The Spanish Curate by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
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Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher >> The Spanish Curate
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_Moor_.
If I do, I'll hang for't.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENA IV.
_Enter_ Octavio, Jacintha.
_Octa_.
If that you lov'd _Ascanio_ for himself,
And not your private ends, you rather should
Bless the fair opportunity, that restores him
To his Birth-right, and the Honours he was born to,
Than grieve at his good Fortune.
_Jac_.
Grieve, _Octavio_?
I would resign my Essence, that he were
As happy as my love could fashion him,
Though every blessing that should fall on him,
Might prove a curse to me: my sorrow springs
Out of my fear and doubt he is not safe.
I am acquainted with _Don Henrique_'s nature,
And I have heard too much the fiery temper
Of Madam _Violante_: can you think
That she, that almost is at war with Heaven
For being barren, will with equal eyes
Behold a Son of mine?
_Octa_.
His Father's care,
That for the want of Issue, took him home,
(Though with the forfeiture of his own fame)
Will look unto his safety.
_Jac_.
Step-mothers
Have many eyes, to find a way to mischief,
Though blind to goodness.
_Enter_ Jamie _and_ Ascanio.
_Octa_.
Here comes _Don Jamie_,
And with him our _Ascanio_.
_Jam_.
Good youth leave me,
I know thou art forbid my company,
And only to be seen with me, will call on
Thy Fathers anger.
[_Asc_.]
Sir, if that to serve you
Could lose me any thing (as indeed it cannot)
I still would follow you. Alas I was born
To do you hurt, but not to help my self,
I was, for some particular end, took home,
But am cast off again.
_Jam_.
Is't possible?
_Asc_.
The Lady, whom my Father calls his Wife,
Abhors my sight, is sick of me, and forc'd him
To turn me out of doors.
_Jac_.
By my best hopes
I thank her cruelty, for it comes near
A saving Charity.
_Asc_.
I am only happy
That yet I can relieve you, 'pray you share:
My Father's wondrous kind, and promises
That I should be supplied: but sure the Lady
Is a malicious Woman, and I fear
Means me no good.
_Enter_ Servant.
_Jam_.
I am turn'd a stone with wonder,
And know not what to think.
_Ser_.
From my Lady,
Your private ear, and this--
_Jam_.
New Miracles?
_Ser_.
She says, if you dare make your self a Fortune,
She will propose the means; my Lord _Don Henrique_
Is now from home, and she alone expects you,
If you dare trust her, so, if not despair of
A second offer.
[_Exit_.
_Jam_.
Though there were an Ambush
Laid for my life, I'le on and sound this secret.
Retire thee, my _Ascanio_, with thy Mother:
But stir not forth, some great design's on foot,
Fall what can fall, if e're the Sun be set
I see you not, give me for dead.
_Asc_.
We will expect you,
And those bless'd Angels, that love goodness, guard you.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENA V.
_Enter_ Lopez _and_ Bartolus.
_Bar_.
Is't possible he should be rich?
_Lop_.
Most possible,
He hath been long, though he had but little gettings,
Drawing together, Sir.
_Bar_.
Accounted a poor Sexton,
Honest poor _Diego_.
_Lop_.
I assure ye, a close Fellow,
Both close, and scraping, and that fills the Bags, Sir.
_Bar_.
A notable good fellow too?
_Lop_.
Sometimes, Sir,
When he hop'd to drink a man into a Surfeit,
That he might gain by his Grave.
_Bar_.
So many thousands?
_Lop_.
Heaven knows what.
_Bar.
'Tis strange,
'Tis very strange; but we see by endeavour,
And honest labour--
_Lop_.
_Milo_, by continuance
Grew from a silly Calf (with your worships reverence)
To carry a Bull, from a penny, to a pound, Sir,
And from a pound, to many: 'tis the progress.
_Bar_.
Ye say true, but he lov'd to feed well also,
And that me-thinks--
_Lop_.
