THE Scottish politic Presbyter, Slain by an English Independent.  
OR, The Independents Victory over the Presbyterian Party.  
The rigour of the Scotch Government, their conniving and bribing: the lewdness and debauchery of Elders in secret.  
A Tragicomey.  Diruo & aedifico, muto quadrata rotundis. 
Printed in the Year 1647.   

The Persons.  


DIrectory the Scotch Presbyter.  
Sargus, Luxurio, two lewd Elders.  
Anarchie, an Independent.  
Priscilla, his Wife.  
Liturgy, an Episcoparian.  
Moneyless, a Courtier.  
A Pursuivant.  
Officers.  
Mutes.     

Prologue.  
Presbytery and Independency  
Have long time strove for the precedency:  
Here one kills t'other, when ye see him die,  
Wish his destroyer fell by Liturgy.   

The Scotch politic Presbyter.  
A Tragicomey.  

Act 1.  

Scene 1.  Enter Directory, Sargus, Luxurio, two Elders. Direct. 
IT must be so,  Sar. 
If that he'll not comply: have you heard nothing from him.  Lux. 
No, he seems to slight our Summons.  Direct. 
Let him smart for't Luxurio, denounce him to the horn, after excommunication ipso facto, what madness doth possess him, that he'll not buy his peace?  Sar. 
I sent one of my Agents to him, who gave him timely notice, there was no way but punishment except a Fee.  Dir. 
Have you already framed the Warrant?  S●r. 
Yes.  Dir. 
Read it.  Sargus reads. 
Bishops' Liturgy,  
WE the Elders of the Congregation Demoniac, upon information and notice of some scandals that you have given whereof we are to take notice, do hereby as Officers of the Church, requ●re and command you to appear before us, on Tuesday the seventh day of February, Anno 1644. to answer such things as shall be objected against you.  


Directory,  
Sargus,  
Luxurio.    Dir. 
Send it away with speed: fond man, doth he not know that we have scourged Lords, and trod on Kings? that temporal force will aid our spiritual plots; Knox and Melvill have left power to us, ample as that Rome's Bishop claims; I'll make myself as great as him if I get foot in England: I hug my Genius that doth prompt me on.  

No dull and heavy fancy clogs my soul,  
'Tis purest fire extracted from the Pole.   
If that I can persuade the Englishmen to let me noose them, as their Brethren, I'll spread my pennons further yet:  

And like a Comet in the evening sky,  
Strike with amazement every wondering eye.   
Let's be gone.  Exeunt.  

SCENE 2.  Enter Liturgy, Dipwell. Litur. 
And why new Jordan?  Dip. 
If we give credit to the Card, 'twill tell us, like to that river through which once Levites did bear the holy Ark. New River ●lowes.  Litur. 
But can those tender Virgins that resort there for to be rebaptised, endure the bitter blasts of Boreas and Hiems frosty breath, and not be much impaired in their health?  Dip. 
The water without doubt is sanctified, and as the holy Martyrs girt with flames, sang cheerfully, as if they nothing felt; so compassed about with ice and cold, those that we there do dip, receive no harm.  Litur. 
Strange delusions.  Enter a Pursuivant, with Officers. Pur. 
By the command o'th' ruling Presbytery Demoniac, Sir I arrest your person.  Litur. 
Where's your Warrant?  Pur. 
Here.  Litur. 
Ha', my inveterate foes have all conspired to work my ruin. Look here friend; because I did refuse to come when summoned, nor sent a Fee for my discharge, so to Shows Dipwell the Warrant. maintain their lust and luxury, who by their daily prodigality consume their aurum Tholosanum, in riotousness, adultery, and fornication. O England! Wilt thou be slave to these vermin? the vulgar do not know what will ensue, should they accept of a Presbytery; those that do sit at helm will not discover it, for that it tends to uphold their pride and wantonness; good men are vassals to the vile:  

The Crown stoops to the mace,  
The noble to the base.   
While that the Fathers of the Church do walk like men dejected and forlorn,  

Mourning like doleful Pelicans, and howl  
In desert places, like Minerva's Owl.   
Who would have thought so flourishing a State  

As England was but seven years ago,  
Should now become the pattern of all woe:  
Calamity and comfort comes and goes  
From State to State, as Neptune ebbs and flows:  
With humane things a thing divine doth play,  
Nothing arrived at height, but doth decay:  
Earth's joys are false, they bid us soon adieu,  
Her during sorrows are most certain true.   
Come I'll along Sir with you: M. Dipwell, will you be witness of my usage with me?  Dip. 
Sir, do not go, 'tis madness for a man to put himself into their hands that hate him.  Litur. 
Should I not go, they'll give me over to the temporal sword, and in the Marketplace proclaim me rebel, confiscate my estate, and send me into banishment.  Dip. 
Will English men put on this Scottish yoke? I have a hope the Independents may send hence this government to be abhorred, from England to Genevah, where 'twas born.  Litur. 
Pray heaven it prove so. Now to my adversaries: my soul contemns their most usurped power, though now it overflows in tears, whose current overflows its banks.  

