  
She a Cannibal, and Vipers they.   

III.  
Damned Pope! What Poisons didst infuse,  
To stifle Nature's kindly Flame?  
Must all Ties of Relation lose,  
At thy Approach, its very Name?  
Thou, and thy Jesuits, by these Knacks,  
Seem Learned Virtuoso Quacks.   

IV.  
Wolf's, and Tigers, you prepare  
For those of your Religion; who,  
With these fierce Monsters, must be sure,  
To change their Blood, and Nature too.  
And many more of these quaint Tricks,  
Make Currant roman-catholics.   

V.  
Deny this, Jesuit, if you can;  
Is your Religion any more,  
Than a mere Politic Design,  
To Serve the Babylonian-whore?  
Speak! Is it Heaven, or Golden Heaps,  
Thou Huntest in a thousand Shapes?   

VI  
The Doctrine of Deposing-Kings,  
With all its Fatal Consequence;  
And ten Thousand as bad Things,  
Derive their Bloody Birth from hence.  
'Twas only Policy, that could  
Create, and now Supports thy God   

VII.  
Sedition is thy Brat; and Thou  
Art th'Cause of almost every War;  
Whether they Turks, or Christians are  
Thou Armest, it is alike to You.  
Murders, and Massacres too,  
From thy very Nature flow.   

VIII.  
Yet whether Prince or People seek,  
Or are by thee, forced to Extremes:  
Forsooth, 'tis always Conscience-sake,  
And Religion are the Themes.  
And thus the Highest Things you bend,  
To serve the worst, and lowest End.    
Finis Actus Secundi.    


ACT III. SCENE I.  Enter Teimurazez, Morinus, and Brizander; Sheathing their Swords. Teimurazez. 
THose which survived, are to their Country fled,  
Swift as the rest, did to th' Elizian-Shade.  Morinus. 
Mars has resigned his Deity to You;  
Pallas her Shield, and Jove his Thunder too.  
Mantled in Clouds, they viewed you from a far;  
And from your Conquests, learned New Arts of War.  
The Souls of Hero's, hovering in the Sky;  
Sickened with Envy, at your Victory;  
Whose Fame must now, dumb as their Ashes lie.  
Th'Immortal Bays, which on their Godheads grew,  
Dropped down, and clinged to your Victorious Brow.  Teimurazez. 
Tho Fortune's Kindness seemed, at first, so great,  
A Mother's Loss does more than Cancel that:  
It does my Laurels into Cypress turn,  
And seem to teach my Triumphs how to Mourn.  
Thus many things must make up Happiness;  
Tho only one, will serve to make it less.  
But Heaven! How could they steal away the Queen,  
Yet unrevenged, and what is more, unseen!  Brizander. 
When horrid Shouts bellowed on every side,  
And Slaughter stretched its ugly Limbs so wide:  
Whilst the Guns roared, till they the Heaven's did rend,  
And thither did their Entrails off send;  
The Queen Unguarded, was with Maacla,  
By disguised Persians, Conveyed away.  Teimurazez. 
That was the reason, they so soon took wing,  
To bear her Trophy to their Pagan King.  
I must prepare some fit Ambassador,  
To offer Peace, and Ransom pay for her.  Brizander. 
This is the Plot, which we so much did feat;  
You still did slight, and was so loath to hear.  
For such small Numbers, durst not us invade,  
Without the Promise of some Traitor's Aid.  
But some kind Accident their Purpose broke;  
Perhaps the Place, or they the Time mistook:  
Or when they saw, we such Resistance made,  
The Rebels fainted, and th'invaders fled.  Morinus. 
The Lord Polidore, with all his Popish-Train,  
No longer can their Innocence maintain.  
We'bserved his Party scattered up and down;  
And whilst we Fought, stood idle Looker's on.  
But when their Drums commanding Voice they heard,  
They observed that Call, and to one Bulk repaired:  
And in a trice, Two large Battalions made;  
Which Percas, and Zolazer, were to Head.  
Who without doubt, Yours, and Our Fate designed,  
Had not the Persians Quickness stopped their Hand.  Teimurazez. 
No more, my Lords! These large Complaints are vain,  
Against these real, harmless, honest Men.  
This is the Issue of your Old Deceit,  
To stamp the Name of Justice on your Hate.  
That Envy's the Soul's Plague, we hence may know;  
You ope' these Ulcers, to infect me too.  
Whence else these Guilty Blushes?—  Morinus. 
— If I Blush,  
'Tis 'cause you done't, whilst you upbraid me thus!  
Who for your Ease, so many Racks have known;  
And for your Safety, did no Danger shun.  
But if your former Love does weary grow,  
And you believe, you've worn me long enough;  
I am willing, to be laid aside.—  
But th' Gods can bear me Witness, that I know  
No Hate for Them, besides my Love for You:  
Nor can I Love you Both, 'less I could be  
Stupid as You, or Treacherous as They.  Brizander. 
He speaks not half, what we can make appear;  
Too much we know, and yet much more we fear:  
Their Absence too, does some Suspicion show;  
They fear Guilts past, or else are acting New.  
Had ned they been Conscious, they had hastened now,  
To help us wreathe a Chaplet for your Brow.  
But th'know, they cannot, without Blushing, own  
Your Courage, since it must Condemn their own.  Teimurazez. 
No more! I cannot yet suspect their Worth,  
Till Time, its wonted Offspring Truth, brings forth:  
But was this true; in the Birth of a Disease,  
No'ne uses the Extremest Remedies.  Morinus. 
But when that's sudden, so the Cure must be;  
When you're surprised, 'twill be too late to say,  
Your Fears have been too tardy: For, you know,  
Treasons, as soon as thought, to Action go;  
Tho few believe it, till they feel the Blow.  Prince. 
Keep to yourselves, your Fears and Jealousy:  
Guarded with Innocence, I stand as free,  
As one who from a Rock, on Storms looks down,  
And Laughs to see poor Angry Neptune frown.  
Since Fear, and Guilt, but the same thing appear,  
When we want Guilt, it is a Sin to Fear.   

SCENE II.  Enter Polidorus, Zolazer, Dubois, Tyrone, Lumbus, and Lucan. Zolazer. 
Howe'er the Pope's Divinity appear,  
I'm sure, his Politics know how to Err:  
Else, had our Harvest to a Ripeness grown,  
ere he had sent his Slaves to Cut it down;  
We had not lost the Queen; Nor had She been  
Herself a Saint, ere she had seen you King.  [To Polidor. Dubois. 
What may we Trust? we even ourselves Deceive;  
And Chance is all the Certainty we have.  Polidorus. 
I'll neither Trust, nor Fear, that bugbear, Fate!  
That Brat of Fancy! Reason now shall uncreate.  
Blindly, at random, she her Arrows throws;  
But Man's own giddy Rashness meets the Blows.  
Man's Follies are the Lustres of her Crown,  
Whose ai'ry Temples now we'll batter down;  
And be ourselves, what once she seemed to be:  
Make Prince's Homage to our Altars pay.  
We'll by our Plots, and Policy, defeat  
Fate; and, in spite of its Decrees, grow Great.  
Wonder shall call us Parent; and we will  
Extract us Blessings from the worst of iii.  
Some Embalm'd-Head, (as I advised before)  
Brought to the Prince—  Tyrone. 
— Fear not our Art, or Power.  
To manage it, swifter than Thought we'll fly.  Zolazer. 
Farewell; And may each Saint your Guardian be.  [Exeunt Dubois, Tyrone, Lumbus, and Lucan. Polidorus. 
These State-Affairs have so disturbed my Brain.  Zolazer. 
Which Wine, and Whores, must set in Tune again.  Polidorus. 
But to Cosmelia, I must first repair,  
T'observe how she doth her new Bondage bear.  
Zolazer Signs as followeth:  


I.  
COme let's drink, and drench our Souls;  
And drown our Troubles in our Bowls!  
For the pretty Buds and Flowers,  
Ne'er smell Sweet, till drunk with Showers.   

II.  
Come let's Sport, Embrace, and Kiss!  
For Nature dictates nought but this:  
And she did keep her Maidenhead,  
But till she was to Ripeness bred.   

III.  
Look on the little Ant, and Bee!  
Those Epicures of Luxury!  
Who'n Summer toil, and break their Sleep,  
That th' may a Jollier Christmas keep.   

IV.  
'Tis the Arabian-Bird alone  
Lives chaste, because there is but One:  
But had Nature made them Two,  
They would like Doves, and Sparrows, Do.    [Exeunt.  