From another mans Trencher, Sir,
And there he found it season'd with small charge:
There he would play the Tyrant, and would devour ye
More than the Graves he made; at home he liv'd
Like a Camelion, suckt th' Air of misery,
[_Table out, Standish, Paper, Stools_.
And grew fat by the Brewis of an Egg-shell,
Would smell a Cooks-shop, and go home and surfeit.
And be a month in fasting out that Fever.
_Bar_.
These are good Symptoms: do's he lye so sick say ye?
_Lop_.
Oh, very sick.
_Bar_.
And chosen me Executor?
_Lop_.
Only your Worship.
_Bar_.
No hope of his amendment?
_Lop_.
None, that we find.
_Bar_.
He hath no Kinsmen neither?
_Lop_.
'Truth, very few,
_Bar_.
His mind will be the quieter.
What Doctors has he?
_Lop_.
There's none, Sir, he believes in.
_Bar_.
They are but needless things, in such extremities.
Who draws the good mans Will?
_Lop_.
Marry that do I, Sir,
And to my grief.
_Bar_.
Grief will do little now, Sir,
Draw it to your comfort, Friend, and as I counsel ye,
An honest man, but such men live not always:
Who are about him?
_Lop_.
Many, now he is passing,
That would pretend to his love, yes, and some Gentlemen
That would fain counsel him, and be of his Kindred;
Rich men can want no Heirs, Sir.
_Bar_.
They do ill,
Indeed they do, to trouble him; very ill, Sir.
But we shall take a care.
_Enter_ Diego, _in a Bed_, Milanes, Arsenio, _and_ Parishioners.
_Lop_.
Will ye come near, Sir?
'Pray ye bring him out; now ye may see in what state:
Give him fresh Air.
_Bar_.
I am sorry, Neighbour _Diego_,
To find ye in so weak a state.
_Die_.
Ye are welcome,
But I am fleeting, Sir.
_Bar_.
Me-thinks he looks well,
His colour fresh, and strong, his eyes are chearful.
_Lop_.
A glimmering before death, 'tis nothing else, Sir,
Do you see how he fumbles with the Sheet? do ye note that?
_Die_.
My learned Sir, 'pray ye sit: I am bold to send for ye,
To take a care of what I leave.
_Lop_.
Do ye hear that?
_Ars_.
Play the Knave finely.
_Die_.
So I will, I warrant ye,
And carefully.
_Bar_.
'Pray ye do not trouble him,
You see he's weak and has a wandring fancy.
_Die_.
My honest Neighbours, weep not, I must leave ye,
I cannot always bear ye company,
We must drop still, there is no remedy:
'Pray ye Master Curate, will ye write my Testament,
And write it largely it may be remembred,
And be witness to my Legacies, good Gentlemen;
Your Worship I do make my full Executor,
You are a man of wit and understanding:
Give me a cup of Wine to raise my Spirits,
For I speak low: I would before these Neighbours
Have ye to swear, Sir, that you will see it executed,
And what I give let equally be rendred
For my souls health.
_Bar_.
I vow it truly, Neighbours,
Let not that trouble ye, before all these,
Once more I give my Oath.
_Die_.
Then set me higher,
And pray ye come near me all.
_Lop_.
We are ready for ye.
_Mil_.
Now spur the Ass, and get our friend time.
_Die_.
First then,
After I have given my body to the worms,
(For they must be serv'd first, they are seldom cozen'd.)
_Lop_.
Remember your Parish, Neighbour.
_Die_.
You speak truly,
I do remember it, a lewd vile Parish,
And pray it may be mended: To the poor of it,
(Which is to all the Parish) I give nothing,
For nothing, unto nothing, is most natural,
Yet leave as much space, as will build an Hospital,
Their Children may pray for me.
_Bar_.
What do you give to it?
_Die_.
Set down two thousand Duckets.
_Bar_.
'Tis a good gift,
And will be long remembred.
