_Crom._ Highness in the Devil's Name, sure 'tis not come to that; no, I may live to see thy Cuckold hang'd first, his Politicks are yet too shallow, Mistress. Heavens! Did my Husband make him Lord for this? raise him to Honour, Trusts, Commands, and Counsels, To ruin all our Royal Family, Betray young _Richard_, who had reign'd in Peace But for his Perjuries and Knaveries; And now he sooths my Son-in-law, soft _Fleetwood_, With empty hopes of Pow'r, and all the while To make himself a King: No, Minion, no; I yet may live to see Thy Husband's Head o'th' top of _Westminster_, Before I see it circled in a Crown.
_L. Lam._ I pity the poor Creature.
_Crom._ Ungrateful Traytor as he is, Not to look back upon his Benefactors; But he, in lieu of making just Returns, Reviles our Family, profanes our Name, And will in time render it far more odious Than ever _Needham_ made the great Heroicks.
_L. Lam._ Alas, it weeps, poor Woman!
_Crom._ Thou ly'st, false Strumpet, I scorn to shed a Tear, For ought that thou canst do or say to me; I've too much of my Husband's Spirit in me.
Oh, my dear _Richard_, hadst thou had a Grain on't, Thou and thy Mother ne'er had fall'n to this.
_Gil._ His Father sure was seeking of the Lard when he was got.
Enter L. _Fleetwood_, her Train born up.
_Crom._ Where is this perjur'd Slave, thy Wittal Lord?
Dares he not shew his Face, his guilty Face, Before the Person he has thus betray'd?
_L. Fleet._ Madam, I hope you mistake my honour'd Lord _Lambert_, I believe he designs the Throne for my dear Lord.
_Crom._ Fond Girl, because he has the Art of fawning, Dissembling to the height, can sooth and smile, Profess, and sometimes weep:-- No, he'll betray him, as he did thy Brother; _Richard_ the Fourth was thus deluded by him.
No, let him swear and promise what he will, They are but steps to his own ambitious End; And only makes the Fool, thy credulous Husband, A silly deluded Property.
Enter _Fleetwood_.
_Fleet._ My honour'd Mother, I am glad to find you here; I hope we shall reconcile things between ye. Verily we should live in Brotherly Love together; come, ingeniously, you shall be Friends, my Lady Mother.
_Crom._ Curse on th' occasion of thy being a Kin to me.
_Fleet._ Why, an please ye, forsooth, Madam?
_Crom._ My Daughter had a Husband, Worthy the Title of my Son-in-Law; _Ireton_, my best of Sons: he'd Wit and Courage, And with his Counsels, rais'd our House to Honours, Which thy impolitick Easiness pulls down: And whilst you should be gaining Crowns and Kingdoms, Art poorly couzening of the World with fruitless Prayers.
_Fleet._ Nay, I'll warrant you, Madam, when there is any gadly Mischief to be done, I am as forward as the best; but 'tis good to take the Lard along with us in every thing. I profess ingeniously, as I am an honest Man, verily-- ne'er stir-- I shall act as becomes a good Christian.
_Crom._ A good Coxcomb.
Do'st thou not see her reverend Highness there, That Minion now assumes that glorious Title I once, and my Son _Richard's_ Wife enjoy'd, Whilst I am call'd the Night-mare of the Commonwealth?
But wou'd I were, I'd so hag-ride the perjur'd Slaves, Who took so many Oaths of true Allegiance To my great Husband first, then to _Richard_-- Who, whilst they reign'd, were most illustrious, Most high and mighty Princes; whilst fawning Poets Write Panegyricks on 'em; and yet no sooner was The wondrous Hero dead, but all his glorious Titles fell to Monster of Mankind, Murderer Of Piety, Traytor to Heaven and Goodness.
_Fleet._ Who calls him so? Pray take their Names down: I profess ingeniously, forsooth, Madam, verily I'll order 'em, as I am here I will.
_Crom._ Thou, alas! they scorn so poor a thing as thou.
_Fleet._ Do they ingeniously? I'll be even with 'em, forsooth, Mother, as I am here I will, and there's an end on't.
_Crom._ I wou'd there were an end of our Disgrace and Shame, Which is but just begun, I fear.
What will become of that fair Monument Thy careful Father did erect for thee, [To L. _Fleetwood_.
Yet whilst he liv'd, next to thy Husband _Ireton_, Lest none shou'd do it for thee after he were dead; The Malice of proud _Lambert_ will destroy all.
_Fleet._ I profess, Madam, you mistake my good Lord _Lambert_, he's an honest Man, and fears the Lard; he tells me I am to be the Man; verily he does, after all's done.
_Cram._ Yes, after all's done, thou art the Man to be pointed at.
_Fleet._ Nay, ingeniously, I scorn the Words, so I do: I know the great Work of Salvation to the Nation is to be wrought by me, verily.
_Crom._ Do, cant on, till Heaven drop Kingdoms in thy Mouth: Dull, silly Sot, thou Ruin of our Interest; thou fond, incorrigible, easy Fool.
Enter _Page_.
_Page._ My Lord, the Committee of Safety waits your coming.
_Fleet._ Why, law you now, forsooth-- I profess verily, you are ingeniously the hardest of Belief-- tell the Honourable Lords I'm coming: Go, Lady-mother, go home with my Wife; and verily you'll see things go to your wish-- I must to Coach.
_L. Fleet._ Madam, your humble Servant. [To La. _Lam._
_Fleet._ Honour'd Lady, I kiss your Hands.
[Exeunt _Crom._ _Fleet_, and L. _Fleet._
Enter _Loveless_.
_Lov._ Was this the thing that is to be Protector?
This little sniveling Fellow rule three Kingdoms?
But leave we Politicks, and fall to Love, Who deals more Joys in one kind happy moment Than Ages of dull Empire can produce.
_L. Lam._ Oh Gods! shall I who never yielded yet, But to him to whom three Kingdoms fell a Sacrifice, Surrender at first Parley?
_Lov._ Perhaps that Lover made ye gayer Presents, But cou'd not render you a Heart all Love, Or Mind embyass'd in Affairs of Blood.
--I bring no Guilt to fright you from my Embraces, But all our Hours shall be serene and soft.
_L. Lam._ Ah, _Gilliflower_, thy Aid, or I am lost; Shall it be said of me in after Ages, When my Fame amongst Queens shall be recorded, That I, ah Heavens! regardless of my Country's Cause, Espous'd the wicked Party of its Enemies, The Heathenish Heroicks? ah, defend me!
_Lov._ Nay-- by all that's--
_L. Lam._ Ah, hold! Do not profane my Ears with Oaths or Execrations, I cannot bear the Sound.
_Lov._ Nay, nay-- by Heav'n I'll not depart your Lodgings, till that soft Love that plays so in your Eyes give me a better Proof-- by--
_L. Lam._ Oh hold, I die, if you proceed in this Abomination.
_Lov._ Why do you force me to't? d'ye think to put me off with such a Face-- such Lips-- such Smiles-- such Eyes, and every Charm-- You've made me mad, and I shall swear my Soul away, if disappointed now.
_Gil._ Ah, save the Gentleman's Soul, I beseech ye, Madam.
_L. Lam._ I'm much inclin'd to Acts of Piety-- And you have such a Power, that howe'er I incommode my Honour-- [Leaning on him, smiling. He goes to lead her out, Enter La.
_Desbro_.
--_Desbro_ here! How unseasonably she comes?
_L. Des._ Cry mercy, Madam, I'll withdraw a while.