SCENE III.  Cosmelia sola, Dressed in Man's Apparel. 
WHat numerous Mountains of Perplexities,  
Has every Minute of these Three tedious Winters;  
Unloaded on my poor Heart?  
Since (my Husband being Compelled to Travel,  
By the last Commands of his unkind Father)  
Polidorus inveigled me into his Snaky Arms?  
Those now-abhord, and loathed Embraces,  
Which have blasted all the Title I had to Virtue.  
Oh my dear Miletas! Oh thy unfortunate Cosmelia!  
Heaven only knows, with what Racks and Tortures,  
I now both Forsake, and Pollute thy Bed!  
Polidore's Unkindness, mingling with my Guilt,  
Feed like Vultures, on my wretched Soul.  
For when I grew sensible of my Guilt,  
And Polidore understood, I designed to leave him;  
Then did he begin to show his Cruelty;  
And here Confines me in a Man's Habit.  
Ye Gods! Because I Repented me of the Sin,  
Must I be thus Punished?  
Have ned yet the Gods all their Revenge employed?  
And my long Sufferings, yet their Fury Cloyed?  
My Pain does all the World besides, set free:  
Envy can have no other Mark, but Me.  Enter Polidorus. [Sighs: Polid. 
What! Always Melancholy! Come Cosmelia, into my Arms!  
And there I'll at once, squeeze out all your Sighs;  
And mould 'em into pleasant, and airy Raptures.  [He offers to Embrace her, which she refuseth. Cosmelia. 
How vainly does the World Experience prize,  
Seeing our own Ruin only, makes us wise!  
We rashly purchase Change at any Rate;  
Then what that Rashness cause, we call our Fate.  
Not Fate, but we procure our wretched Doom:  
And Fancy makes our Paradise, our Tomb.  
Else had I not been Ruined in your Arms,  
Nor suck the Philtre of your cruel Charms;  
I'd not been Conquered by your Serpent-Spell,  
Whose Venom made this poisoned Belly swell!  [Pointing to her Belly. 
But now, too late I see my Crime; and may  
Torrents of Tears wash this foul Spot away.  [Points again to her Belly. Polidorus. 
Was not my Iron Heart with Resolutions,  
Made inaccessible, and shot-free;  Aside. 
Her Charms of Virtue would Compassion move,  
And turn my Lust, into a servile Love.  Cosmelia. 
When first my Heart, and Wealth, you made your Prize,  
Made me grow Monstrous under this Disguise;  
Your Love and Constancy, your Perjured Oath,  
Assured me then, though now you're False to Both.  [She Weeps. Polidorus. 
These Tears, Cosmelia, unbecoming are;  
In these clear Mirrors, your weak Sex appear.  
And since you here, a Masculine Garb put on,  
'Cause I would have you, and your Sex, unknown;  
You must throw off the servile Bands of Fear,  
And swell your Soul, fit to that Garb you wear.  Enter Page. Page. 
There's a Messenger below, from a Person of Quality:  
'Tis Pedro, Sir, Miletas his Servant.  [Aside to Pol. Polid. 
Heaven forbid! Then surely's Master's come to Town:  
My guilty Fears do shrewdly Prophesy.  Aside. 
Now had I rather go to meet a Basilisk,  
Or my Old Mother's Ghost.   

SCENE IU.  The SCENE Discovers Pedro solus; To whom Enters Polidorus. Polidorus. 
HOnest Pedro! What News bring'st thou?  Pedro. 
My Master, Sir, is newly come to Town;  
And is in haste, to Kiss your Lordship's Hand.  Polidorus. 
Prithee give my Service to him; and let him know,  
I will immediately wait on him.  
But what Disgust, Pedro, did Rome give thy Lord?  
We wondered, to hear he made such haste from thence.  Pedro. 
'Tis so full of Cardinals, Monks, Friars, Jesuits,  
And a Damned Company of I know not what, Religious Orders;  
That I could find no Place for an Honest Man, there.  
The first Thing I took notice of, was  
The Cruel Usage of a poor Countryman of ours,  
That was Bandied and Blown up, on various Engines  
Of Fireworks:  
And only for saying, His Holiness was a Cuckold;  
Because the Church of Rome, which is called his Spouse,  
Is still Committing of Adultery.  
Whereas we in Georgia, make nothing of calling him,  
The Horned Beast! the Whore of Babylon! Antichrist!  
And more such Names, than he pretends Right to Kingdoms.  Polidorus. 
I suppose, young Man, you'll find the Case something altered.  Pedro. 
But I wish, some body would call my Master, Cuckold;  
So he would inform him, who made him so:  
For his Lady (he being Absent) was Decoyed away;  
And has taken with her, what e'er was Portable.  
Vast Sums of Gold, Jewels; and what concerns him most,  
The Writings of his whole Estate.  
And, Sir, he's now Rich, only in your Friendship.  [Exit Pedro. Polidorus. 
She Hates me now, more than she Loved me once:  
And if she hears, her Husband's come to Town,  
She'll use some Stratagem, to Betray me to him.  
I must contrive some Means, to stop her Breath;  
And my own Safety purchase by her Death.   

SCENE V.  Discovers Cosmelia sola. Cosmelia. 
OH Heaven! Is this the Product of cursed Natures  
Cruel Bounty?  
Must I pay Homage to her Deity,  
For being distinguished from the Toad, and Adder?  
And at once, emulate the Prerogative,  
Their uncurbed Career of Pleasures seem to claim?  
Had she suffered me to Sleep peaceably,  
In my first natural, earthy Being:  
And not ' wakened me, with the Corroding Blisters  
Of a Rational Soul; I had not felt  
The Thorny Pressures, of th'insulting World;  
But with Atlas, been insensible of the Weight of Heaven.  
But now, into what rugged Oceans  
Of Perplexities, am I still plunged?  
And yet Cruel Fortune, will not suffer me  
Quite to sink.  
Oh, my dear Miletas! Oh, my unfortunate Miletas!  
To think of Thee, is all the Taste I have of Pleasure:  
And yet, Heaven knows, what a Bitterness that strikes!  
Methinks, my Fancy seems to gaze after  
The faint Idea of some unusual Rapture;  
As if my Guardian-Angel was Conducting  
Thee to my Prison.  
But though awake, I can't Enjoy thy Charms;  
I'll go to Sleep, and Dream thee in my Arms.  [She sits down in a Chair, and composes herself to Sleep.  

SCENE VI.  Enter Polidorus and Zolazer. Zolazer. 
EAch Soldier's Faith's to my Inspection known;  
And I've one Thousand of 'em made our own.  
Those, Sir, according to your Wise Command,  
I've tied fast to us, with an Oaths firm Band.  Polidorus. 
I've strictly viewed the Products of your Care;  
So many I found Safe, and did the rest Cashier:  
And to our Party such Directions given,  
That by their very Crimes, they'll merit Heaven!  
You'll wonder, if I'll make our Wenching be,  
Both our Religion, and our Policy.  
For when the Women yield their Hearts our Prey,  
They'll our Religion too, as soon Obey.  
And that, when they are safely made our own,  
They'll like the Pox, spread thorough their whole Town.  
So shall our Empire's un-seen Greatness grow:  
Yet that's no Sin, whence good Effects do flow.  Zolazer. 
You make Hell Heaven; Change the Decrees of Fate,  
ere one damned Whores Religion you beget.  
Our Plot Discretions, Faith alone should trust;  
Not every Drab, and Common-Shore of Lust.  
But I must follow, where you're pleased to steer.  
I am your Servant, not your Councillor.  
But 'mongst the various Forms of our Designs,  
We must contrive Revenge for those Divines;  
Sanco, Piazer, Lezdros, and the rest  
Of that Black Tribe, which does the Land infest.  
Against our Church, they've several Volumes writ;  
Where Truth and Learning's chequered o'er with Wit:  
And in their Pulpits, all our Cheats display;  
Take off our Masks, and show us to the Day.  
But we've already Harnessed in our Toil,  
Piazer, that great Champion of the Soul.  Enter Piazer, Fettered and Manacled; and led in by two Ruffians. 
Oh! Here he comes! You'll see him Court his Doom;  
And like the Swan, Sing his own Requiem!  Polidorus. 
Since you're the Devil's Agent here, in vain,  [To Piaz 
We'll send you Guilty to him back again.  
There, we'll consent, you our Contrivance tell;  
And prove, our Tortures Rival those of Hell!  Piazer. 
Kind Heaven, which sent me Captive to these Chains;  
Has lent me Patience, to overcome their Pains.  
Methinks, I'm now much Livel'er grown; as 'twere  
To gain more Time, what Heaven sends, to bear.  
I'd wish to Live, but to disclose our Wrong:  
But Heaven may give my Martyred Blood a Tongue!  Polidorus. 
This stupid Heretic, calls Heaven his own;  
But we'll find Tortures, which will change his Tone.  
Fetch Brimstone! Fire! Gunpowder! Pitch! And all  
Death's fierce Ingredients, to his Funeral call!  
Thou first shalt Suffer this World's Tortures o'er;  
Then headlong fall to Hell, to Suffer more!  [Exeunt two Ruffians. Piazer. 
Your various Tortures, you prepare in vain;  
For they are my Divertisement, not Pain.  
I restless lie for lingering Bliss! Thus strange!  
Heaven does to Virtue, my Impatience change.  
Oh, blessed Disquietness! Such Longings please!  
We find in Noble Discontents, some Ease.  Zolazer. 
ere our Designs on Prosperous ' pinions rise,  
Salvirus too, must fall our Sacrifice.  Polidorus. 
'Tis best, let neither for his partner stay;  
They may walk hand-in-hand, in the Broad-way.  Zolazer. 
No; we th'Maturity of Things must wait;  
And for Salvirus, lay a Private Bait.  
A Cottage may, with unheard-Noise, fall down;  
Whilst th'Noise of greater Ruins will be known.  
There does a Potion in his Chamber lie,  
In which I will his speedy Death convey:  
That shall all Thoughts of Treachery expel;  
And fill that Room, where his Cursed Sold does dwell.  The two Ruffians Re-enter with a Chafing-Dish of Coals, Brimstone, long Knives, etc. with which they variously Torment Piazer; who makes most doleful Cries. Polidorus. 
Since this close Place only ourselves contain,  
Our unheard-Cries but Echo back your Pain!  There Descends a Spirit, which Sings as followeth: 