_Die_.
To your worship,
(Because you must take pains to see all finish'd)
I give two thousand more, it may be three, Sir,
A poor gratuity for your pains-taking.
_Bar_.
These are large sums.
_Lop_.
Nothing to him that has 'em.
_Die_.
To my old Master Vicar, I give five hundred,
(Five hundred and five hundred are too few, Sir)
But there be more to serve.
_Bar_.
This fellow coins sure.
_Die_.
Give me some more drink. Pray ye buy Books, buy Books,
You have a learned head, stuff it with Libraries,
And understand 'em, when ye have done, 'tis Justice.
Run not the Parish mad with Controversies,
Nor preach Abstinence to longing Women,
'Twill burge the bottoms of their Consciences:
I would give the Church new Organs, but I prophesie
The Church-wardens would quickly pipe 'em out o'th' Parish,
Two hundred Duckets more to mend the Chancel,
And to paint true Orthographie, as many,
They write _Sunt_ with a _C_, which is abominable,
'Pray you set that down; to poor Maidens Marriages.
_Lop_.
I that's well thought of, what's your will in that point?
A meritorious thing.
_Bar_.
No end of this Will?
_Die_.
I give _per annum_ two hundred Ells of Lockram,
That there be no strait dealings in their Linnens,
But the Sails cut according to their Burthens.
To all Bell-ringers, I bequeath new Ropes,
And let them use 'em at their own discretions.
_Ars_.
You may remember us.
_Die_.
I do good Gentlemen,
And I bequeath you both good careful Surgions,
A Legacy, you have need of, more than mony,
I know you want good Diets, and good Lotions,
And in your pleasures, good take heed.
_Lop_.
He raves now,
But 'twill be quickly off.
_Die_.
I do bequeath ye
Commodities of Pins, Brown-papers, Pack-threads,
Rost Pork, and Puddings, Ginger-bread, and Jews-trumps,
Of penny Pipes, and mouldy Pepper, take 'em,
Take 'em even where you please and be cozen'd with 'em,
I should bequeath ye Executions also,
But those I'le leave to th' Law.
_Lop_.
Now he grows temperate.
_Bar_.
You will give no more?
_Die_.
I am loth to give more from ye,
Because I know you will have a care to execute.
Only, to pious uses, Sir, a little.
_Bar_.
If he be worth all these, I am made for ever.
_Die_.
I give to fatal Dames, that spin mens threads out,
And poor distressed Damsels, that are militant
As members of our own Afflictions,
A hundred Crowns to buy warm Tubs to work in,
I give five hundred pounds to buy a Church-yard,
A spacious Church-yard, to lay Thieves and Knaves in,
Rich men and honest men take all the room up.
_Lop_.
Are ye not weary?
_Die_.
Never of well-doing.
_Bar_.
These are mad Legacies.
_Die_.
They were got as madly;
My Sheep, and Oxen, and my moveables,
My Plate, and Jewels, and five hundred Acres;
I have no heirs.
_Bar_.
This cannot be, 'tis monstrous.
_Die_.
Three Ships at Sea too.
_Bar_.
You have made me full Executor?
_Die_.
Full, full, and total, would I had more to give ye,
But these may serve an honest mind.
_Bar_.
Ye say true,
A very honest mind, and make it rich too;
Rich, wondrous rich, but where shall I raise these moneys,
About your house? I see no such great promises;
Where shall I find these sums?
_Die_.
Even where you please, Sir,
You are wise and provident, and know business,
Ev'n raise 'em where you shall think good, I am reasonable.
_Bar_.
Think good? will that raise thousands?
What do you make me?
_Die_.
You have sworn to see it done, that's all my comfort.
_Bar_.
Where I please? this is pack'd sure to disgrace me.
_Die_.
Ye are just, and honest, and I know you will do it,
Ev'n where you please, for you know where the wealth is.
_Bar_.