Where griefs Virago, upon either hand,  
Worse t●en Scylla, or Charybdis stand.   Exeunt.   

Act 2. Scene 1.  Enter Anarchy, Priscilla his wife. Pris. 
I'll none of this same lousy learning to make my son a Whoremaster,  he hath seen the age of eighteen years, for when they once come but to construe, Ovid de Arte Amandi, their bowels earn to occupy the nine.  Anar. 
Away thou fool, doth not even nature tell us, that learning doth support the world, and taught the rustic Clown the way to till the ground, to bind the corn in sheaves, and wield the flail?  Pris. 
I say I will not make my son a beggar, expose him to contempt and scorn, send him to Oxford, send him to Cairfax rather and see him caper in a string; no, no, we in this age of ours (the heavens be praised) have little use of learning, if he can read his Psalter, and cast up his accounts for bread and salt, he's a sufficient Scholar: besides heaven bless the Parliament for their most pious Acts in general, and in particular, that they have reduced those t●pp … g Black-coats to a new modelled garb, that where before they drank too much and eat too little, they now shall neither eat nor drink: what shall we do with such Lobcocks, that must sit all the week in Taverns or Alehouses, and on the Saturday bellow two hours in study, which when they utter the next day there's none can understand it.  Anar. 
The blind cares not if Sol ne'er shine, they still can grope their way, my son shall be a Scholar, and let the worldlings wallow in the dung, while he the Indies bears about him, none knows the learneds bliss, but those that learned are, I do look on Plato's D … i●y next unto Moses writings, famed Aristotle's learned Philosophy, next unto Jesseis sons rare Proverb, Livies large book next to the Chronicles of Israel's Kings, and Homer's Deathless Verse, next unto David's Lays: may hell conspire for to cast plagues on those would not have learning be advanced and honoured, when ignorant Armies, ignorant Parliament, ignorant Synods, ignorant Fools and Knaves  
Shall lie unthought of, rotting in their graves,  
The learneds songs when they in dust do lie,  
Shall wrestle even with eternity.  Enter Monielesse. M. 
Monielesse, I joy to see you Sir.  Mon. 
Sir, I made bold to press into your privacies unawares, my ignoranc● will I hope purchase my pardon.  Anar. 
Still complementing, you Courtiers feed on compliments as your meat, leave it and take more solid food, a thousand of ●um will not staunch ones hunger: what news, what news abroad?  Mon. 
Faith none that makes for me, the King must not yet see Whit● hall, Cromwell won't have it so.  Anar. 
We can grow great without him, what profit doth the world receive by Kings, who at the best are but relenting Tyrants, whose power is dissonant from God's appointment: how bravely Holland thrives vided by States, where people rule the people, there's a strong sympathy in nature, the mutual love they talk of that was wont to be 'twixt Subjects and their Kings, is now for ever lost.  Mon. 
Sir, I know you are an enemy to Monarchy, and would digress even from your principles, should you allow of Kingly Government, which makes your words invalid.  Anar. 
Well said, I like thee, that adversities bleak storms have not unriveted thy fixed resolves, but thou still art faithful to thy Master.  
O Courtier curse them that have caused thy woe,  
That like a Skeleton, thou now dost show:  
You came I know to dine with me, and are most welcome: what printed news abroad?  Mon. 
As I was coming to you, I met another meager Courtier's face, and he shown me a song, of which I begged the copy, I hope 'twill not offend your ears, if I do sing them to you.  Anar. 
Not the ●east, let's hear.  Moneyless sings. 

The King shall now enjoy his own,  
And have the S veraigntie,  
O●ce more fi●l his refulgent Throne  
Like to some Deity.   

But first of all his charge must hear  
For things most trivial,  
Three Kingdoms blood, Lilburne doth swear,  
Upon his head must fall.   

The Parliament, as some report,  
Intent for to disband,  
And if they would we'd thank them for't,  
And something give in hand.   