I.  
Come Glorious Soul make haste!  
Let me Conduct you to Eternal Rest!  
You Linger, as if you despaired to gain  
Any other Bliss, besides Content with Pain.  
But Heaven, whose chiefest Care you are,  
Does all its Happiness prepare,  
For to Reward those Torments now you bear.   

II.  
Such little Pain as this,  
Is to give Relish to your Future Bliss!  
And your pure Breast lies panting at your Death,  
But to improve the Heavens with your Breath.  
And Heaven, whose chiefest Care you are,  
Does all, etc.    Polidorus. 
What sudden Ecstasy, Sir, has hurried you  
Into this wild Demeanour of your Looks?  
Was you thus strucken with a Planet? or have you seen  
A Gorgon's-Head? You thus seem Metamorphosed  
Into a Marble-Statue.  Zolazer. 
Do those Mariners, whom a furious Wrack  
Has rendered equally Unfortunate;  
Demand the Cause of each others Extremity!  
Your Eyes and Ears must needs be Witnesses,  
Of what you seem to doubt—  
And did you retain the least Sense, you may  
By your own, measure my Discontentedness.  Polidorus. 
I've neither heard, or seen any Reason,  
Why I should be Discomposed;  
Besides the Suspense hanging on your Dubious Lips.  Zolazer. 
Then angry Heaven did cast a Mist between your Eyes,  
And that Glorious Spirit, (which but now  
Warbled forth an Heavenly Anthem) but to continue  
Your Artheistical Opinion, of there being  
No such Thing.  Polidorus. 
What now seemed to represent itself to You,  
Was but the Effects of your Distempered Brain.  
The nobler Part, our Reason, not blind Sense,  
Must be Decider of this Mystery.  
And did I seem—  
To hear, and see, a thousand such Phantasms;  
My better Reason will not let me trust  
Such treacherous Witnesses.— But grant, there were  
Such things, this Traitor's Ghost we need not fear;  
The devil will find him work enough elsewhere.  
His Corpse shall in the Dungeon, Prisoner lie,  
Whilst his Damned Soul, shall on Hell's Gridir'n fry.  
Thus my Designs, by Heaven's kind Influence grow  
As undiscerned, as th'Cause which made 'em so.  
Blood is the Basis of my Rising-state;  
I'm Charactered with Blood, in th'Book of Fate:  
So am I free from Anxious Care; who know,  
What made me Cruel, will preserve me so.  [Exeunt. 
Finis Actus Tertij.    


Act. IU. Scen. I.  The Scene discovers Teimurazez and Polidorus. Teimurazez. 
BE not so passionate, my Lord! Let this suffice!  
My opinion of your Love and Loyalty,  
Is in my heart so deeply rooted,  
That all the Winds of Prejudic want Power  
To raise a Storm, to shake it.  Polidorus. 
— Hold correspondence with the Pope! conspire your Death!  
And by such various means Plot the Subversion  
Of the established Church and Government!  
What? I'm a Beast, a Villain then! a Traitor!  
A Monster Africa would blush to own!  
If this be true, why live I yet? or sleeps  
heavens' Justice? or are Humane Laws too weak?  
If my Offence be public, let my Punishment be so;  
Or if you think I'm wronged, let my Accusers suffer!  
At least, for injuring you, Sir, in your Friend.  
So I dare call myself; for, were I as guiltless  
Of all other Crimes as of these false Whispers,  
Heaven ne'er did entertain more spotless Innocence than mine.  
Were their whole Bodies stuck with Eyes, thick as  
Was Argus' head; And all the walls of my House  
Transparent as the Air; nay were their Ears  
Long enough to reach my inner Closet,  
I would not whisper any Thought, to be  
A second Jupiter.  Teimurazez. 
To day they parted from me, swollen with Discontent,  
To see me slight their too officious Care;  
I calling it Malice or at least Mistake.  
And this my Lord I'll promise you; if I find  
That Prejudice gave birth to these Reports,  
The Authors (were they a thousand times my Brothers)  
Should fall a Sacrifice to Justice for you.  Polidorus. 
Would you but let me know their names— I would—  
But ye, good Gods, resign me all your patience,  
And vindicate my Innocence; lest when  
My Injuries are heard, the world may think  
That you want Will, or Power to do Justice.   

Scene 2.  Morinus solus. 
Then can't I be believed?—  
Phoebus! What harm did I thy Godhead do,  
That thus Cassandra's Curse should me pursue?  
The Trojans thought she dreamed; nor did just Fate  
Revenge too soon, 'cause they believed too late.  
But Heaven prevent the Omen here! and call  
Back your Revenge; though by a Miracle.  
How often have these Knees kissed the cold ground,  
Whilst to the Prince I showed my Countries Wound!  
Then I even wept, till Showers of Tears did seem  
Rather to change my Sex, than soften Him.  
They blind his Eyes, and will not let him see,  
And Seas and Rocks are far less deaf than he.  [Enter Brizander▪ Brizander. 
What News, my Lord? methinks your Eyes declare  
Some Discontent, which almost looks like Fear.  
For Passions angry Torrents overflow,  
And Neptune sits a storming on your Brow.  Morinus. 
Sir! If my Looks such angry Billows wear,  
'Tis cause my Shipwrecked Country labours there.  
You may the Cause in the Effect descry,  
For nothing less could raise my Grief so high.  
The Prince still sleeps; a Lethargy like death  
Will seal his Eyes, until it stops his Breath.  
Polidore's th' evil Guardian of his Mind,  
Knows his soft hours, and free access can find.  
Has fathomed every corner of his Heart.  
And new Impressions to his Soul imparts.  
Hence through the Court such treacherous nets are spread,  
That only Romans must those pavements tread.  
All Offices that Faction has engrossed,  
And they grow greatest that can flatter most.  
They do with Oaths, and Execrations own  
The Truth of our reformed Religion,  
Whilst either Rome's they practise, or else none.  
Ye Gods! that our unblemished Church should be,  
An holy Mask for their black Perjury!  
Yet with such Paint they shadow the Deceit,  
That the good Prince will not believe the Cheat.  
They have such Poison for his Reason found,  
No Antidote can reach to cure the Wound.  
Corky and light our best Advice appears,  
Which fleets but on the Surface of his Ears,  
Not reach his Heart—  Brizander. 
— Heaven op'e his Eyes, that he  
At once their Treasons, and our Faith may see.  Morinus. 
But for Salvirus too, I needs must grieve,  
He was too honest, and too good to live.  
His Loyalty was all the Fault he knew,  
And that will be the end of me and you.  
They know we into all their Actions pry,  
And Treason through their closest visards see.  
But Fate does th' Prospect of our dangers show,  
Not for prevention but to edge the blow;  
All care is vain when Power is once denied,  
And Courage faints, when all its hands are tied.  Brizander. 
Yet still the Prince with reverence we must name,  
His too good Nature, not himself we blame.  
He thinks it near impossible that they  
Who owe him theirs, should take His Life away.  
They do with him to our Devotions come,  
Droll, and protest against the See of Rome.  
And none like them, Faith and Allegiance vow;  
Nay seem to pers'cute their own Party too.  
But did the Prince believe things as they are,  
He'd soon these Vipers from his Bosom tear.  
These Vipers, which would Natures Laws betray,  
And through their Mother's Bowels force their way.  Morinus. 
True; thus disguised they cheat him, for they know  
He hates the Papist, when he knows him so.  
Nor can they hope t' engage him to forgo  
That firm Religion, he was born unto.  
Whose Ancestors, two Centuries, or more,  
Withstood Rome's secret Crafts, and open Power.  
But these last Herds increased we know not how,  
Grown up like Mushrooms in a night or two.  
Queen Ceteka was the first one of note,  
Georgia produced; cursed Ceteka! that Root!  
That Womb of Fiends! a sort of Africa Dung,  
From whence so many Thousand Monsters sprung!  
Yet she with all her Jesuitick Train,  
Could not the Prince to her Persuasion gain.  
He stood unshaken, and continues so;  
But oh the late ill Action he did do!  
Th'Allowance of his Mother's Relic here,  
(I would not rail, but yet can scarce forbear)  
Was the severest Blow our Church e'er felt.  
But what could ned Polidore persuade him to,  
Zolazer, and the rest of that false Crew?  
This is his greatest, nay his only Guilt.  
No other Blemish in his Virtue lies,  
Though Envy searched it with its thousand Eyes.  Brizander. 
Unhappy State of those who Sceptres sway!  
None are so chained to faithless Friends as they!  
That knowledge which does all their Actions guide,  
Through th' Eyes and Ears of others is conveyed,  
And does a Tincture from each Channel take,  
Which either private Ends or Flattery make.  
Nor is't an easy Province to remove  
These spacious Objects of a Princes Love.  
For th' Politician, like a well-grow'n Oak,  
Fixes his Sturdy Root near some strong Rock;  
Where firmly placed, it even the Thunder dares,  
And spreads, whilst Tempests rattle round his Ears.  Exeunt Br. and Mor.  