I am abused, betrayed, I am laugh'd at, scorn'd,
Baffl'd, and boared, it seems.
_Ars_.
No, no, ye are fooled.
_Lop_.
Most finely fooled, and handsomely, and neatly,
Such cunning Masters must be fool'd sometimes, Sir,
And have their Worships noses wiped, 'tis healthful,
We are but quit: you fool us of our moneys
In every Cause, in every Quiddit wipe us.
_Die_.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, some more drink, for my heart, Gentlemen.
This merry Lawyer--ha, ha, ha, ha, this Scholar--
I think this fit will cure me: this Executor--
I shall laugh out my Lungs.
_Bar_.
This is derision above sufferance, villany
Plotted and set against me.
_Die_.
Faith 'tis Knavery,
In troth I must confess, thou art fool'd indeed, Lawyer.
_Mil_.
Did you think, had this man been rich--
_Bar_.
'Tis well, Sir.
_Mil_.
He would have chosen such a Wolf, a Canker,
A Maggot-pate, to be his whole Executor?
_Lop_.
A Lawyer, that entangles all mens honesties,
And lives like a Spider in a Cobweb lurking,
And catching at all Flies, that pass his pit-falls?
Puts powder to all States, to make 'em caper?
Would he trust you? Do you deserve?
_Die_.
I find, Gentlemen,
This Cataplasm of a well cozen'd Lawyer
Laid to my stomach, lenifies my Feaver,
Methinks I could eat now, and walk a little.
_Bar_.
I am asham'd to feel how flat I am cheated,
How grossly, and maliciously made a May-game,
A damned trick; my Wife, my Wife, some Rascal:
My Credit, and my Wife, some lustful Villain,
Some Bawd, some Rogue.
_Ars_.
Some crafty Fool has found ye:
This 'tis, Sir, to teach ye to be too busie,
To covet all the gains, and all the rumours,
To have a stirring Oare in all mens actions.
_Lop_.
We did this, but to vex your fine officiousness.
_Bar_.
Good yield ye, and good thank ye: I am fooled, Gentlemen;
The Lawyer is an Ass, I do confess it,
A weak dull shallow Ass: good even to your Worships:
Vicar, remember Vicar, Rascal, remember,
Thou notable rich Rascal.
_Die_.
I do remember, Sir,
'Pray ye stay a little, I have ev'n two Legacies
To make your mouth up, Sir.
_Bar_.
Remember Varlets,
Quake and remember, Rogues;
I have brine for your Buttocks.
[_Exit_.
_Lop_.
Oh how he frets, and fumes now like a Dunghil!
_Die_.
His gall contains fine stuff now to make poysons,
Rare damned stuff.
_Ars_.
Let's after him, and still vex him,
And take my Friend off: by this time he has prosper'd,
He cannot lose this dear time: 'tis impossible.
_Mil_.
Well _Diego_, thou hast done.
_Lop_.
Hast done it daintily.
_Mil_.
And shalt be as well paid, Boy--
_Ars_.
Go, let's crucifie him.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENA VI.
_Enter_ Amaranta, Leandro.
_Lean_.
I have told ye all my story, and how desperately.
_Ama_.
I do believe: let's walk on, time is pretious,
Not to be spent in words, here no more wooing,
The open Air's an enemy to Lovers,
Do as I tell ye.
_Lean_.
I'le do any thing,
I am so over-[joy'd], I'le fly to serve ye.
_Am_.
Take your joy moderately, as it is ministred,
And as the cause invites: that man's a fool
That at the sight o'th' Bond, dances and leaps,
Then is the true joy, when the mony comes.
_Lean_.
You cannot now deny me.
_Ama_. Nay, you know not,
Women have crotchets, and strange fits.
_Lean_.
You shall not.
_Ama_.
Hold ye to that and swear it confidently,
Then I shall make a scruple to deny ye:
'Pray ye let's step in, and see a friend of mine,
The weather's sharp: we'll stay but half an hour,
We may be miss'd else: a private fine house 'tis, Sir,
And we may find many good welcomes.