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

Is it not pity, that at last  
When they intended flatting,  
They should out of their House be cast,  
And suffer for their sitting.   

And all the gold that they have got,  
And without fear extorted,  
For to enjoy is not their lot,  
O they are strangely thwarted!   

His Majesty is quitted now of Brown that wooden Jailor,  
And in his stead they do allow Joyce, that same pricklouse Taylor.   

'Tis very good to ease our teen, the Army are so witty,  
And many thousands of them seen encompassing the City.   

Why sure it cannot but well hap, and prove a good purgation,  
That fourscore Members at a clap are forced from their station.   

The Propositions now are gone, and surely now the King  
Will ratify them every one, but I fear no such thing.   

He cannot sure dare to resist, if he intent to eat,  
For 'tis well known he long hath missed his wont clothes and meat.   

Our dearest Brother (Jockey) now is his destruction wooing,  
And very fain would something do to purchase his undoing,   

Their long-eared Assembly do grieve and groan for ire,  
That their compounded Presbytery should back to them retire.   

Truth is, how much the more at first our splendour shined bright,  
We are so much the more accursed, enveloped with night.   
How like you this.  Anar. 
'Tis an excellent Song i'faith, shall I Mr. Moneyless crave a copy of it?  Mon. 
Both I and it are at your service.  Anar. 
Come Mr. Moneyless, 'tis almost dinner time, time was you welcomed me, 'tis fit I should be grateful, come wife.  Exeunt Anar. Priscilla, manet Mon. 
Did I ere think that want should so oppress me, that I should be constrained to wait on this man for a dinner.  

Yet of my wants, how dare I so complain?  
Shall I not suffer with my Sovereign,   
whom yet I'll not despair to see placed in his Throne, his Crown on's head, his Sceptre in his hand; the Citizens now do triumph o'er the Courtiers:  

O why should Fortune make the City proud,  
And give them more than is the Court allowed;  
The Kings own brightness, his own foil is made,  
And is to us the cause of his own shade.   Exit.  

Act. 3.  Recorders, a Consistory of the Presbytery, then enter Directory, Sargus, Luxuria, after them, with Officers, Liturgy, Dipwell afar off. Direct. 
BRing forth those weeds of shame— apparel him.  A Coat of Sackcloth brought out. Litur. 
I hope I shall have licence for to speak.  Direct. 
Not a syllable, 'tis known thou art by name and nature an enemy to our Government, and hast avoucht it to be tyrannous; saying, that Scotland by their policy in bringing their Churchform amongst us, do but assacinate o●● Monarchy, thirsting to be our Lords, all which here openly recant, or we'll surrender thee.  Litur. 
I recant ye Cacademons', hear me, and mark,  
First, Leathern Swains shall blow amid the sky,  
Thames turn his course, and leave his Channel dry;  
Sodoms dead Lake revive, and entertain  
Leviathan and Neptune's hungry train;  
Fishes the Flood forsake, and Fowls of Heaven  
Be decked with scales, and in the Ocean driven;  
The brightest flame of Heaven shine by night,  
And horned Cynthia give diurnal light,  
Before I change my settled constant mind,  
To damn myself, that you may count me kind;  
Cemonian stairs, Phalarian Bulls, nor all  
Torments that flow from cruel Tyrant's gall,  
Tarpeian Mountains, Altars of Busire,  
Or Fornaces of Babylonian fire,  
Shan't make me stood to such base fools as you,  
Or unto your intentions for to bow.  Sar. 
He raves, Sir these lose words will but augment your sorrow in the end, do you know where you are?  Lit. 
Very well, lecherous Sargus, better than thou know'st to be honest.  Direct. 
Stop his mouth, was ever heard speeches so desperate? Dare you before this holy Convocation to prate so peremptorily?  Litur. 
Dare you, ye sots, assume unto yourselves the name of holy?  

Methinks your cheeks should, knowing you to blame,  
Out-blush the crimson of your Gowns for shame,  
You are more cruel than the Crocodile,  
That mangles Memphians on the banks of Nile,  
That kills, with weeping tears, for hungers need,  
But you can smile, and murder for no meed.   Lux. 
Venerable Fathers, this is unsufferable, if with audaciousness you thus dispense, hereafter ne'er look to be reverenced, but to be scorned and laughed at.  Dir. 
Satan hath sure inspired him, The stool of Repentance brought forth, contrived in the fashion of a Pulpit covered over with black. bring forth the Engine, support him up.  Litur. 
He that lays hand on me, encounters death. plucks forth a Dag.  Direct. 
Hear then your sentence, Since you deny to be a penitent, we here confiscate all is yours, to be employed for pious uses, yourself within three days for to departed the Land, and ne'er for to return, on pain of death; this is your doom, and now break up the Court.  Exeunt. Litur. 
O my mild Judges, you show your pity and your piety, your utmost wrath can't hurt my inward man, I there am still the same, and not exiled.  