Scene 3.  Miletas solus. 
For my long Absence this just Curse I see,  
She's either dead, or fled to search for Me.  
But that none knew of her, does me amaze;  
Can Lamps depart and no one see the Blaze?  
If Heaven, when Kings and Kingdoms do expire,  
Emblems with blazing-Stars, their Funeral Fire,  
Even for her private Fate what could suffice  
Less than the Tributes of a thousand Eyes?  
Sure, was she murdered, we each Muse might see  
Weep on her Tomb, th' Aonian Fountain dry.  
And the grieved Sun would a black Robe put on,  
And such a Loss discover with a Groan.  
Yet though my Trouble for her Loss is great,  
I hardly can be angry with that Fate  
Which was the Cause; and did persuade my Stay;  
For thence I saw the Cheats of Popery.  
I went and heard what Wonders Rome could tell,  
Then came and weighed 'em in an English scale.  
England, to thee this happy cure I owe,  
And by this means Georgia its safety too.  
Thy purer Air my sickly Faith refined  
From Popish Superstitions; and I find  
Those Characters of Treason disappear,  
Which interwoven with my Education were.  
Hence on the wings of Loyalty I fly,  
For to prevent my Country's Destiny.  
I'll to the Prince, and all their Treasons show,  
When they design, and how to give the blow.  [Enter Polidorus. Polidorus! 
may I trust my Eves!  
A sudden ecstasy dazzles my belief,  
And my excess of Joy makes itself less.  [They embrace. 
Methinks our throbbing hearts meet, and catch at each other,  
As if they had an Instinct to incorporate.  Polidorus. 
Did we longer dwell in each others arms,  
Our Bodies, perhaps, might melt; and as  
The amorous Nymph and her Hermaphroditus, mix in one.  
But nothing can make our hearts more congenial,  
Than they are.  Miletas. 
To me, this happy interview,  
Welcome as that of Blessed Angels is  
Who still come loaded with new heavens' of Happiness.  
Low as despair your absence made me lie,  
Till your kind presence mounts me up as high;  
So Flowers in Storms faint on their sickly Beds,  
Till heavens' kind Beams prop up their drooping heads.  Polidor. 
Sir! If such Charms my welcome Presence wear,  
Perhaps 'tis 'cause some happy News sits there.  
What Fortune bids me speak, my Looks may show,  
Whilst weighty Joys make the right Organ slow.  Miletas. 
What! is our Fortune (made by'ts bounty poor)  
Yet grown recruited to oblige us more?  
Has here the Pope any more work to do?  
Does not all Georgia stoop to kiss his Toe?  
He (who procured it) does expect to bear  
No small advantage from the Persian War.  Polidorus. 
Tho' with our private aid, they stormed the Town,  
They were repulsed; and Ceteba alone  
To Persia was a Trophy brought; where she  
For her Religion did a Martyr die.  Milet. 
She was a Saint, whose Soul was so sublime,  
That Separation could not more refine;  
Her death I fear has weakened our Design.  Polidor. 
No, like the Phoenix, she resigned her breath.  
Her teeming Dust gave a more active Birth  
To new Designs, which I was Midwife to.  Miletas. 
With haste the meaning of this Riddle show.  Polidor. 
Four Jesuits by my advice a Stranger slew,  
Whom not the King from his dead Mother knew.  
Each knee this as her Relic does adore,  
And most believe the very Touch a Cure.  
The Prince its keeping to these Jesuits gave,  
Who annual Stipends for their Craft receive.  
This Miracle you'll in our Temple see  
In Pomp, above th' Athenian Deity.  
Whose Rays will soon, as far as Phoebus' shine,  
And draw whole Nations to its painted Shrine.  
Thousands already on this Wonder wait,  
As an Asylum where they will fly from Fate.  
Where to these Odours as a Saint they bow,  
They will strive to tread those ways which made her so.  Miletas. 
But how will this pretence the Touch endure?  
Or can a mere Belief create a Cure?  
empirics may soothe the Admiring Crowd to buy,  
But time and practice will the Cheat descry.  Polydor. 
True; but these Doctors for all cures excel;  
They'll to its Function the loath Soul compel.  
Then into Nature's strange Meanders pry,  
And her declining frame re-edify.  
Yet all, this Relic as their Doctress greet,  
'Tis thought the Centre where all healing Virtues meet.  Miletas. 
But some Diseases will all Art o'ercome.  Pol. 
Such they pretend she with dark threatenings dooms  
To die; and Cures long lingering in dispute,  
They to their Patients heinous Sins impute.  Miletas. 
Like Gods you make the servile World obey,  
Frame new Religions, and each conscience sway.  Pol. 
Did Jove the ancient world but thus command,  
His Sceptre had not trembled in his hand.  
All Nations had not known one Common Grave,  
Nor proud Mount I'd been rivaled by a Wave.  
These Parts where stiffnecked Zealots only grew,  
We gently softened, and then thought to bow.  
A Cross or Image lately so abhorred,  
Is now as much as Persia's God adored.  The Tolling of a Bell is heard. Miletas. 
Hark, Sir! Death's harsher Trumpet wounds my Ear,  
An Engine made to strike the Soul with Fear.  
By these Death-Calls I've 'nto such Fits been thrown,  
That others Passing-Bells I've thought my own.  
They to my Heart such wounds of Conscience bear,  
As if not written, but engraven there.  Polidor. 
I too did in these Errors run astray,  
Till the Pope taught me a more soothing way.  
Ensuing Pains all sensual Pleasures bring,  
But this has Charms will blunt the sharpest sting.  He takes his Pardon out of his Pocket and shows it. [Enter Messenger. Messenger. 
I bring ill News; Salvirus (Sir) is dead.  Polidor. 
Salvirus' dead! it is impossible.  
I saw him yesternight all Life and Spirit,  
As if there were no Empire there for Death.  
But, for prevention he designed this Morning,  
To take a Potion.  Messenger. 
Even that Prevention did include his Death.  
And Tobias the Apothecary  
Is apprehended for his Poys'ner.  
And, (Sir) I'm sent to let you know  
His Corpse require a speedy Burial,  
And wait only on your Coming.  Polidorus. [Looking upon the Messenger. 
Farewell Salvirus! since it must be so.  
Sure none can guests how much I feel thy Blow.  
But for thy Murderer I'll soon prepare  
Revenge, which shall my Constancy declare.  [Exit Messenger. 
Zolazer gives what we ask Heaven for  
Sure he with Sylla's vengeful Ghost confers  
Which might contemplate high in Policy;  
But none delights in humane Blood like he.  
He'll climb up Times Abode, and 's Sith command  
What Ears to crop and what are fit to stand.   