_Lean_.
Do Lady,
Do happy Lady.
_Ama_.
All your mind's of doing,
You must be modester.
_Lean_.
I will be any thing.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENA VII.
_Enter_ Bartolus.
_Bar_.
Open the doors, and give me room to chafe in
Mine own room, and my liberty: why Maid there,
Open I say, and do not anger me,
I am subject to much fury: when, ye Dish-clout?
When do ye come? asleep ye lazie Hell-hound?
Nothing intended, but your ease, and eating?
No body here? why Wife, why Wife? why Jewel?
No tongue to answer me? pre'thee, good Pupil,
Dispense a little with thy careful study,
And step to th' door, and let me in; nor he neither?
Ha! not at's study? nor asleep? nor no body?
I'le make ye hear: the house of ignorance,
No sound inhabits here: I have a Key yet
That commands all: I fear I am Metamorphiz'd.
_Enter_ Lopez, Arsenio, Milanes, Diego.
_Lop_.
He keeps his fury still, and may do mischief.
_Mil_.
He shall be hang'd first, we'll be sticklers there, boys.
_Die_.
The hundred thousand Dreams now, that possess him
Of jealousie, and of revenge, and frailtie,
Of drawing Bills against us, and Petitions.
_Lop_.
And casting what his credit shall recover.
_Mil_.
Let him cast till his Maw come up, we care not.
You shall be still secured. [_A great noise within_.
_Die_.
We'll pay him home then;
Hark what a noise he keeps within!
_Lop_.
Certain
H'as set his Chimneys o' fire, or the Devil roars there.
_Die_.
The Codixes o'th' Law are broke loose, Gentlemen.
_Ars_.
He's fighting sure.
_Die_.
I'le tell ye that immediately--
[_Exit_.
_Mil_.
Or doing some strange out-rage on himself.
_Ars_.
Hang him, he dares not be so valiant.
_Enter_
Diego.
_Die_.
There's no body at home, and he chafes like a Lyon,
And stinks withal. [_Noise still_.
_Lop_. No body?
_Die_.
Not a Creature,
Nothing within, but he and his Law-tempest,
The Ladles, Dishes, Kettles, how they flie all!
And how the Glasses through the Rooms!
_Enter_ Bartolus.
_Ars_.
My friend sure
Has got her out, and now he has made an end on't.
_Lop_.
See where the Sea comes? how it foams, and brustles?
The great Leviathan o'th' Law, how it tumbles?
_Bar_.
Made every way an Ass? abus'd on all sides?
And from all quarters, people come to laugh at me?
Rise like a Comet, to be wonder'd at?
A horrid Comet, for Boys tongues, and Ballads?
I will run from my wits.
_Enter_ Amaranta, Leandro.
_Ars_.
Do, do, good Lawyer,
And from thy mony too, then thou wilt be quiet.
_Mil_.
Here she comes home: now mark the salutations;
How like an Ass my friend goes?
_Ars_.
She has pull'd his ears down.
_Bar_.
Now, what sweet voyage? to what Garden, Lady?
Or to what Cousins house?
_Ama_.
Is this my welcome?
I cannot go to Church, but thus I am scandal'd,
Use no devotion for my soul, but Gentlemen--
_Bar_.
To Church?
_Amar_.
Yes, and ye keep sweet youths to wait upon me,
Sweet bred-up youths, to be a credit to me.
There's your delight again, pray take him to ye,
He never comes near me more to debase me.
_Bar_.
How's this? how's this? good wife, how, has he wrong'd ye?
_Ama_.
I was fain to drive him like a sheep before me,
I blush to think how people fleer'd, and scorn'd me.
Others have handsome men, that know behaviour,
Place, and observance: this silly thing knows nothing,
Cannot tell ten; let every Rascal justle me,
And still I push'd him on as he had been coming.
