_L. Lam._ We, poor Creature! how simply Majesty becomes her?
[They all sitting down, enter L. _Cromwel_ angrily, and takes her Place, L. _Lam. _uppermost.
--Madam, as I take it, at our last sitting, our Pleasure was, that you shou'd sit no more.
_Crom._ Your Pleasure! Is that the General Voice? This is my Place in spite of thee, and all thy fawning Faction, and I shall keep it, when thou perhaps, shalt be an humble Suppliant here at my Foot-stool.
_L. Lam._ I smile at thee.
_Cram._ Do, and cringe; 'tis thy business to make thee popular.
But 'tis not that-- Nor thy false Beauty that will serve thy Ends.
_L. Lam._ Rail on; declining Majesty may be excus'd, Call in the Women that attend for redress of Grievances.
[Ex. _Page_.
Enter _Page_ with Women, and _Loveless_ dress'd as a Woman.
Gentlewomen, what's your Bus'ness with us?
_Lov._ Gentlewomen! some of us are Ladies.
_L. Lam._ Ladies in good time; by what Authority, and from whom do you derive your Title of Ladies?
_L. Fleet._ Have a care how you usurp what is not your own!
_Lov._ How the Devil rebukes Sin! [Aside.
_L. Des._ From whom had you your Honours, Women?
_Lov._ From our Husbands.
_Gill._ Husbands, who are they, and of what standing?
_2 Lady._ Of no long standing, I confess.
_Gill._ That's a common Grievance indeed.
_L. Des._ And ought to be redress'd.
_L. Lam._ And that shall be taken into consideration; write it down, _Gilliflower_; who made your Husband a Knight, Woman?
_Lov._ _Oliver_ the first, an't please ye.
_L. Lam._ Of horrid Memory; write that down-- who yours?
_2 Lady._ _Richard_ the fourth, an't like your Honour.
_Gill._ Of sottish Memory; shall I write that down too?
_L. Des._ Most remarkably.
_Crom._ Heav'ns! Can I hear this Profanation of our Royal Family?
[Aside.
_L. Lam._ I wonder with what impudence _Noll_ and _Dick_ cou'd Knightify your Husbands; for 'tis a Rule in Heraldry, that none can make a Knight but him that is one; 'tis _Sancha Pancha's_ Case in _Don Quixot_.
_Crom._ How dare you question my Husband's Authority?
[Rises in Anger.
Who nobly won his Honour in the Field, Not like thy sneaking Lord who gain'd his Title From his Wife's gay Love-tricks-- Bartering her Honour for his Coronet.
_L. Lam._ Thou ly'st, my Husband earn'd it with his Sword, Braver and juster than thy bold Usurper, Who waded to his Glory through a Sea Of Royal Blood--
_L. Des._ Sure _Loveless_ has done good on her, and converted her.
_L. Fleet._ Madam, I humbly beg you will be patient, you'll ruin all my Lord's Designs else-- Women, proceed to your Grievances, both publick and private.
_Lov._ I petition for a Pension; my Husband, deceas'd, was a constant active man, in all the late Rebellion, against the Man; he plunder'd my Lord _Capel_, he betray'd his dearest Friend _Brown Bushel_, who trusted his Life in his Hands, and several others; plundering their Wives and Children even to their Smocks.
_L. Lam._ Most considerable Service, and ought to be consider'd.
_2 Lady._ And most remarkably, at the Trial of the late Man, I spit in's Face, and betray'd the Earl of _Holland_ to the Parliament.
_Crom._ In the King's Face, you mean-- it shew'd your Zeal for the Good Cause.
_2 Lady._ And 'twas my Husband that headed the Rabble, to pull down _Gog_ and _Magog_, the Bishops, broke the Idols in the Windows, and turn'd the Churches into Stables and Dens of Thieves; rob'd the Altar of the Cathedral of the twelve pieces of Plate call'd the twelve Apostles, turn'd eleven of 'em into Money, and kept _Judas_ for his own use at home.
_L. Fleet._ On my Word, most wisely perform'd, note it down--
_3 Lady._ And my Husband made Libels on the Man from the first Troubles to this day, defam'd and profan'd the Woman and her Children, printed all the Man's Letters to the Woman with Burlesque Marginal Notes, pull'd down the sumptuous Shrines in Churches, and with the golden and Popish Spoils adorn'd his own Houses and Chimney-Pieces.
_L. Lam._ We shall consider these great Services.
_Lov._ To what a height is Impudence arriv'd? [Aside.
_L. Lam._ Proceed to private Grievances.
_Lov._ An't please your Honours, my Husband prays too much; which both hinders his private bus'ness at home, and his publick Services to the Commonwealth--
_L. Lam._ A double Grievance-- set it down, Gilliflower.
_Lov._ And then he rails against the Whore of Babylon, and all my neighbours think he calls me Whore.
_Cram._ A most unpardonable fault.
_L. Lam._ We'll have that rectify'd, it will concern us.
_Lov._ Then he never kisses me, but he says a long Grace, which is more mortifying than inviting.
_L. Des._ That is the fault of all the new Saints, which is the reason their Wives take a pious care, as much as in them lies, to send 'em to Heaven, by making 'em Cuckolds.