Scen. 4.  Enter Polidorus, Miletas, Zolazer, Dubois, Tyrone, Lumbus and Lucan. Polidorus. 
Since we are now in a full Synod met,  
Let each relate what News he brings from Fate.  
Why the Revengeful Furies are so slow,  
Or if the Prince is ripe for Death or no.  
Whether the fatal Sisters cease their Strife,  
And all agree to cut his thread of Life.  Dubois. 
Let this suffice! we do his Death decree,  
And Thursday night shall be the Massacre.  
I've hired two Ruffians armed with Cruelty,  
As well by Nature as, Religious Tie,  
Sworn then to give the fatal Stab, or die.  
Nor need we fear, he can the Blow escape,  
Whilst fettered in the drowsy Arms of Sleep.  Zolaz. 
To all our Party we've this notice sent,  
Then to be armed to expect the Event.  
And if the Murder on the Prince succeed,  
All Georgia in the same hour shall bleed.  
We do expect ten thousand Persians aid;  
Which Montaxerxes does design to head.  
They'll come with armed Resolutions o'er,  
Now ro regain their Credit lost before.  
Their Magazine you know we have engrossed,  
Nor was my pains amongst the Soldiers lost.  
So that we need no opposition fear,  
Besides the Citts, made valiant by Despair.  
But them whilst flaming Houses do surprise,  
We will knock down like Candle-dazled Flies.  
Legions of Angels will our Armies lead,  
And every Saint by Intercession aid.  
Nay, very Pictures will our Cause maintain,  
Nor sleeping Heroes wear their Swords in vain.  Lucan. 
Our Emissaries scattered up and down.  
Assure our work is to perfection grown.  
that several thousands are obliged by Vow,  
Both to be secret and assistant too.  
And those mean few we thought unfit to trust,  
We hope to find as forward as the first.  Lumbus. 
We did the various Seed of Faction sow,  
And chose such Soil in which it best might grow.  
Whispering Rebellion to each listening Ear,  
Rubbed their old Sores, and taught 'em what to fear.  
Some Discontents, and Terrors of the Law.  
And some fair Prospects of Preferment draw;  
Whilst other tossed on Billows of Despair,  
Meet serene Thoughts and quiet Harbour here.  
Then we have artful Engines framed to squeeze  
Large Stipends from their tender Consciences.  
And Surgeon-like, corroding Salves apply,  
T' enhance the value of our Remedy.  
Hence came our Wealth, and our proud Colleges  
Owe both their Splendour, and their Birth, to these.  Dubois. 
To our late wants, above their powers, they bring,  
Each one his meritorious Offering:  
Misers unlock their Darling Coffers now:  
And to our Banks their mighty Treasures flow.  
Women with Jewels golden Wedges buy,  
Or with their Household Plate our Mints supply.  
Tankards, Salts, Candlesticks, and all's our own,  
To Baby's little Cawdle-dish and Spoon.  
Thus furnished does our vast Exchequer shine,  
Inlaid with our new counterfeited Coin.  
Good as the best it will our business do,  
And buy what deaths we please, for Kings and Kingdoms too.  Miletas. 
Now have I seen the bottom of the Plot.  [Aside. 
And Georgia falls, if I secure it not.  
So certain are they, so full blown their hope;  
They think Heaven can't their Hellish Projects stop.  
Yet the Scene must be changed; and they betrayed  
To feel those Racks they for their Country made.  
Morinus and Brizander I have sent,  
To give the Prince notice of my Intent.  Tyrone. 
The Temple Door immediately will be open,  
And thousands of Diseased Persons by this time throng  
From all parts o'th' World to adore our Relic.  
We have anointed its Face, and set behind it  
A Chaffin-dish of Coals, to make it seem  
To sweat, and weep, by melting of the liquour.  
Our Springs, our Wheels, and such like Engines  
Are of great Use to make it move, and speak.  
We must likewise pretend, that every night,  
The Relic, by a Miracle, provides  
More Wax, than all the Lights and Flame consume.  
So that the Tapers in the Morning weighed,  
Prove oft times heavier than before.  Miletas. [Aside 
That real faith by which we Heaven may gain  
Seems placed afar, and Doubts are strewed between.  
Whilst things most false, soon our Belief create,  
And depraved Nature carries on the Cheat.   

Scen. 5.  Enter Teimurazez, Miletas, Morimus and Brizander. Morinus. [To Teimurazez. 
If Truth has any Power, or if there be  
A Certainty in Demonstration,  
Your Reason will not let you doubt that now  
Which your belief so long fainted under.  Teimurazez. 
Doubt it? no:  
'Tis Truth enough to make an Atheist worship it.  
A thousand Circumstances, though 't wants not any,  
Offer themselves, to guard your Evidence.  [To Miletas. 
But th'horridness of it so frights my Patience,  
That I can't hear the rest without turning Fury.  
Ye Gods!  
Have I been led so long, so willingly,  
Unto the Brinks of Ruin?  
Loyalty, whither art thou fled! or was there  
Ever any more, than what lives in you,  
Since Adam lost his Innocence?  
Frail man! what art thou? of what Use thy Reason?  
Dote not on that; for 'tis thy only Misery.  
'Twas that made envious Belzebub a Rival  
To our first Parent; who searching his ambitious Soul,  
Sowed Treason there, not to be rooted out  
Whilst yet there lives one Seed of him.  
If Polidore is false, whom may I trust?  Miletas. 
Even me, Great Sir, and several thousands more,  
Who for our Prince and Church's safety,  
Will gladly sacrifice our Lives and Fortunes.  
I'm now new framed; and moulded to another Thing.  
And I hope my Loyalty may not seem the cheaper  
For springing out of Penitence.  Brisander. 
It should be dearer rather; and he that but reflects  
On th' Cause, and Nature of your Discovery,  
Must needs confess  
You are so far from meriting the least Blame,  
That you seem particularly sent by Providence,  
To be your country's Guardian Angel.  Teimurazez. 
You've made a full and clear discovery,  
And unlocked all their Stygian Secrets.  
But how your Lordship came conscious of their Practices,  
I have not yet had cognisance.  Miletas. 
My Father, some three years since (as Polidore is now)  
In Georgia, was the Pope's chief Agent.  
And trusted me with all he did of Moment.  
But on his Deathbed—  
(Reflecting on the horror of his past Crimes,)  
In his Conscience felt such Racks and Tortures,  
(The wages of his Murders, Treasons, and Perjury)  
That he began to question that Religion,  
Whose Essence does consist in such black Principles;  
And to prevent my being farther int'rested  
In th' carry'ng on of this Conspiracy,  
On's Blessing, charged me to repair unto  
Some Kingdom, where the Reformed Religion flourishes.  
Soon after his death, I performed my Promise,  
And having slightly viewed some Countries on the way,  
I came to England.  
Where a years conversation with the Doctors there  
Made me become a Proselyte to that Church.  
There all the Cheats of Rome I saw displayed,  
And th' Popish Plots, which fill their Chronicles,  
Made me begin to pity this poor Kingdom,  
And use what haste I could to stop its ruin.  
At my Return I thought it necessary  
To wear my former Face, and mix again  
With those lost Villains; and run all their Mazes with 'em,  
In order to find out their subtle Roads,  
And windings into Woods of Night and Darkness,  
And I suppose I've done't effectually;  
For the Truth of those black Treasons I have told you,  
Not myself alone, but two other Conspirators  
(Who desire as yet to have their Names concealed)  
On the assurance of their Pard'ns will justify.  Teimurazez. 
On a Prince's word they shall be given 'em.  
But as for you, My Lord, I know not what to offer you.  
Ask what Georgia can bestow, 'tis yours.  
She cannot be too bountiful to him that saved her.  Miletas. 
It was but natural to save a Life, so near  
And necessary to us as our Countries.  
She is our Common Mother, and commands  
Protection from us.  
But let's not lose our time in words; the Enemy  
Is active, and next Thursday nights the time  
Destined for slaughter.  
Let Polidore immediately be seized,  
Zolazer, and the rest whose Power and Greatness  
Render 'em more dangerous.  Teimurazez. 
My Lord! You've spoken my resolution,  
A I refer it to your management.  
Not only Polydor's Commission,  
But after he's condemned, that vast Estate  
His Treasons bought, shall help to pay your Loyalty.  Miletas. 
Your Bounty, Sir, surprises me, it is  
So great, and unexpected.  Teimuraz. 
Your Merits do exceed all Bounty, and this  
Is but a glimpse of what your Country owes you.  Morinus. 
Miletas! Let me kiss thy hand! thou Saviour of Georgia!  
What Honour hast thou purchased? what Voices, Titles,  
And Applause through every Street will follow you?  
The Citizens will have your Statue raised,  
Although thy very name is one; which will be fixed  
In th' Memory of all succeeding Ages,  
And last, whilst Monuments of Brass and Marble  
Decay, and crumble to their first Principles.  
Finis Actus Quarti.    