_Bar_. Ha! did ye push him on? is he so stupid?
_Ama_.
When others were attentive to the Priest,
Good devout Gentleman, then fell he fast,
Fast, sound asleep: then first began the Bag-pipes,
The several stops on's nose made a rare musick,
A rare and loud, and those plaid many an Anthem.
Put out of that, he fell straight into dreaming.
_Ars_.
As cunning, as she is sweet; I like this carriage.
_Bar_.
What did he then?
_Ama_.
Why then he talked in his Sleep too,
Nay, I'le divulge your moral vertues (sheeps-face)
And talk'd aloud, that every ear was fixt to him:
Did not I suffer (do you think) in this time?
Talk of your bawling Law, of appellations
Of Declarations, and Excommunications:
Warrants, and Executions: and such Devils
That drove all the Gentlemen out o'th' Church, by hurryes,
With execrable oaths, they would never come there again.
Thus am I served and man'd.
_Lean_.
I pray ye forgive me,
I must confess I am not fit to wait upon ye:
Alas, I was brought up--
_Ama_.
To be an Asse,
A Lawyers Asse, to carry Books, and Buckrams.
_Bar_.
But what did you at Church?
_Lop_.
At Church, did you ask her?
Do you hear Gentlemen, do you mark that question?
Because you are half an Heretick your self, Sir,
Would ye breed her too? this shall to the Inquisition,
A pious Gentlewoman reproved for praying?
I'le see this filed, and you shall hear further, Sir.
_Ars_.
Ye have an ill heart.
_Lop_.
It shall be found out, Gentlemen,
There be those youths will search it.
_Die_.
You are warm Signiour,
But a Faggot will warm ye better: we are witnesses.
_Lop_.
Enough to hang him, do not doubt.
_Mil_.
Nay certain,
I do believe h'as rather no Religion.
_Lop_.
That must be known too, because she goes to Church, Sir?
_O monstrum infirme ingens!_
_Die_.
Let him go on, Sir,
His wealth will build a Nunnery, a fair one,
And this good Lady, when he is hang'd and rotten,
May there be Abbess.
_Bar_.
You are cozen'd, honest Gentlemen,
I do not forbid the use but the form, mark me.
_Lop_.
Form? what do you make of form?
_Bar_.
They will undo me,
Swear, as I oft have done, and so betray me;
I must make fair way, and hereafter, Wife,
You are welcome home, and henceforth take your pleasure,
Go when ye shall think fit, I will not hinder ye,
My eyes are open now, and I see my errour,
My shame, as great as that, but I must hide it.
The whole conveyance now I smell, but _Basta_,
Another time must serve: you see us friends, now
Heartily friends, and no more chiding, Gentlemen,
I have been too foolish, I confess, no more words,
No more, sweet Wife.
_Ama_.
You know my easie nature.
_Bar_.
Go get ye in: you see she has been angry:
Forbear her sight a while and time will pacify;
And learn to be more bold.
_Lean_.
I would I could,
I will do all I am able.
[_Exit_.
_Bar_.
Do _Leandro_,
We will not part, but friends of all hands.
_Lop_.
Well said,
Now ye are reasonable, we can look on ye.
_Bar_.
Ye have jerkt me: but for all that I forgive ye,
Forgive ye heartily, and do invite ye
To morrow to a Breakfast, I make but seldom,
But now we will be merry.
_Ars_.
Now ye are friendly,
Your doggedness and niggardize flung from ye.
And now we will come to ye.
_Bar_.
Give me your hands, all;
You shall be welcome heartily.
_Lop_.
We will be,
For we'll eat hard.
_Bar_.
The harder, the more welcome,
And till the morning farewell; I have business.
[_Exit_.
_Mil_.
Farewel good bountiful _Bartolus_, 'tis a brave wench,
A suddain witty thief, and worth all service:
Go we'll all go, and crucifie the Lawyer.
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