The Spanish Curate: A Comedy - John Fletcher 4 стр.

Farm sir,
You say most true.

Alonzo Tiveria!
Lord, Lord that time should play the treacherous knave thus!
Why, he was the only friend I had in Spain, sir,
I knew your Mother too, a handsome Gentlewoman,
She was married very young: I married 'em:
I do remember now the Maskes and Sports then,
The Fire-works, and the fine delights; good faith, sir,
Now I look in your face, whose eyes are those, Diego?
Nay, if he be not just Alonzo's picture

Lord, how I blush for these two impudents!

Well Gentleman, I think your name's Leandro.

It is indeed, sir,
Gra'-mercy letter, thou hadst never known else.

I have dandled ye, and kist ye and plaid with ye
A hundred, and a hundred times, and danc'd ye,
And swong ye in my Bell-ropes, ye lov'd swinging.

A sweet Boy.

Sweet lying knaves.
What would these doe for thousands?

A wondrous sweet Boy then it was, see now
Time that consumes us, shoots him up still sweeter.
How do's the noble Gentleman? how fares he?
When shall we see him? when will he bless his Country?

O, very shortly, Sir, till his return
He has sent me over to your charge.

And welcome,
Nay, you shall know you are welcome to your friend, sir.

And to my Study, Sir, which must be the Law.
To further which, he would entreat your care
To plant me in the favour of some man
That's expert in that knowledge: for his pains
I have three hundred Duckets more: For my Diet,
Enough, Sir, to defray me: which I am charged
To take still, as I use it, from your custodie,
I have the mony ready, and I am weary.

Sit down, sit down, and once more ye are most welcome,
The Law you have hit upon most happily,
Here is a Master in that art, Bartolus,
A neighbour by, to him I will prefer ye,
A learned man, and my most loving neighbour,
I'le doe ye faithful service, Sir.

He's an Ass,
And so wee'll use him; he shall be a Lawyer.

But if ever he recover this mony againbefore, Diego,
And get some pretty pittance: my Pupill's hungry.

Pray ye Sir, unlade me.

I'le refresh ye Sir;
When ye want, you know your Exchequer.

If all this get me but access, I am happy.

Come, I am tender of ye.

I'le go with ye.
To have this fort betray'd these fools must fleece me.

My Amaranta, a retir'd sweet life,
Private and close, and still, and houswifely,
Becomes a Wife, sets off the grace of woman.
At home to be believ'd both young, and handsome,
As Lilies that are cas'd in crystall Glasses,
Makes up the wonder: shew it abroad 'tis stale,
And still the more eyes cheapen it 'tis more slubber'd,
And what need windowes open to inviting?
Or evening Tarrasses, to take opinions?
When the most wholsome air (my wife) blows inward,
When good thoughts are the noblest Companions,
And old chast stories, wife, the best discourses;
But why do I talk thus, that know thy nature?

You know your own disease: distrust, and jealousie,
And those two, give these Lessons, not good meaning,
What trial is there of my honestie,
When I am mew'd at home? to what end Husband,
Serves all the vertuous thoughts, and chast behaviours
Without their uses? Then they are known most excellent
When by their contraries they are set off, and burnish'd.
If ye both hold me fair, and chast, and vertuous,
Let me goe fearless out, and win that greatness:
These seeds grow not in shades, and conceal'd places:
Set 'em i'th' heat of all, then they rise glorious.

Peace, ye are too loud.

You are too covetous.
If that be rank'd a vertue, you have a rich one.
Set me (like other Lawyers wives) off handsomely,
Attended as I ought, and as they have it,
My Coach, my people, and my handsome women,
My will in honest things.

Peace Amaranta.

They have content, rich clothes, and that secures 'em,
Binds, to their carefull husbands, their observance,
They are merry, ride abroad, meet, laugh.

Thou shalt too.

And freely may converse with proper Gentlemen,
Suffer temptations daily to their honour.

You are now too far again: thou shalt have any thing,
Let me but lay up for a handsome Office,
And then my Amaranta

Here's a thing now,
Ye place as pleasure to me: all my retinue,
My Chamber-maid, my Kitchin-maid, my friend,
And what she fails in, I must doe my self.
A foyle to set my Beauty off, I thank ye,

Leandro paid all.