Act. V. Scene I.  Enter Dubois, Tyrone, Lumbus and Lucan. Tyrone. 
WHAT soft Ingredients make up Mortality?  
Which thus we've Power to melt, and mould into any thing.  
Nay, does not Custom teach us to impose  
Even on our own belief? and adore Chimera's?  
Methinks 'tis hard to force myself not to acknowledge  
A kind of Divinity to that false Relic,  
Which owes to our Art its painted Being.  Dubois. 
You need not fear to call this Relic as Authentic  
As any in Italy, Spain, or Germany can boast of.  
What think you of the Hair, Kerchief and Comb,  
Nay, the very Shift of the blessed Virgin!  
The paring of her Nails, Girdle, Shoes and Slippers;  
And all as fresh, as if but new come out o'th' Shop!  Lucan. 
But the several places they are in?  Dubois. 
Why? There's the Wonder.  
As her Shift in two; and so her Kerchief.  
But for her Hair, no body knows in how many.  
And of her milk there remains such an Ocean,  
That had her Breasts been bigger than a Cowes,  
And played the Nurse all the days of her Life,  
She could never have afforded so much.  Lumbus. 
Are not Pawles and Peter's Bodies showed entire at Rome,  
One Moiety at St. Peter's, the other at St. Paul's?  
Yet all other Churches dedicated to 'em,  
Pretend to have some, or other of their Relics.  Tyrone. 
But of John the Baptist they make a very Cerberus,  
For less than three Heads shan't serve his Turn.  Lumbus. 
Though th' Scriptures say they were single hearted,  
There's Care taken they should not be so bodied.  Lucan. 
Then for the Platter in which the Pascal Lamb was eaten,  
What lasting Metal was it made of?  
'Tis strange, it being concealed so many hundred years,  
It should thus pop up its head on a sudden.  
And know as well whose goods it was,  
As if the Goldsmith had averred to whom he sold it.  
But what is stranger yet, they show it  
At Rome, at Genoa, and at Orleanss too.  Dubois. 
I've heard of a Monk who pretended,  
H' add brought from th' East some o' the Sound of the Bells  
Which hung in the Temple of Solomon.  
And that they show at Jerusalem, a three cornered Stone,  
Assuring 'em 'tis the same of which King David said,  
The stone which the Builders refused, is become  
The head of the Corner.   

Scene II.  Is a Temple discovering the pretended Relic of Queen Ceteba, with several other Relics, with Polidorus, Zolazer, Dubois, Tyrone, Lumbus, Lucan, and several diseased persons, etc. Tyrone. 
Hail glorious Mirror! in whose sacred Rays,  
Declining Nature basks her sickly Days;  
Where Aesculap'e unties Fates strong Decree,  
And Doses gives of Immortality.  Dubois. 
Hail happy Fair! in whose ennobled Breast,  
Kind Heaven was pleased his glorious Shrine should rest:  
Where other Saints the bended Clouds convey:  
Whose lofty Spire is made a milky way.  
The Skilfullest Angels come Physicians here,  
And call this their retiring Hemisphere.  Lucan. 
'Tis here Apollo rests his weary Car,  
Unloaden with what Juice all healing Plants do bear.  
Physicians vainly into Nature pry,  
Since all its Virtues to this Centre fly.  Lumbus. 
So, let each Suppliant straight approach this Shrine,  
And drossy Nature with a touch refine.  
Whilst your Devotion willingly does flow,  
Either 'twill find, or else will make it so.  All the Assembly kneel before the Relic and touch it; all which while there is heard most ravishing Music, which seems to come from the Relic. Polidorus. 
Sure with this Sound—  
The Heavenly Choir their rival Voices mix,  
And with their Concord the charmed Planets fix.  
Orpheus who gave Woods Ears, made proud Oaks bow,  
And with his Lute pierced the dark Shades below;  
Who made Rocks dance, admiring this, would throw  
Away his Instrument, and fall a dancing too.  Lucan. 
Here are the Gloves of Hildeontus, which (he going to say Mass)  
Hung on a Sunbeam for two hours together.  
And might have hung 'em longer, if 't had pleased him,  
For the Sunbeam waited till he put them on again.  Dubois. 
Here's the Jawbone of St. Patrick!  
He was a notable Saint; and as Jossaline tells us,  
Did not only at one time fast forty Days,  
But an whole Lent another time.  
And grew fatter on it too.  Polidorus. 
'Tis as pretty a way to gather Flesh,  
And save Charges as can be wished.  Lumbus. 
He had more ways than this one to be frugal;  
A pretty Trick of this Kind he learned when but a Boy.  
He picked up Ice in his Hat to make a Fire with.  
Could feed fourteen thousand men with one Cow,  
And that cost him nothing but the praying for.  
Nay, there was a Discourse,  
That the Cow the next day was alive again.  Dubois. 
Here's the Shinbone of St. David, Patron of the (Welshmen.  
It is most credibly reported of him,  
That whilst he was preaching in a British Synod,  
The Earth rose under's Feet, till it became an Hill,  
From whence his Voice was heard like a Trumpet.  
Nay St. Ketigern (though a Scotchman) flying into Wales,  
Had the same miraculous Gift of Pulpit-making.  
And many are of th' Opinion, that Wales at first, became  
For this Reason, so filled with Mountains.  Zolazer. 
This drowns the Noise of Don Quixot's Feats,  [Aside 
And is so extravagant a Romance; that it must owe  
It's whole Invention to Bacchus his Orgies.  Lumbus. 
Here's the Picture of the Vestal Velaria,  
Whose one hand seems to hold Water in a Sieve,  
Whilst the other with a Girdle makes a Ship follow it.  
Then here's the original Picture of St. Dominick,  
Who writ Books no Fire could burn.  
He could hang in the Air like a Bird,  
Transubstantiate Worms into Pearls.  
Force the devil to hold a Candle till 't had burnt his Fingers,  
And change the Sex of a Girl, into that of a Boy.  
Here's the real girdle of the Blessed St. Francis,  
Which being dipped in water, cures all Diseases.  
Beatrix had an happy Proof of it.  
Being delivered of a Boy dead four days in her Belly.  
His nimbleness was such that has saved many  
Who were already fallen from the Top of an high Loft  
Before he was sent for.  Dubois. 
Here's the Virgin's Image which was brought from Guardia.  
It keeps off Whores, and perfumes what comes near it.  
There's another of hers, once adored in Sozopolis.  
Which sweats out of its hand a Medicinal Oil,  
And discovers itself, by its own Light.  
It crooked its Finger to hold this Ring on,  
And held out its hand, to strike a Nun who affronted it.  Tyrone. 
I hope none here questions but these Relics and Images  
Are instrumental to great Blessings.  
That our Churches and Altars are consecrated  
After such a manner,  
That the very Coming near 'em forgives some Sins.  
That the Sound and ringing of Bells,  
If christened after our way, have much Virtue.  
Holy Medals, Agnus Dei's, Blessed Grains,  
Privileged Altars, Beads, and Rosaries,  
Holy Oil, Tapers, Branches, Ashes, Crosses.  
And the three Sorts of Holy Water  
Do work supernatural Effects.  Miletas. 
These are their Tools and Impliments,  [Aside 
The Rich Furniture of the Roman Church.  Lumbus. 
You must believe each of these to be happy Instruments  
To keep Houses and Vineyards, and to keep off Devils,  
To give Women an easy Labour; to procure  
Good Husbands for Maidens, and kill them which are not so.  
They can sink Ships, rout Armies,  
Raise Storms, Thunder and Hail, as there is occasion.  Miletas. 
I verily believe their Tricks are as effectual this way,  [Aside 
As any Horse-shoe nailed on th' door, is against Witches.  
Well! Cornelius Agrippa was but a Bungler to 'em;  
So many ways they have to send the Devil packing,  
That 'tis a marvel he should e'er come near 'em.  
But such as these his Juggling Feats appear,  
And those he is not such a Fool to fear.  Tyrone. 
Perhaps, amongst ye, some may yet retain  
Imperfect Notions of your former pain.  
Know, 'tis your Sins a present Cure impede,  
Which by our Prayers, in time, may be allayed.  
But you who are; and you—  
Who hope to find a rescue from your smart.  
First pay your Offerings here, and then depart.  All throw Moneys into a large Vessel placed there to that purpose. Polidorus. 
I must implicitly such Virtue own,  
By which I'm turned all Admiration.  
My Fettered Tongue wants Active Springs to vent  
My Body's sudden Ease, and Mind's content.  Zolaz. 
'Twill with Diseases Nature's Passions sway,  
And quench those Fires which would her Frame destroy.  
There does from hence such sacred Magic flow.  
It Conquers us, and makes us Conqueror's too.  1 Diseased Person. 
My captive Heart throws off its Leaden Chain.  2 Dis. Person. 
Methinks my Wounds slight and forget their Pain.  3 Sick Person. 
I know this new Religion's but a Cheat,  
Hell's Horrors covered with a gaudy Bait.  
But does at present my wounded Conscience ease,  
And I am cured though with a worse Disease.  
In Pleasure's Bosom yet secure I lie,  
Whilst with their Salves they my sharp Checks allay.   

