_Mart._ Pity! the Church abhors it. 'Twere Mercy to such a Wretch to pray him into Purgatory.

_Jourd._ I'll give all my Estate to the Church, I'll found Monasteries, I'll build Abbies.

_Mart._ All will not do, ten thousand Ma.s.ses will not deliver you.

_Jourd._ Was ever such a miserable Wretch!

_Mart._ Thou hast Sins enough to d.a.m.n thy whole Family. Monstrous Impiety! to lift up the Hand of Justice against the Church.

_Jourd._ Oh speak some Comfort to me: will no Penance expiate my Crime?

_Mart._ It is too grievous for a single Penance, go settle your Estate on the Church, and send your Daughter to a Nunnery, her Prayers will avail more than yours: Heaven hears the young and innocent with Pleasure. I will, my self, say four Ma.s.ses a-day for you; and all these, I hope, will purchase your Forgiveness, at least your Stay in Purgatory will be short.

_Jourd._ My Daughter! She is to be married to-morrow, and I shall never prevail on her.

_Mart._ You must force her; your all depends on it.

_Jourd._ But I have already sworn I will not force her.

_Mart._ The Church absolves you from that Oath, and it were now Impiety to keep it. Go, lose not a Moment, see her entered with the utmost Expedition; she may put it out of your Power.

_Jourd._ What a poor miserable Wretch am I?

SCENE X.

Martin _solus_.

Thou art a miserable Wretch indeed! And it is on such miserable Wretches depends our Power: that Superst.i.tion which tears thy Bowels, feeds ours. This Nunnery is a Master-piece, let me but once shut up my dear _Isabel_ from every other Man, and the Warmth of her Const.i.tution may be my very powerful Friend. How far am I got already from the very Brink of Despair, by the Despair of this old Fool. Superst.i.tion, I adore thee,

Thou handle to the cheated Layman's Mind, By which in Fetters Priestcraft leads Mankind.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Jourdain, Isabel.

JOURDAIN.

Have you no Compa.s.sion for your Father, for him that gave you being?

Could you bear to hear me howl in Purgatory?

_Isa._ Lud! Pappa! Do you think your putting me into Purgatory in this World, will save you from Purgatory in the next? If you have any Sins you must repent of them your self; for I give you my Word, I have enough to do to repent of my own.

_Jourd._ You will soon wipe off that Score, and will be then in a Place where you cannot contract a new one.

_Isa._ Indeed, Sir, to shut a Woman out from Sin is not so easy. But, dear Sir, how can it enter into your Head, that my Penance can be acceptable for your Sin? Take my Word, one Week's fasting will be of more Service to you than this long Fast you would enjoin me.

_Jourd._ Alas! Child, if fasting would do, I am sure I have not been wanting to my Duty: I have fasted till I am almost worn away to nothing; I have almost fasted my self into Purgatory, while I was fasting my self out of it.

_Isa._ But whence comes all this Apprehension of your Danger?

_Jourd._ Whence should it come, but from the Church.

_Isa._ Oh! Sir, I have thought of the most lucky thing. You know, my Cousin _Beatrice_ is just going into a Nunnery, and she will pray for you as much as you would have her.

_Jourd._ Trifle not with so serious a Concern. No Prayers but yours will ever do me good.

_Isa._ Then you shall have them any where but in a Nunnery.

_Jourd._ They must be there too.

_Isa._ That will be impossible: for if I was there, instead of praying you out of Purgatory, my Prayers would be all bent to pray my self out of the Nunnery again.

SCENE II.

_Old_ Laroon, Jourdain, Isabel.

_Old. Lar._ A Dog, a Villain, put off my Son's Match. Mr. _Jourdain_, your Servant; will you suffer a Rogue of a Jesuit to defer your Daughter's Marriage a whole Week?

_Jourd._ I am sorry, Mr. _Laroon_, for the Disappointment, but her Marriage will be deferred longer than that.

_Old. Lar._ How, Sir!

_Jourd._ She is intended for another Marriage, Sir, a much better Match.

_Old. Lar._ A much better Match!--

_Isa._ Yes, Sir, I am to be sent to a Nunnery, to pray my Father out of Purgatory.

_Old Lar._ Oh! Ho!--We'll make that Matter very easy: he shall have no Fear of Purgatory; for I'll send him to the Devil this Moment. Come, Sir, draw, draw--

_Jourd._ Draw what, Sir!

_Old Lar._ Draw your Sword, Sir.

_Jourd._ Alas, Sir, I have long since done with Swords, I have broke my Sword long since.

_Old Lar._ Then I shall break your Head, you old Rogue.

_Jourd._ Heyday----you are mad; what's the Matter?

_Old Lar._ Oh! no matter, no matter, you have used me ill, and you are a Son of a Wh.o.r.e, that's all.