'Tis his usual custom,
And requisite he should: he has now put off
The Funeral black, (your rich heir wears with joy,
When he pretends to weep for his dead Father)
Your gathering Sires, so long heap muck together,
That their kind Sons, to rid them of their care,
Wish them in Heaven; or if they take a taste
Of Purgatory by the way, it matters not,
Provided they remove hence; what is befaln
To his Father, in the other world, I ask not;
I am sure his prayer is heard: would I could use one
For mine, in the same method.

Fie upon thee.
This is prophane.

Good Doctor, do not school me
For a fault you are not free from: On my life
Were all Heirs in Corduba, put to their Oaths,
They would confess with me, 'tis a sound Tenet:
I am sure Leandro do's.

He is th'owner
Of a fair Estate.

And fairly he deserves it,
He's a Royal Fellow: yet observes a mean
In all his courses, careful too on whom
He showers his bounties: he that's liberal
To all alike, may do a good by chance,
But never out of Judgment: This invites
The prime men of the City to frequent
All places he resorts to, and are happy
In his sweet Converse.

Don Jamie the Brother
To the Grandee Don Henrique, appears much taken
With his behaviour.

There is something more in't:
He needs his Purse, and knows how to make use on't.
'Tis now in fashion for your Don, that's poor,
To vow all Leagues of friendship with a Merchant
That can supply his wants, and howsoe're
Don Jamie's noble born, his elder Brother
Don Henrique rich, and his Revenues long since
Encreas'd by marrying with a wealthy Heir
Call'd, Madam Vi[o]lante, he yet holds
A hard hand o're Jamie, allowing him
A bare annuity only.

Yet 'tis said
He hath no child, and by the Laws of Spain
If he die without issue, Don Jamie
Inherits his Estate.

Why that's the reason
Of their so many jarrs: though the young Lord
Be sick of the elder Brother, and in reason
Should flatter, and observe him, he's of a nature
Too bold and fierce, to stoop so, but bears up,
Presuming on his hopes.

What's the young Lad
That all of 'em make so much of?

'Tis a sweet one,
And the best condition'd youth, I ever saw yet,
So humble, and so affable, that he wins
The love of all that know him, and so modest,
That (in despight of poverty) he would starve
Rather than ask a courtesie: He's the Son
Of a poor cast-Captain, one Octavio;
And She, that once was call'd th'fair Jacinta,
Is happy in being his Mother: for his sake,

(Though in their Fortunes faln) they are esteem'd of,
And cherish'd by the best. O here they come.
I now may spare his Character, but observe him,
He'l justifie my report.

My good Ascanio,
Repair more often to me: above Women
Thou ever shalt be welcome.

My Lord your favours
May quickly teach a raw untutour'd Youth
To be both rude and sawcy.

You cannot be
Too frequent where you are so much desir'd:
And give me leave (dear friend) to be your Rival
In part of his affection; I will buy it
At any rate.

Stood I but now possess'd
Of what my future hope presages to me,
I then would make it clear thou hadst a Patron
That would not say but do: yet as I am,
Be mine, I'le not receive thee as a servant,
But as my Son, (and though I want my self)
No Page attending in the Court of Spain
Shall find a kinder master.

I beseech you
That my refusal of so great an offer
May make no ill construction, 'tis not pride
(That common vice is far from my condition)
That makes you a denyal to receive
A favour I should sue for: nor the fashion
Which the Country follows, in which to be a servant
In those that groan beneath the heavy weight
Of poverty, is held an argument
Of a base abject mind, I wish my years
Were fit to do you service in a nature
That might become a Gentleman (give me leave
To think my self one) My Father serv'd the King
As a Captain in the field; and though his fortune
Return'd him home a poor man, he was rich
In Reputation, and wounds fairly taken.
Nor am I by his ill success deterr'd,
I rather feel a strong desire that sways me
To follow his profession, and if Heaven
Hath mark'd me out to be a man, how proud,
In the service of my Country, should I be,
To trail a Pike under your brave command!
There, I would follow you as a guide to honour,
Though all the horrours of the War made up
To stop my passage.