[_Offering to strike him with a hatchet._

PRIEST.

Good Prince, forbear your pious Hand from Blood; I did not know you was this Maiden's Lover, I took her for a Stranger, half your Foe.

CHEKITAN.

Did you not know she was King Hendrick's Daughter?

Did you not know that she was not your Wife?

Have you not told us, holy Men like you Are by the G.o.ds forbid all fleshly Converse?

Have you not told us, Death, and Fire, and h.e.l.l Await those who are incontinent, Or dare to violate the Rites of Wedlock?

That your G.o.d's Mother liv'd and died a Virgin, And thereby set Example to her s.e.x?

What means all this? Say you such Things to us, That you alone may revel in these Pleasures?

PRIEST.

I have a Dispensation from St. Peter To quench the Fire of Love when it grows painful.

This makes it innocent like Marriage Vows; And all our holy Priests, and she herself, Commit no Sin in this Relief of Nature: For, being holy, there is no Pollution Communicated from us as from others; Nay, Maids are holy after we've enjoy'd them, And, should the Seed take Root, the Fruit is pure.

CHEKITAN.

Oh vain Pretense! Falsehood and foul Deception!

None but a Christian could devise such Lies!

Did I not fear it might provoke your G.o.ds, Your Tongue should never frame Deceit again.

If there are G.o.ds, and such as you have told us, They must abhor all Baseness and Deceit, And will not fail to punish Crimes like yours.

To them I leave you--But avoid my Presence, Nor let me ever see your hated Head, Or hear your lying Tongue within this Country.

PRIEST.

Now by St. Peter I must go--He's raging. [_Aside._

CHEKITAN.

That Day I do, by your great dreadful G.o.d, This Hand shall cleave your Head, and spill your Blood, Not all your Prayers, and Lies, and Saints shall save you.

PRIEST.

I've got his Father's Secret, and will use it.

Such Disappointment ought to be reveng'd. [_Aside._

CHEKITAN.

Don't mutter here, and conjure up your Saints, I value not their Curses, or your Prayers.

[_Stepping towards the PRIEST to hurry him._

PRIEST.

By all the Saints, young Man, thou shalt repent it. [_Exit._

MONELIA.

Base, false Dissembler--Tyger, Snake, a Christian!

I hate the Sight; I fear the very Name.

O Prince, what has not your kind Presence sav'd me!

CHEKITAN.

It sav'd to me more than my Father's Empire; Far more than Crowns and Worlds--It sav'd Monelia, The Hope of whom is more than the Creation.

In this I feel the Triumph of an Hero, And glory more than if I'd conquer'd Kingdoms.

MONELIA.

Oh, I am thine, I'm more than ever thine; I am your Captive now, your lawful Prize: You've taken me in War, a dreadful War!

And s.n.a.t.c.h'd me from the hungry Tyger's Jaw.

More than my Life and Service is your Due, And had I more I would devote it to you.

CHEKITAN.

O my Monelia! rich is my Reward, Had I lost Life itself in the Encounter; But still I fear that Fate will s.n.a.t.c.h you from me.

Where is your Brother? Why was you alone?

_Enter TORAX, from listening to their discourse._

TORAX.

Here am I: What would you of me?

MONELIA.

Torax!

I've been a.s.saulted by a barbarous Man, And by mere Accident escap'd my Ruin.

TORAX.

What Foe is here? The English are not come?

MONELIA.

No: But a Christian lurk'd within the Grove, And every Christian is a Foe to Virtue; Insidious, subtle, cruel, base, and false!

Like Snakes, their very Eyes are full of Poison; And where they are not, Innocence is safe.

TORAX.

The holy Priest! Is he so vile a Man?

I heard him mutter Threat'nings as I past him.

CHEKITAN.

I spar'd his guilty Life, but drove him hence, On Pain of Death and Tortures, never more To tread the Earth, or breathe the Air with me.