Gild, sorrow, shame, horror attend you still,  
And let vile Ate lead you where she will.   Dip. 
Heaven keep me steadfast to my principles, is this a limb of the Presbytery?  Direct. 
Yes, but his merits make him fit to be lopped off were it, who could be infected worse than they are?  Dip. 
You hear your sentence, will you departed the Land?  Direct. 
No, I'll not forsake my Native soil, upon such slender grounds, I'll live a while in private, I know an Independent Army will crop Presbytery in the bud, and break this bed of Snakes, the only way that now is visible for to repairs my breaches; O thou Etern, the true Almighty Jove, suff not Innovations to go on, to bring this Kingdom to destruction; but why alas do I now talk of Jove,  

For now alas no jupiter is found,  
But in all Lands Pluto a God is crowned.   Exeunt.  

Act. 4.  
Enter the two Elders, Sargus and Luxurio singing. Sar. 
NOw sable night hath with her ebbon Robe  
Darkened the surface of this earthly Globe  
And drowsy Morpheus with his Leaden Key,  
Locked up the doors of every mortal eye,  
Come let us fall unto our wont games,  
Let us be blithe, and nourish wanton flames.  Lux. 
What Lincian eye discerns our lewd delight,  
Covered with darkness of the cloudy night,  
Why should we censure, fear, or idle sound  
Othumane words, that are environed round  
With Marble walls, the wit of Mortals can  
Not find our wiles, past finding out of man,  
And Heaven regards not the works of men,  
Come let us boldly feast and frolic then.  Sar. 
Come forth yea creatures of delight,  
And let us in embraces spend the night,  Six Whores put forth on two beds, three on a bed, Music they rise and dance with the two Elders. A SONG. 
Meet, meet, and kiss,  
and girt each others waste,  
And enjoy the Lover's bliss,  
until the night he passed.  
Elders that are holy men  
all day, must sport at night.  
So, so, to't again,  
'twill heighten Appetite.  Sar. 
Those three are thine, these mine, let's to't Like Monkeys or the reeking Goat.  They ascend each on a several bed, and are drawn in.  

SCENE 2.  Enter Priscilla solus. Prisc. 
Methinks the hours fly not with winged haste as they were wont, or is't the expectation of my Love, that makes the night seem tedious, my heart extremely throbs, methinks the walls seem as washed o'er with blood, 'tis my fantasy, thought like a subtle Juggler makes us see things that really are not; there's something in me whispers fatal things, and tell me 'tis not safe to sleep betwixt my Lover's Arms to night; why sure I dream, I was not wont to have these dubious fancies? I have begun to love him, and will now never desert his friendship until death, but thus I tamper poison for myself, but were I sure to drink the baneful draught, I could not now go bacl.  

For when the flesh is nuzzled once in vice,  
The sweets of sin makes Hell a Paradise.   Enter Directory. 
O you are welcome Sir.  Direct. 
Worthy of all Love's joys, hast thou not blamed my tardy stay? thou art most certain sure thy husband is fare off, if he should take me with thee, his jealousy and wrath might prompt him to strange actions.  Prisc. 
I have not the least fear of his approach.  Anar. 
Come then my Ptixdra, and let us taste those joys thy Husband is unworthy of.    

Act. 5.  Directory and Priscilla put forth in a bed both sleeping. Enter Anarchy with a Torch. Anar. 
TItan to the Antipodes is gone,  
To luminate another Horizon,  
'tis now dead midnight, Morpheus Death's eldest brother▪  
Hover about this place, and charm the sense  
Of these two creatures made of impudence;  
Are they so shallow, to conceive that I  
Am made of Mamicall Pantominie.  
O woman, woman, who art compounded of all ill, I durst have pawned my soul this wife of mine, had harboured a soul white as the Alpine snow, but she is ulcerous and deformed, who knows how often they have met, and wallowed in their active sweats? what woman may be trusted?  

Lust is a subtle Siren▪ ever training  
Souls to destruction by her secret feigning.  
She is the Prince of darkness eldest daughter,  
Wanting no craft her cunning Sire hath taught her:  
'tis like Medusa's Tress, and if it be  
Twound in the body of man's living tree,  
Man's heart of flesh converts, if he have one,  
By secret vigour to unliving stone.  
Dam'd strumpet, have I ta'en you with your Lecher.  
African Panthers, Hircan Tigers fierce,  
Cleonian Lions, and Danonian Bears,  
Are not so ravenous, whom hunger pined,  
As women that are le●cherously inclined.   
But I prolong their lives, and tyre the Ferryman with expectation— Stay, it is not wisdom to cope with two that struggle for their lives— These are the bonds of death.  Ties e●… to th' bed. 
So awake you lustful pair.  They awake. Direct. 
Ha',— we are undone.  Anar. 
Yes Directory, ere winged time add one hour more to this declining night, thou shalt be numbered with the dead.  Direct. 
O my unhaphy fate!  Prisc. 
Dear Husband spare our lives, and then inflict what punishment thou wilt.  Anar. 
O my fine Directory cam'st thou from Scotland hither, to cheat us out of our Religion, our lives, our King, and covering thy ills with virtue's cloak, act even those crimes, which but to hear them named, would fright the Cannibals; and shall we not strive to circumvent thee?  Direct. 
I pray hear me Sir.  Anar. 
Hath guilt emboldened so thy mind, that thou darest view my face, and speak.  Prisc. 
Sir, I confess my crime cannot be expiated but with blood, but if mild pity harbour in your breast, I do implore your mercy.  Anar. 
Peace, vile strumpet, thou mayst as well attempt to scale the Heavens, and ride on the Sun beams, as strive with talk to mitigate my fury, and stay the course of my revenge, but first good Directory I'll stab you by the book, and torture you not opening a vein.  Dumb Show. Solemn Music. One representing Directory, accompanied with a rabble in the habit of Elders, running as flying from Soldiers, who pursue them with their swords drawn. 
Did you behold the Pageant, great Babylon is fall'n, an English Army hath extirpated Presbytery root and branch, the Elders may in Scotland court Susanna, here are too many daniel's to sift them; and now Sir you must go, but not to Scotland, that's but Purgatory, yet where you'll find many Blue Bonnets more, I mean to Hell— Thus I dismiss thy soul.—  Direct. 
Hold Sir, and ere you send my soul to wander in the ivisible Land, hear what I now shall utter; by Heaven and Earth, and him that made them both, I ne'er was guilty not in thought, till this dire hour, of the defiling of your Marriage bed.  Anar. 
Dost think dull fool, that all thy protestations, thy heaved up hands, and sighs, were they as numerous as the sand hid in the Battick Sea, should raise my heart for to relent; no, in thy death England gathers life, whose happiness I wish; thus for it work.  Stabs him with a Poniard. Direct. 
O thou hast oped a floodgate, which will not close till my heart blood in drained.  Pris. 
If thou wert born of woman spare my life.  Anar. 
O thou luxurious Strumpet, hath not thy guilt or fear bereft thy tongue of utterance; methinks thou shouldst, when thinking on thy fact, convert to stone, and save my hand a labour to send thee to another world. There strumpet stabs her.  Pris. 
O heaven!  Anar. 
So,— how like you this, Phlebotomizing only can care the fever in your blood, why don't you mingle limbs? get up and at it.  Direct. 
Like to a Ship dismembered of her sails and cuffed from side to side by surly waves, so doth my soul fare,  

As that poor Vessel rests my brittle stay,  
Nearer the Land, still nearer cast away.   
Presbytery in my fall receives its mortal wound, and ne'er must look in England to bear sway; O, O, I see in this the power of providence. Whose stronger hand restrains our wilful powers  
A will above doth rule the will of ours.  He dies. Anar. 
He's dead, but she remains with life, and wilt thou not acompany thy lecher, that he may man thee into Charon's boat.  Pris. 
My soul disdains her habitation, and now will needs be fleeting; know Sir, for now I fear not all your fury. I loved Directory as my own soul, and knew him oftener than yourself, for which may heaven forgive me; for his sake I could wish to live, but now he's gone, what should I do on earth.  

Death our delights continually doth sever,  
Virtue alone abandoneth us never.   She dies. Anar. 
She's gone▪ farewell for ever, may heaven forgive thy fault. I would not prosecute revenge so fare, as wish thy sou'e destruction, what now remains for me I must be gone far hence ere Sol visit our Horizon, let Fortune do her worst.  

Her frowns he fears not, nor her hot'st Alarms,  
That bears against them patience for his Arms.   Exit.  
FINIS.