Scen. 3.  Polidorus Solus. 
Was ever man perplexed with women so?  
The greatest Plague cursed man was born to know.  
There is no Hell, there is no Devil more,  
One Moment's Pleasure damns our future store.  
Our Days and Years their wavering Motions drive,  
And as in Storms we their tossed Vassals live.  
The Thoughts of that Cosmelia plagues me more,  
Than all those deep Intrigues of State before.  
But if not Flattery nor Threats prevail,  
I have a Remedy did never fail.  
A private Instrument shall her convey,  
To some strange Land, or make her here away.  Enter Cosmelia in a Woman's Habit. 
She's changed her Dress because she thinks he's nigh,  [Aside. 
But Death is all the Husbands she shall see.  
Thus did your Eyes like glorious Tapers shine,  
When first they light into Love's fatal Shrine.  
That cruel God my Service does despise,  
And I'm no more his Priest but Sacrifice.  
Was he as Poet's fancy, blind, then should  
I undiscerned pass Torments various Road:  
For I'm all Love, yet such is my hard Fate,  
You who enjoy it, I must seem to hate.  
In such a winding Labyrinth I move,  
I must prove false to Friendship, or to Love.  
Think on those Vows I to your Husband made,  
And how our Love that Friendship has betrayed!  
His Presence does my former guilt renew,  
And makes me willing, Dear, to part with you.  
Let me secure you in some Foreign Land,  
From the Revenge of your raged Husband's Hand.  
It is the best expedient you can choose,  
Lest whilst you find him, your own Life you lose.  Enter Miletas with Guards. Miletas [Aside to the Guards. 
Wait in the passage to observe my call.  Exeunt Guards. 
Perhaps I may discover more—  
Bless my Eyes! my Wife! hold! heavens' 'tis she!  
I'll back and unfold this dark Mystery.  [He conceals himself behind the Hangings. Cosmelia. 
Under what fatal Planet was I born,  
That my sad Heart must never cease to mourn!  
'Tis every hour with thousand Tortures slain,  
But like Prometheus, still grows fresh for Pain.  
Thrice blessed was Nioke, when senseless made,  
Whose Marble heart in vain Griefs Powers invade.  
Oh! that I might with Bublis melt to Tears,  
And gliding, purge me from these drossy Cares:  
I could in Neptune's Arms securer lie,  
Or in Sol's fiery Chariot mount the Sky.  
That happy Mansion does no Envy know,  
Or if it does, all shall be poured on you.  Polidor. 
D''ee think I'm frightened with your threatenings? No,  
I'll be unjust, since you dare call me so.  Cosmelia. 
I your keen Rage and all its Deaths defy,  
'Twas Ease, but can't increase my Misery.  
'Twill cut the String which holds my Torments weight;  
Lethe will drown my Trouble, and your hate.  
Death has put off his frightful visage now,  
Whom here I'll meet, and will no farther go.  
My Husband's Stars o'er mine th' ascendant gain.  
And here detain me with their secret Chain.  Polidorus. 
Then since such brave Resolves you're pleased to have,  
Here you shall stay, and here I'll make your Grave.  He draws his Sword▪ at which Miletas enters and makes a Pass at him. Miletas. 
Ye Gods! can you these Actions tamely view?  
Withhold your Thunder, and do Justice too?  
Or have ye sent Me here to give the Blow?  [Polidorus Retreating. Polidorus. 
Heaven does, and you my Innocence shall know.  
Yet would I willingly deny to clear  
Myself of what would be your Pain to hear.  
But should you now my guiltless Soul force hence,  
Yours soon would follow to excuse th' Offence.  Miletas. 
Therefore no longer, what you know defer.  
Nor let Suspense, and Passion, make me err.  
How came Cosmelia in your guilty hands?  
Why is she fettered with those watery bands?  
Thus does the devil and you both tempt one way,  
And punish those who do your Charms obey.  Polidorus. 
Excuse th' Unkindness which to her I show,  
Since my Excess of Friendship made it so.  
You might suspect, were we surprised in Love,  
But 't's strange Unkindness Jealousy should move.  
This Act which I'll relate, shall provoke more  
Your Thanks, thaned did your angry Frowns before.  
What shall I say? hold!— Since feigned words I miss,  
The Satisfaction you shall have, is— This  He endeavours to Stab Miletas, but Miletas putting by the Pass, disarms Polidorus. 
Mercy, tho' on the worst of men! even me!  Miletas. 
Know, by my hand you merit not to die.  Polidorus. 
Can what is mortal, so much Goodness show?  Miletas. 
Yes to my Country, Traitor, but not you.  [Enter Guards. 
Here, seize him Guards! and keep him safe, till we  
Give Orders for his father Destiny.  The Guards seize him. Polidorus. 
Furies! and Hell! you do mistake me sure.  
Am ned I your General?—  Guards. 
— Once Sir you were.  Polidorus. 
But now the Lord Miletas you obey.  Miletas. 
Come! no Disputes, but take him straight away.  
The deep Intrigues of your black Treason's known.  
And now a Gaol, must serve you for a Throne,  
We've Weighty Fetters that will stop the flight  
Of your winged Pride, which raised you to that height.  Polidorus. 
You speak as if you did yourself forget.  Miletas. 
In Time I saw my Error, you too late.  
I could not see my Native Country fall,  
And my own self serve at her Funeral.  
But did at once (for they together go)  
Put off the Papist, and the Traitor too.  Polidorus. 
Then I'm betrayed! farewell all Titles now,  
And ye cursed Devils of Ambition too.  
Your Siren music's but an empty Noise,  
Gives real Torments, and but painted Joys.  
Hence is vain man drawn up aloft, until  
His head turns giddy, and his Footsteps reel:  
Weed Shadows catch, and let the Substance fall.  
At once we covet, and we forfeit all.  [The Guards lead off Miletas. Cosmelia Falling at Miletas his Feet, and killing 'em. 
May I these Offerings here at least bestow,  
To touch your Lips, would but profane 'em now.  Miletas. 
Oh wretched Woman! Oh unhappy Fate!  
Is this the Comfort I came home to meet?  
Was it for this I such strict Searches made?  
Such Sighs, and mourning to your absence paid?  
No; when I grieved your Loss, I did not fear  
My finding you would thus increase my Care.  
Now am I troubled, so perhaps are you,  
Fate sent me to prevent th' Adulterers Blow.  
Else to the Shades, you might with him repair,  
To mingle Souls, as you did bodies here.  
Then fly my Sight.— lest Passion make me do  
What he— but bless me heaven with Patience now.  Cosmelia. 
I know my Blood is due for your Offence,  
But would not have it stain my Innocence.  
This hand shall do it, if you speak the Word,  
So you at parting one kind Look afford.  
But that, alas, I know you will not give  
For only that would make me wish to live.  [Aside Miletas. 
She may repent; and I begin to grieve  
For my harsh Language— Oh she seems to faint.  He lifts her up and kisseth her. 
Rise up Cosmelia! and thy Fears remove.  
Thou dost my Pity, more than Anger move.  
My absence, and those Flatteres he did frame,  
Do at once you excuse, and sentence him.  Cosmelia. 
My parting Soul does to this Sound return,  
And all my Faculties revive from their cold Urn.   

Scene IU.  Enter Teimurazez and Morinus. [Teimurazez Reads Maacla to the Lord Polidore. 
This is to desire you to give notice to the Prince that his Mother with myself were no sooner arrived at Persia, but she refusing to own the Mahometan Religion, received a Crown of martyrdom. But her Body by my Persuasion being permitted to be embalmed, is yet kept unburied in Expectation of a Ransom etc.  Teimurazez. 
Her Body in Persia! and by a Ransom  
To be redeemed!  
To what a Chain of Miracles am I linked!  Morinus. 
I know it to be her hands; and searching Polidor's Papers,  
I found this wrapped up in the same Packet  
With the Bull, and that Letter of the Pope's  
Instructions, which before I showed you.  
But let's not waste our time in th' repetition  
Of what we have already heard, nor be  
Too prodigal of our Griefs; for wounds  
Too oft exposed to the Air are festered by it.  Teimurazez. 
Now am I fully satisfied of the Imposture,  
Which to the Flames I have destined, and to Wracks the Authors.  
Those Treasons which Miletas swore against 'em,  
And Morat and Montaxerxes since confirmed,  
Were enough to make the Sun go backward,  
And in a Cloud conceal its frightened Head.  
'Twas a Conspiracy, to whose composition  
All the Ingredients of horror did combine.  
So strange and dismal, that Alexander himself  
Could scarce have heard it without the danger of a Palsy.  
Hercules would have sought his Club, and thinking it  
The long-bruing Stratagems of the oldest Fiends,  
Have made another Journey to the Infernal World,  
Where Cerberus to excuse himself, would prove  
That every Head of these Popish Conspirators  
Has more of Hell in't, than all this three.  
But hold! was'nt this the day Moret and Montaxerxes  
Were to have their Pard'ns.  Morinus. 
They have received 'em, Sir,  
It is to them, next to Miletas, we owe our safety;  
Our Lives and Fortunes were scarce our own,  
Before they made 'em sure.  Teimurazez. 
I'm far from meriting thus to be circled,  
And waited on by all the Guards of Providence.  
But th' Gods do with a more peculiar care  
Provide for Princes, their Vice-Gerents here.  
Nay, we are Gods, tho' to a lower Orb confined;  
Yet lest we should beyond our bounds aspire,  
And vie Greatness with the powers above,  
Heaven thought it Policy to setter us,  
With he heavy pressures of dull Flesh and Blood.  
Has given us Rassions, Slaves we're Slaves unto;  
Yet as if this were not Alloy enough,  
A sort of politic Court-Syrens are employed  
To charm, and so infatuate our Senses,  
That only that sound seems grateful to us  
Which ushers in our Ruin.  
It's an essential Fare to Princes,  
And a Disease by its own extremities  
Alone discovered; and that not till it is beyond  
The reach of Art for to prevent its ills.  
So a Consumption that starved ravening Vulture,  
Which at once devours the Natural Body,  
Picking it to the very Bones.  
And so bewitches the wretched Patient,  
He will not trust his tortured senses,  
Which still complain of the Diseases tyranny.  
He doubts his Doctor's skill, which gives him over,  
Darts anger on his Friends, and thinks they speak  
But what they wish.  
I must confess, My Lord,  
My politic condition was the same.  
I've often been concerned to hear these Traitors,  
Mine and my Country's Enemies, spoken against,  
They were the only Friends I trusted, or admired,  
The only Cabinets wherein I locked my heart:  
But now, though by a Miracle, I am myself again,  
And enjoy my Faculties as well as ever.  
Those passages which interposed, and baffled  
My intellcts are now unlocked; and all  
Those Vehicles of Sense, the Nerves (being chafed  
By th' balmy breath of my relenting Stars)  
Are ' wakened from their cold stiff Lethargy.  
The cause, those Flatterers; being removed,  
My Reason reassumes its Health; and now,  
I see myself a Prince secure, and happy in your Love,  
That Love which long and dear experience  
Has taught me how to prize; give me your hand!  
My best and dearest Friend! and take my Heart.  
Your large Rewards shall show I can distinguish  
'Tween such a real Honesty as yours,  
And the artificial Paint of Friendship.  Morinus. 
My Loyalty need no such poor unworthy prop,  
But dare defend my Countries Happiness,  
Without any other Guerdon than the dangers;  
For our Actions either find a full reward  
Within themselves, or else deserve not any.  Teimurazez. 
That Virtue is its own reward, is but the airy Thought  
Of some Poetical, Contemplative Philosopher.  
Morality keeps under her no such starved Virtue.  
She's an Indulgent Mistress, and allows her Family  
The good Substantial Food of Gold and Silver.  
They're Instruments which smooth all the rough paths of Virtue,  
And kindle Generous Purposes in the Soul,  
To mount above all kind of Obstacles.  
For this the Labr'er cultivates the Earth;  
For this the Soldier goes to War—  Morinus. 
I deny not that Rewards are sometimes necessary  
To raise a Covetous Ambitious Soul,  
Even to Heroic Actions: their Earthy Thoughts  
Will need a dull material Jewel.  
But, Sir, there yet do live some generous Tempers,  
In whom remains Sparks of the Ancient Virtues.  
Fires which are pure, and, like to those of Heaven,  
Fed only, and are satisfied with themselves.  Enter Brizander. Brizand. 
I came but now from visiting the prisoners,  
And saw 'em burdened with Iron, till its Weight  
Did seem to draw down their unwilling Souls  
From the Imperial Seat,  
Which at their Gotuy feet are fettered too.  
I first of all discoursed the Jesuits,  
And found 'em brazened withso strange a confidence,  
And with such bitter Execrations strove  
To justify, what they call their Innocence,  
That nothing less than a demonstration  
Could persuade even me to think 'em guilty.  
Heaven they invoked, and all its powers for witnesses;  
And sent such wishes to the Stygian World,  
That the Furies stood amazed, and could not use  
Their Scorpions.  
And Sisyphus sat listening on his Stone,  
Calling the Gods unjust for so tormenting him,  
Whilst these far wickeder, live yet unpunished.  Teimurazez. 
But what says Polidore? How bears he his restraint?  Brizander. 
As a wild Bull, or Lion newly caught,  
Endure the Toil which holds 'em.  
By all violent means he strives  
T' anticipate his short-lived Destiny;  
Foams at his mouth, huge flakes of Sulphur,  
And rages with so strange a fury  
As if his Breast had been a place prepared  
For all the Devils to receive their Tortures.  Morinus. 
But pray what temper does Zolazer bear?  Brizander. 
Him I confess I could not choose but pity;  
He wears at least the Show of Penitence,  
Sends up such Sighs that pierce the Heavens,  
To call down vengeance on the Jesuits,  
Who, he says, brought him to this misery  
With the false flattering Charm of temporal Profit:  
Yet, by the help of his Confession, hopes  
To creep beneath the shelter of your Mercy,  
And so lift it up above your Justice;  
Nor could I stifle easily such grasping thoughts.  Teimurazez. 
Mercy, that lazy Passion, which so long  
Sat Empress o'er the rest, is now deposed,  
Startled to hear these Crimes, she dropped her Sceptre;  
Which Justice now in its rough crimson hand  
Bears as an Instrument of Death, and swears  
These traitorous Slaves shall be the first that feel it,  
Lezdras and Sanco I've already sent  
To mind 'em of the other world, and let 'em know  
Their Sentence is not less irrevocable  
Than Years, or Ages past.  Mor. 
He wrongs the Innocent who spares the Guilty.  Brizander. 
But lest the Rebels, now made desperate  
By their danger, dare any opposition,  
In Arms we've fifteen Thousand, besides Citizens,  
To wait and guard 'em to their Funerals.  Teimurazez. 
They must not live to see another day;  
But shut their Eyes with this. Let's mind our business then▪  
And now employ their short Remain of Time,  
To prepare Tortures equal to their Crime.  Morin. 
Theirs is the lawful Issue of Ambition,  
That Ignis Fatuus of the mind; which leads  
Its ignorant Followers into Bogs and Fens,  
Giving 'em Graves there whence itself took Birth.  Brizander. 
Ambition may beat and stretch forth its wings,  
But can no more exalt itself than the Ostrich:  
Honour, its Object, being like a Shadow,  
Which flies from its pursuers, and follows those  
Which fly it.  
But if th'Ambitious chance to rise,  
Like daring Icarus, they soar too high;  
And being transported—  
Both from themselves, and Loyalty they'll fly:  
Nor are the greatest Politicians free;  
As if they prize the name of Traitor more  
Than fear those Racks they're certain to endure.  
For Princes always prove heavens' chiefest care,  
Treasons still punished, or prevented are,  Exeunt Omnes. 
FINIS.