English

Scene I. — The room at head-quarters . L A R OUSSE , in a morning gown, and with his arm in a sling, is discovered conversing with L OUISE L A Motte , who is veiled in a fall .
La Rousse . Well, to convince you I can speak the truth,
And so deserve a sight of you, I own
I did devise this news of a relapse,
On purpose to bring back those lustrous eyes,
That I might thank them. Would you heal my wounds,
Yet scorn my gratitude? I see the roses
Burn through this morning mist ( touching her veil ); let me remove it;

Scene I. — The room at head-quarters. Enter L A R OUSSE , borne wounded across the stage by his Servant and D E T ORCY .
La Rousse ( speaking at once with vivacity and difficulty ) Batiste, how frightened and how fierce you look!
You wish now — —
De Torcy . That you wouldn't babble your soul out
His shoulder, my good lad; — keep it more to him;
He bleeds but little, but his pain's unbearable; —
You see it in his face
La Rou. Then his face lies.

ACT I

Scene I — A Wood near the Walls of Old Paris .

Enter two soldiers, looking about.

1st Soldier . I'll swear I heard some one hereabouts. He was singing, as if he was going to his mistress.
2nd Soldier . Or coming from her, mayhap, covered with love and glory.
1st Sol. Stand aside a bit. Devil 's in it, if we don't nab a purse or two, now that the general has pushed so much nearer the city than the enemy looks for. I haven't had a booty these three days, but market butter. Damn butter!

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh-oh-oh Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Oh-oh-oh Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?

Were you there when they pierced him in the side?
Were you there when they pierced him in the side?

Love thou art absolute, sole Lord
Of life and death — To prove the word,
Wee need to goe to none of all
Those thy old souldiers, stout and tall
Ripe and full growne, that could reach downe,
With strong armes their triumphant crowne:
Such as could with lusty breath,
Speake lowd unto the face of death
Their great Lords glorious name, to none
Of those whose large breasts built a throne
For love their Lord, glorious and great,
Weell see him take a private seat,
And make his mansion in the milde

O king, whose greatness none can comprehend,
Whose boundless goodness doth to all extend!
Light of all beauty! ocean without ground,
That standing flowest, giving dost abound!
Rich palace, and indweller ever blest,
Never not working, ever yet in rest!
What wit cannot conceive, words say of thee,
Here, where, as in a mirror, we but see
Shadows of shadows, atoms of thy might,
Still owly-eyed while staring on thy light,
Grant that, released from this earthly jail,
And freed of clouds which here our knowledge veil,

Old houses were scaffolding once
and workmen whistling.

'Tis hard we should be by the Men despis'd,
Yet kept from knowing what wou'd make us priz'd:
Debarr'd from Knowledge, banish'd from the Schools,
And with the utmost Industry bred Fools.
Laugh'd out of Reason, jested out of Sense,
And nothing left but Native Innocence:
Then told we are incapable of Wit,
And only for the meanest Drudgeries fit:
Made Slaves to serve their Luxury and Pride,
And with innumerable Hardships try'd,
Till Pitying Heav'n release us from our Pain,
Kind Heav'n to whom alone we dare complain.

Unhappy they, who by their Duty led,
Are made the Partners of a hated Bed;
And by their Fathers Avarice or Pride,
To Empty Fops, or Nauseous Clowns are ty"d;
Or else constrain"d to give up all their Charms
Into an old ill-humour"d Husbands Arms,
Who hugs his Bags, and never was inclin"d
To be to ought besides his Money kind,
On that he dotes, and to increase his Wealth,
Wou"d Sacrifice his Conscience, Ease and Health,
Give up his Children, and devote his Wife,
And live a Stranger to the Joys of Life.

Or, a Dialogue Between

Sir John Brute , Sir William Loveall, Mellissa , and a Parson

Sir John . Welcome, thou brave Defender of our Right;
'Till now, I thought you knew not how to Write:
Dull heavy Morals did your Pens imploy;
And all your business was to pall our Joy:
With frightful Tales our Ears you still did grate,
And we with awful Reverence heard you prate;
Heard you declaim on Vice, and blame the Times,
Because we impudently shar'd your Crimes;
Those darling Sins you wholly wou'd ingross: