THE SPANISH CURATE
A
COMEDY
Persons Represented in the Play.
Don Henrique, an uxorious Lord, cruel to his
Brother.
Don Jamie, younger Brother to
Don
Henrique.
Bartolus, a covetous Lawyer
Husband
to
Amaranta.
Leandro, a Gentleman who wantonly loves the
Lawyers Wife.
Angelo, } Three Gentlemen
Friend[s]
Milanes,} to Leandro.
Arsenio,}
Ascanio, Son to Don Henrique.
Octavio, supposed Husband to
Jacintha.
Lopez, the Spanish Curate.
Diego, his Sexton.
Assistant, which we call a
Judge.
Algazeirs, whom we call
Serjeants.
4 Parishioners.
Apparitor.
Singers.
Servants.
WOMEN.
Violante, supposed Wife to Don
Henrique.
Jacintha, formerly contracted to
Don
Henrique.
Amaranta, Wife to Bartolus.
A Woman Moor, Servant to
Amaranta.
The Scene Spain.
The principal Actors were,
Joseph Taylor. } {William
Eglestone.
John Lowin. } {Thomas
Polard.
Nicholas Toolie.} {Robert Benfeild.
Actus primus. Scena prima.
Enter Angelo, Milanes, and
Arsenio.
Arsenio.
Leandro paid all.
Mil.
'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.
Ars.
Fie upon thee.
This is prophane.
Mil.
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.
Ars.
He is th'owner
Of a fair Estate.
Mil.
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.
Ars.
Don Jamie the Brother
To the Grandee Don Henrique, appears much
taken
With his behaviour.
Mil.
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.
Ars.
Yet 'tis said
He hath no child, and by the Laws of
Spain
If he die without issue, Don
Jamie
Inherits his Estate.
Mil.
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.
Ars.
What's the young Lad
That all of 'em make so much of?
Mil.
'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,
Enter Jamie, Leandro, and
Ascanio.
(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.
Jam.
My good Ascanio,
Repair more often to me: above Women
Thou ever shalt be welcome.
Asc.
My Lord your favours
May quickly teach a raw untutour'd
Youth
To be both rude and sawcy.
Lean.
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.
Jam.
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.
Asc.
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.
Jam.
Thou art a hopeful Boy,
And it was bravely spoken: For this
answer,
I love thee more than ever.
Mil.
Pity such seeds
Of promising courage should not grow and
prosper.
Ang.
What ever his reputed Parents be,
He hath a mind that speaks him right and
noble.
Lean.
You make him blush; it needs not sweet
Ascanio,
We may hear praises when they are
deserv'd,
Our modesty unwounded. By my life
I would add something to the building
up
So fair a mind, and if till you are
fit
To bear Arms in the Field, you'l spend some
years
In Salamanca, I'le supply your
studies
With all conveniences.
Asc.
Your goodness (Signiors)
And charitable favours overwhelm me.
If I were of your blood, you could not
be
More tender of me: what then can I pay
(A poor Boy and a stranger) but a
heart
Bound to your service? with what
willingness
I would receive (good Sir) your noble
offer,
Heaven can bear witness for me: but
alas,
Should I embrace the means to raise my
fortunes,
I must destroy the lives of my poor
Parents
(To who[m] I ow my being) they in me
Place all their comforts, and (as if I
were
The light of their dim eyes) are so
indulgent
They cannot brook one short dayes absence from
me;
And (what will hardly win belief) though
young,
I am their Steward and their Nurse: the
bounties
Which others bestow on me serves to sustain
'em,
And to forsake them in their age, in
me
Were more than Murther.
Enter Henrique.
Aug.
This is a kind of begging
Would make a Broker charitable.
Mil.
Here, (sweet heart)
I wish it were more.
Lean.
When this is spent,
Seek for supply from me.
Jam.
Thy piety
For ever be remembred: nay take all,
Though 'twere my exhibition to a Royal
For one whole year.
Asc.
High Heavens reward your goodness.
Hen.
So Sir, is this a slip of your own
grafting,
You are so prodigal?
Jam.
A slip Sir?
Hen.
Yes,
A slip; or call it by the proper name,
Your Bastard.
Jam.
You are foul-mouth'd; do not provoke
me,
I shall forget your Birth if you
proceed,
And use you, (as your manners do deserve)
uncivilly.
Hen.
So brave! pray you give me hearing,
Who am I Sir?
Jam.
My elder Brother: One
That might have been born a fool, and so
reputed,
But that you had the luck to creep
into
The world a year before me.
Lean.
Be more temperate.
Jam.
I neither can nor will, unless I learn
it
By his example: let him use his harsh
Unsavoury reprehensions upon those
That are his Hinds, and not on me. The
Land
Our Father left to him alone rewards
him,
For being twelve months elder, let that
be
Forgotten, and let his Parasites
remember
One quality of worth or vertue in him
That may authorize him, to be a
censurer
Of me, or my manners, and I will
Acknowledge him for a Tutor, till then,
never.
Hen.
From whom have you your means Sir?
Jam.
From the will
Of my dead Father; I am sure I spend
not
Nor give't upon your purse.
Hen.
But will it hold out
Without my help?
Jam.
I am sure it shall, I'le sink else,
For sooner I will seek aid from a
Whore,
Than a courtesie from you.
Hen.
'Tis well; you are proud of
Your new Exchequer, when you have cheated
him
And worn him to the quick, I may be
found
In the List of your acquaintance.
Lean
Pray you hold
And give me leave (my Lord) to say thus
much
(And in mine own defence) I am no Gull
To be wrought on by perswasion: nor no
Coward
To be beaten out of my means, but know to
whom
And why I give or lend, and will do
nothing
But what my reason warrants; you may
be
As sparing as you please, I must be
bold
To make use of my own, without your
licence.
Jam.
'Pray thee let him alone, he is not worth thy
anger.
All that he do's (Leandro) is for my
good,
I think there's not a Gentleman of
Spain,
That has a better Steward, than I have of
him.
Hen.
Your Steward Sir?
Jam.
Yes, and a provident one:
Why, he knows I am given to large
expence,
And therefore lays up for me: could you believe
else
That he, that sixteen years hath worn the
yoke
Of barren wedlock, without hope of
issue
(His Coffers full, his Lands and Vineyards
fruitful)
Could be so sold to base and sordid
thrift,
As almost to deny himself, the means
And necessaries of life? Alas, he
knows
The Laws of Spain appoint me for his
Heir,
That all must come to me, if I out-live
him,
Which sure I must do, by the course of
Nature,
And the assistance of good Mirth, and
Sack,
How ever you prove Melancholy.
Hen.
If I live,
Thou dearly shalt repent this.
Jam.
When thou art dead,
I am sure I shall not.
Mil.
Now they begin to burn
Like oppos'd Meteors.
Ars.
Give them line, and way,
My life for Don Jamie.
Jam.
Continue still
The excellent Husband, and joyn Farm to
Farm,
Suffer no Lordship, that in a clear
day
Falls in the prospect of your covetous
eye
To be anothers; forget you are a
Grandee;
Take use upon use, and cut the throats of
Heirs
With cozening Mortgages: rack your poor
Tenants,
Till they look like so many Skeletons
For want of Food; and when that Widows
curses,
The ruines of ancient Families, tears of
Orphans
Have hurried you to the Devil, ever
remember
All was rak'd up for me (your thankful
Brother)
That will dance merrily upon your
Grave,
And perhaps give a double Pistolet
To some poor needy Frier, to say a
Mass
To keep your Ghost from walking.
Hen.
That the Law
Should force me to endure this!
Jam.
Verily,
When this shall come to pass (as sure it
will)
If you can find a loop-hole, though in
Hell,
To look on my behaviour, you shall see
me
Ransack your Iron Chests, and once
again
Pluto's flame-colour'd Daughter shall be
free
To domineer in Taverns, Masques, and
Revels
As she was us'd before she was your
Captive.
Me thinks the meer conceipt of it, should make
you
Go home sick, and distemper'd; if it
do's,
I'le send you a Doctor of mine own, and
after
Take order for your Funeral.
Hen.
You have said, Sir,
I will not fight with words, but deeds to tame
you,
Rest confident I will, and thou shalt
wish
This day thou hadst been dumb.—
[Exit.
Mil.
You have given him a heat,
But with your own distemper.
Jam.
Not a whit,
Now he is from mine eye, I can be
merry,
Forget the cause and him: all plagues go with
him,
Let's talk of something else: what news is
stirring?
Nothing to pass the time?
Mil.
'Faith it is said
That the next Summer will determine
much
Of that we long have talk'd of, touching the
Wars.
Lean.
What have we to do with them? Let us
discourse
Of what concerns our selves. 'Tis now in
fashion
To have your Gallants set down in a
Tavern,
What the Arch-Dukes purpose is the next spring, and
what
Defence my Lords (the States) prepare: what
course
The Emperour takes against the encroaching
Turk,
And whether his Moony-standards are
design'd
For Persia or Polonia: and all
this
The wiser sort of State-Worms seem to
know
Better than their own affairs: this is
discourse
Fit for the Council it concerns; we are
young,
And if that I might give the Theme, 'twere
better
To talk of handsome Women.
Mil.
And that's one,
Almost as general.
Ars.
Yet none agree
Who are the fairest.
Lean.
Some prefer the French,
For their conceited Dressings: some the
plump
Italian Bona-Robas, some the
State
That ours observe; and I have heard one
swear,
(A merry friend of mine) that once in
London,
He did enjoy the company of a
Gamester,
(A common Gamester too) that in one
night
Met him th' Italian, French, and
Spanish wayes,
And ended in the Dutch; for to cool her
self,
She kiss'd him drunk in the morning.
Fam.
We may spare
The travel of our tongues in forraign
Nations,
When in Corduba, if you dare give
credit
To my report (for I have seen her,
Gallants)
There lives a Woman (of a mean birth
too,
And meanly match'd) whose all-excelling
Form
Disdains comparison with any She
That puts in for a fair one, and though you
borrow
From every Country of the Earth the
best
Of those perfections, which the Climat
yields
To help to make her up, if put in
Ballance,
This will weigh down the Scale.
Lean.
You talk of wonders.
Jam.
She is indeed a wonder, and so kept,
And, as the world deserv'd not to
behold
What curious Nature made without a
pattern,
Whose Copy she hath lost too, she's shut
up,
Sequestred from the world.
Lean.
Who is the owner
Of such a Jem? I am fire'd.
Jam.
One Bartolus,
A wrangling Advocate.
Ars.
A knave on Record.
Mil.
I am sure he cheated me of the best
part
Of my Estate.
Jam.
Some Business calls me hence,
(And of importance) which denies me
leisure
To give you his full character: In few
words
(Though rich) he's covetous beyond
expression,
And to encrease his heap, will dare the
Devil,
And all the plagues of darkness: and to
these
So jealous, as if you would parallel
Old Argus to him, you must
multiply
His Eyes an hundred times: of these none
sleep.
He that would charm the heaviest lid, must
hire
A better Mercurie, than Jove made use
of:
Bless your selves from the thought of him and
her,
For 'twill be labour lost: So farewel
Signiors.—
[Exit.
Ars.
Leandro? in a dream? wake man for
shame.
Mil.
Trained into a fools paradise with a
tale
Of an imagin'd Form.
Lea.
Jamie is noble,
And with a forg'd Tale would not wrong his
Friend,
Nor am I so much fir'd with lust as
Envie,
That such a churl as Bartolus should
reap
So sweet a harvest, half my State to
any
To help me to a share.
Ars.
Tush do not hope for
Impossibilities.
Lea.
I must enjoy her,
And my prophetique love tells me I
shall,
Lend me but your assistance.
Ars.
Give it o're.
Mil.
I would not have thee fool'd.
Lea. I have strange Engines
Fashioning here: and Bartolus on the
Anvil,
Disswade me not, but help me.
Mil.
Take your fortune,
If you come off well, praise your wit; if
not,
Expect to be the subject of our
Laughter.
[Exeunt.
SCENA II.
Enter Octavio, and
Jacinta.
Jac.
You met Don Henrique?
Oct.
Yes.
Jac.
What comfort bring you?
Speak cheerfully: how did my letter
work
On his hard temper? I am sure I wrote
it
So feelingly, and with the pen of
sorrow,
That it must force Compunction.
Oct.
You are cozen'd;
Can you with one hand prop a falling
Tower?
Or with the other stop the raging
main,
When it breaks in on the usurped
shore?
Or any thing that is impossible?
And then conclude that there is some way
left,
To move him to compassion.
Jac.
Is there a Justice
Or thunder (my Octavio) and he
Not sunk unto the center?
Oct.
Good Jacinta,
With your long practised patience bear
afflictions,
And by provoking call not on Heavens
anger,
He did not only scorn to read your
letter,
But (most inhumane as he is) he cursed
you,
Cursed you most bitterly.
Jac.
The bad mans charity.
Oh that I could forget there were a
Tye,
In me, upon him! or the relief I seek,
(If given) were bounty in him, and not
debt,
Debt of a dear accompt!
Oct.
Touch not that string,
'Twill but encrease your sorrow: and tame
silence,
(The Balm of the oppressed) which
hitherto
Hath eas'd your griev'd soul, and preserv'd your
fame,
Must be your Surgeon still.
Jac.
If the contagion
Of my misfortunes had not spread it
self
Upon my Son Ascanio, though my
wants
Were centupli'd upon my self, I could be
patient:
But he is so good, I so miserable,
His pious care, his duty, and
obedience,
And all that can be wish'd for from a
Son,
Discharg'd to me, and I, barr'd of all
means
To return any scruple of the debt
I owe him as a Mother, is a Torment,
Too painfull to be born.
Oct.
I suffer with you,
In that; yet find in this assurance
comfort,
High Heaven ordains (whose purposes cannot
alter)
Enter Ascanio.
Children that pay obedience to their
Parents,
Shall never beg their Bread.
Jac.
Here comes our joy,
Where has my dearest been?
Asc.
I have made, Mother,
A fortunate voyage and brought home rich
prize,
In a few hours: the owners too
contented,
From whom I took it. See here's Gold, good store
too,
Nay, pray you take it.
Jac.
Mens Charities are so cold,
That if I knew not, thou wert made of
Goodness,
'Twould breed a jealousie in me by what
means,
Thou cam'st by such a sum.
Asc.
Were it ill got,
I am sure it could not be employed so
well,
As to relieve your wants. Some noble
friends,
(Rais'd by heavens mercy to me, not my
merits)
Bestow'd it on me.
Oct.
It were a sacriledge
To rob thee of their bounty, since they gave
it
To thy use only.
Jac. Buy thee brave Cloathes with
it
And fit thee for a fortune, and leave
us
To our necessities; why do'st thou
weep?
Asc.
Out of my fear I have offended you;
For had I not, I am sure you are too
kind,
Not to accept the offer of my service,
In which I am a gainer; I have heard
My tutor say, of all aereal fowl
The Stork's the Embleme of true
pietie,
Because when age hath seiz'd upon her
dam,
And made unfit for flight, the gratefull young
one
Takes her upon his back, provides her
food,
Repaying so her tender care of him,
E're he was fit to fly, by bearing
her:
Shall I then that have reason and
discourse
That tell me all I can doe is too
little,
Be more unnatural than a silly bird?
Or feed or cloath my self
superfluously,
And know, nay see you want? holy Saints keep
me.
Jac.
Can I be wretched,
And know my self the Mother to such
Goodness?
Oct.
Come let us drie our eyes, we'll have a
feast,
Thanks to our little Steward.
Jac.
And in him,
Believe that we are rich.
Asc.
I am sure I am,
While I have power to comfort you, and serve
you.
[Exeunt.
SCENA III.
Enter Henrique, and
Violante.
Viol.
Is it my fault, Don Henrique, or my
fate?
What's my offence? I came young to your
bed,
I had a fruitfull Mother, and you met
me
With equall ardour in your May of
blood;
And why then am I barren?
Hen.
'Tis not in Man
To yield a reason for the will of
Heaven,
Which is inscrutable.
Viol.
To what use serve
Full fortunes, and the meaner sort of
blessings,
When that, which is the Crown of all our
wishes,
The period of humane happiness,
One only Child that may possess what's
ours,
Is cruelly deni'd us?
Hen.
'Tis the curse
Of great Estates to want those Pledges,
which
The poor are happy in: They in a
Cottage,
With joy, behold the Models of their
youth,
And as their Root decaies, those budding
Branches
Sprout forth and flourish, to renew their
age;
But this is the beginning, not the end
Of misery to me, that 'gainst my will
(Since Heaven denies us Issue of our
own)
Must leave the fruit of all my care and
travel
To an unthankfull Brother that insults
On my Calamity.
Viol.
I will rather choose
A Bastard from the Hospital and adopt
him,
And nourish him as mine own.
Hen.
Such an evasion
(My Violante) is forbid to us;
Happy the Romane State, where it was
lawfull,
(If our own Sons were vicious) to choose
one
Out of a vertuous Stock, though of poor
Parents,
And make him noble. But the laws of
Spain,
(Intending to preserve all ancient
Houses)
Prevent such free elections; with this, my
Brother's
Too well acquainted, and this makes him bold
to
Reign o're me, as a Master.
Viol.
I will fire
The Portion I brought with me, e're he
spend
A Royal of it: no Quirck left? no
Quiddit
That may defeat him?
Hen.
Were I but confirmed,
That you would take the means I use with
patience,
As I must practise it with my
dishonour,
I could lay level with the earth his
hopes
That soar above the clouds with
expectation
To see me in my grave.
Viol. Effect but this,
And our revenge shall be to us a Son
That shall inherit for us.
Hen.
Do not repent
When 'tis too late.
Viol.
I fear not what may fall
He dispossess'd that does usurp on
all.
[Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scena prima.
Enter Leandro, (with a letter writ
out) Milanes, and Arsenio.
Mil.
Can any thing but wonder?
Lea.
Wonder on,
I am as ye see, and, what will follow,
Gentlemen?
Ars.
Why dost thou put on this form? what can this
do?
Thou lookest most sillily.
Mil.
Like a young Clerk,
A half pin'd-puppy that would write for a
Royal.
Is this a commanding shape to win a
beauty?
To what use, what occasion?
Lean.
Peace, ye are fools,
More silly than my out-side seems, ye are
ignorant;
They that pretend to wonders must weave
cunningly.
Ars.
What manner of access can this get? or if
gotten
What credit in her eyes?
Lean.
Will ye but leave me?
Mil.
Me thinks a young man and a handsom
Gentleman
(But sure thou art lunatick) me thinks a brave
man
That would catch cunningly the beams of
beauty,
And so distribute 'em unto his
comfort,
Should like himself appear, young, high, and
buxom,
And in the brightest form.
Lean.
Ye are cozen'd (Gentlemen)
Neither do I believe this, nor will follow
it,
Thus as I am, I will begin my voyage.
When you love, lanch it out in silks and
velvets,
I'le love in Serge, and will outgo your
Sattins.
To get upon my great horse and appear
The sign of such a man, and trot my
measures,
Or fiddle out whole frosty nights (my
friends)
Under the window, while my teeth keep
tune,
I hold no handsomness. Let me get in,
There trot and fiddle where I may have fair
play.
Ars.
But how get in?
Lean.
Leave that to me, your patience,
I have some toyes here that I dare well trust
to:
I have smelt a Vicar out, they call him
Lopez.
You are ne're the nearer now.
Mil.
We do confess it.
Lea.
Weak simple men, this Vicar to this
Lawyer
Is the most inward Damon.
Ars.
What can this do?
Mil.
We know the fellow, and he dwells
there.
Lean. So.
Ars.
A poor, thin thief: he help? he? hang the
Vicar,
Can reading of an ---- prefer thee?
Thou art dead-sick in love, and hee'l pray for
thee.
Lean.
Have patience (Gentlemen) I say this
Vicar,
This thing I say is all one with the Close
Bartolus
(For so they call the Lawyer) or his
nature
Which I have studied by relation:
And make no doubt I shall hit
handsomly,
Will I work cunningly, and home: understand
me.
Enter Lopez, and Diego.
Next I pray leave me, leave me to my
fortune
Difficilia pulchra, that's my Motto
(Gentlemen)
I'le win this Diamond from the rock and wear
her,
Or—
Mil.
Peace, the Vicar: send ye a full sail,
Sir.
Ars.
There's your Confessor, but what shall be your
penance?
Lean.
A fools head if I fail, and so forsake
me.
You shall hear from me daily.
Mil.
We will be ready.
[Exeunt Mil. Ars.
Lop.
Thin world indeed!
Lean.
I'le let him breath and mark him:
No man would think a stranger as I am
Should reap any great commodity from his
pigbelly.
Lop.
Poor stirring for poor Vicars.
Diego. And poor Sextons.
Lop.
We pray and pray, but to no purpose,
Those that enjoy our lands, choak our
Devotions.
Our poor thin stipends make us arrant
dunces.
Diego.
If you live miserably, how shall we do
(Master)
That are fed only with the sound of
prayers?
We rise and ring the Bells to get good
stomachs,
And must be fain to eat the ropes with
reverence.
Lop.
When was there a Christning,
Diego?
Diego.
Not this ten weeks:
Alas, they have forgot to get children
(Master)
The Wars, the Seas, and usurie undoe
us,
Takes off our minds, our edges, blunts our
plough-shares.
They eat nothing here, but herbs, and get nothing
but green sauce:
There are some poor Labourers, that
perhaps
Once in seven year, with helping one
another,
Produce some few pin'd-Butter-prints, that scarce
hold
The christning neither.
Lop.
Your Gallants, they get Honour,
A strange fantastical Birth, to defraud the
Vicar,
And the Camp Christens their Issues, or the
Curtizans,
'Tis a lewd time.
Die.
They are so hard-hearted here too,
They will not dye, there's nothing got by
Burials.
Lop.
Diego, the Air's too pure, they cannot
perish.
To have a thin Stipend, and an everlasting
Parish,
Lord what a torment 'tis!
Die.
Good sensible Master,
You are allow'd to pray against all
weathers,
(Both foul, and fair, as you shall find
occasion)
Why not against all airs?
Lop.
That's not i'th' Canons.
I would it had, 'tis out of our way forty
pence.
Die.
'Tis strange, they are starv'd too yet they will
not die here,
They will not earth: a good stout plague amongst
'em,
Or half a dozen new fantastical Fevers
That would turn up their heels by whole-sale
(Master)
And take the Doctors too, in their grave
Counsels,
That there might be no natural help for
mony:
How merrily would my Bells goe then?
Lop. Peace Diego,
The Doctors are our friends, let's please them
well.
For though they kill but slow, they are certain,
Diego,
We must remove into a muddy Air,
A most contagious Climate.
Die.
We must certain,
An air that is the nursery of agues,
Such agues (Master) that will shake mens souls
out,
Ne're stay for Possets, nor good old wives
plasters.
Lop.
Gowts and dead Palsies.
Die.
The dead do's well at all times,
Yet Gowts will hang an arse a long time
(Master)
The Pox, or English Surfeits if we had
'em;
Those are rich marle, they make a Church-yard
fat,
And make the Sexton sing, they never miss,
Sir.
Lop.
Then Wills and Funeral Sermons come in
season,
And Feasts that make us frolick.
Die.
Would I could see 'em.
Lop.
And though I weep i'th' Pulpit for my
Brother,
Yet (Diego) here I laugh.
Die.
The cause requires it.
Lop.
Since people left to die I am dunce,
Diego.
Die. 'Tis a strange thing, I have forgot to
dig too.
Lea.
A pretious pair of youths! I must make
toward'em.
Lop.
Who's that? look it seems he would speak to
us.
I hope a Marriage, or some Will to make,
Diego.
Die.
My friend your business?
Lea.
'Tis to that grave Gentleman;
Bless your good learning, Sir.
Lop.
And bless you also,
He bears a promising face, there's some hope
toward.
Lea.
I have a Letter to your worship.
Lop.
Well Sir,
From whence I pray you?
Lea.
From Nova Hispania, Sir,
And from an ancient friend of yours.
Lop.
'Tis well, Sir,
'Tis very well: the devil a-one I know
there.
Die.
Take heed of a Snap, Sir, h'as a cozening
countenance
do not like his way.
Lop.
Let him goe forward.
Cantabit vacuus, They that have nothing fear
nothing,
All I have to lose, Diego, is my
learning,
And when he has gotten that, he may put it in a Nut
shell.
LETTER READ.
Signior Lopez, Since my arrival from Cordova to these parts, I have
written divers Letters unto you, but as yet received no Answer of any (Good and
very good) And although so great a forgetfulness might cause a want in my due
correspondence, yet the desire I have still to serve you must more prevail with
me (Better and better: the devil a man know I yet) and therefore with the
present occasion offered I am willing to crave a continuance of the favours, which I
have heretofore received from you, and do recommend my Son Leandro the Bearer
to you with request that he may be admitted in that Universitie till such time as I
shall arrive at home; his studies he will make you acquainted withall; This kindness
shall supply the want of your slackness: And so heaven keep you.
Yours
Alonzo Tiveria.
Alonzo Tiveria, very well,
A very ancient friend of mine, I take
it,
For till this hour I never heard his name
yet.
Lea.
You look, Sir, as if ye had forgot my
Father.
Lop.
No, no, I look, as I would remember
him,
For that I never remembred, I cannot forget,
Sir,
Alonzo Tiveria?
Lea.
The same, Sir.
Lop.
And now i'th' Indies?
Lea.
Yes.
Lop.
He may be any where,
For ought that I consider.
Lea.
Think again, Sir,
You were Students both at one time in
Salamanca,
And, as I take it, Chamber-fellows.
Lop.
Ha?
Lea.
Nay, sure you must remember.
Lop.
Would I could.
Lea.
I have heard him say, you were Gossips
too.
Lop.
Very likely,
You did not hear him say, to whom? for we
Students
May oft-times over-reach our memories.
Do'st thou remember, Diego, this same
Signiour?
Thou hast been mine these twenty
years.
Die.
Remember?
Why this Fellow would make ye mad: Nova
Hispania?
And Signiour Tiveria? what are
these?
He may as well name ye Friends out of
Cataya.
Take heed I beseech your worship: do you hear, (my
friend?)
You have no Letters for me?
Lea.
Not any letter,
But I was charged to doe my Fathers
love
To the old honest Sexton Diego: are you he,
Sir?
Di[e].
Ha? have I friends, and know 'em not? my name is
Diego,
But if either I remember you or your
Father,
Or Nova Hispania (I was never there
Sir)
Or any kindred that you have—for heaven-sake,
Master,
Let's cast about a little, and
consider,
We may dream out our time.
Lea.
It seems I am deceiv'd, Sir,
Yet, that you are Don Lopez all men tell
me,
The Curate here, and have been some time,
Sir,
And you the Sexton Diego, such I am sent
to,
The letter tells as much: may be they are
dead,
And you of the like names succeed: I thank ye
Gentlemen,
Ye have done honestly, in telling
truth,
I might have been forward else. For to that
Lopez,
That was my Fathers friend, I had a
charge,
(A charge of mony) to deliver
(Gentlemen)
Five hundred Duckets, a poor small
gratuity,
But since you are not he—
Lop.
Good Sir, let me think,
I pray ye be patient,
Pray ye stay a little,
Nay, let me remember, I beseech ye stay,
Sir.
Die.
An honest noble friend, that sends so
lovingly;
An old friend too; I shall remember sure,
Sir.
Lop.
Thou sayst true Diego.
Die.
'Pray ye consider quickly,
Doe, doe, by any means, me thinks
already
A grave staid gentleman comes to my
memory.
Lea.
He's old indeed, sir.
Die.
With a goodly white Beard,
(For now he must be so: I know he must
be)
Signior Alonzo, Master.
Lop.
I begin to have him.
Die.
H'as been from hence, about some twenty years,
sir.
Lea.
Some five and twenty, sir.
Die.
You say most true, Sir,
Just to an hour; 'tis now just five and
twenty,
A fine straight timber'd man, and a brave
soldier,
He married: let me see,—
Lea.
De Castro's Daughter.
Die.
The very same.
Lea.
Thou art a very Rascal.
De Castro is the Turk to thee, or any
thing:
The Mony rubbs 'em into strange
remembrances,
For as many Duckets more they would remember
Adam.
Lop.
Give me your hand, you are welcome to your
country,
Now I remember plainly, manifestly,
As freshly, as if yesterdy I had seen
him,
Most heartily welcome: sinfull that I
am,
Most sinfull man! why should I lose this
Gentleman?
This loving old Companion? we had all one soul,
sir,
He dwelt here hard by, at a
handsome—
Lea.
Farm sir,
You say most true.
Lop.
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—
Lea.
Lord, how I blush for these two
impudents!
Die.
Well Gentleman, I think your name's
Leandro.
Lea.
It is indeed, sir,
Gra'-mercy letter, thou hadst never known
else.
Die.
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.
Lop.
A sweet Boy.
Lea.
Sweet lying knaves.
What would these doe for thousands?
Lop.
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?
Lea.
O, very shortly, Sir, till his return
He has sent me over to your charge.
Lop.
And welcome,
Nay, you shall know you are welcome to your friend,
sir.
Lea.
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.
Lop.
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.
Die.
He's an Ass,
And so wee'll use him; he shall be a
Lawyer.
Lop.
But if ever he recover this mony
again—before, Diego,
And get some pretty pittance: my Pupill's
hungry.
Lea.
Pray ye Sir, unlade me.
Lop.
I'le refresh ye Sir;
When ye want, you know your Exchequer.
Lea.
If all this get me but access, I am
happy.
Lop.
Come, I am tender of ye.
Lea.
I'le go with ye.
To have this fort betray'd these fools must fleece
me.
[Exeunt.
SCENA II.
Enter Bartolus, and
Amaranta.
Bar.
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?
Ama.
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.
Bar.
Peace, ye are too loud.
Ama.
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.
Bar.
Peace Amaranta.
Ama.
They have content, rich clothes, and that secures
'em,
Binds, to their carefull husbands, their
observance,
They are merry, ride abroad, meet,
laugh.
Bar.
Thou shalt too.
Ama.
And freely may converse with proper
Gentlemen,
Suffer temptations daily to their
honour.
Enter Woman-Mo[o]re.
Bar.
You are now too far again: thou shalt have any
thing,
Let me but lay up for a handsome
Office,
And then my Amaranta—
Ama.
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,
You will place the Devil next for a
Companion.
Bar.
No more such words, good wife,
What would you have, Maid?
Moor.
Master Curate, and the Sexton, and a stranger,
sir,
Attend to speak with your worship.
Bar.
A stranger?
Ama.
You had best to be jealous of the man you know
not.
Bar.
'Pray thee no more of that.
Ama.
'Pray ye goe out to 'em,
That will be safest for ye, I am well
here,
I only love your peace, and serve like a slave for
it.
Bar.
No, no, thou shalt not; 'tis some honest
Client,
Rich, and litigious, the Curate has brought to
me,
Pre'thee goe in (my Duck) I'le but speak to
'em,
And return instantly.
Ama.
I am commanded,
One day you will know my
sufferance.—
[Exit.
Bar.
And reward it.
So, so, fast bind, fast find; Come in my
neighbours,
My loving neighbours pray ye come in, ye are
welcome.
Enter Lopez, Leandro, and
Diego.
Lop.
Bless your good reverence.
Bar.
Good-day, good Master Curate,
And neighbour Diego, welcom: what's your
business?
And 'pray ye be short (good friends) the time is
pretious,
Welcom, good Sir.
Lop.
To be short then with your Mastership,
(For I know your several hours are full of
business)
We have brought ye this young-man, of honest
parents,
And of an honest face.
Bar.
It seems so, Neighbours,
But to what end?
Lop.
To be your Pupil, Sir,
Your Servant, if you please.
Lea.
I have travell'd far, Sir,
To seek a worthy man.
Bar.
Alas, good Gentleman,
I am a poor man, and a private too,
Unfit to keep a Servant of your
Reckoning;
My house a little Cottage, and scarce
able
To hold my self, and those poor few live under
it;
Besides, you must not blame me
Gentlemen,
If I were able to receive a Servant,
To be a little scrupulous of his
dealing,
For in these times—
Lop.
'Pray let me answer that, sir,
Here is five hundred Duckets, to secure
him,
He cannot want, Sir, to make good his
credit,
Good gold, and coin.
Bar.
And that's an honest pledge;
Yet sure, that needs not, for his face, and
carriage,
Seem to declare an in-bred honesty.
Lea.
And (for I have a ripe mind to the Law,
sir,
In which I understand you live a
Master)
The least poor corner in your house, poor Bed,
sir,
(Let me not seem intruding to your
worship)
With some Books to instruct me, and your
counsel,
Shall I rest most content with: other
Acquaintance
Than your grave presence, and the grounds of
Law
I dare not covet, nor I will not seek,
sir,
For surely mine own nature desires
privacy.
Next, for your monthly pains (to shew my
thanks,)
I do proportion out some twenty
Duckets;
As I grow riper, more: three hundred now,
sir,
To shew my love to learning, and my
Master,
My diet I'le defray too, without
trouble.
Lop.
Note but his mind to learning.
Bar.
I do strangely, yes, and I like it too, thanks to
his mony.
Die.
Would he would live with me, and learn to dig
too.
Lop.
A wondrous modest man, sir.
Bar.
So it seems,
His dear love to his Studie must be
nourish'd,
Neighbour, he's like to prove.
Lop.
With your good counsel,
And with your diligence, as you will ply
him;
His Parents, when they know your
care—
Bar.
Come hither.
Die.
An honester young man, your worship ne're
kept,
But he is so bashfull—
Bar.
O I like him better.
Say I should undertake ye, which indeed,
sir,
Will be no little straitness to my
living,
Considering my Affairs, and my small house,
sir,
For I see some promises that pull me to
ye;
Could you content your self, at first thus
meanly,
To lie hard, in an out-part of my house,
sir?
For I have not many Lodgings to allow
ye;
And studie should be still remote from
company;
A little fire sometimes too, to refresh
ye;
A Student must be frugal: sometimes Lights
too,
According to your labour.
Lea.
Any thing, Sir,
That's dry, and wholsome: I am no
bred-wanton.
Bar.
Then I receive you: but I must desire
ye
To keep within your confines.
Lea.
Ever Sir,
There's the Gold, and ever be your
servant,
Take it and give me Books: may I but prove,
sir,
According to my wish, and these shall
multiply.
Lop.
Do, study hard, pray ye take him in, and settle
him,
He's only fit for you; Shew him his Cell,
sir.
Die.
Take a good heart; and when ye are a cunning
Lawyer,
I'le sell my Bells, and you shall prove it
lawfull.
Bar..
Come, sir, with me: neighbours I thank your
diligence.
Lop.
I'le come sometimes, and crack a case with
ye.
Bar.
Welcome—
[Exit.
Lop.
Here's mony got with ease: here, spend that
jovially,
And pray for the fool, the Founder.
Die.
Many more fools
I heartily pray may follow his
example,
Lawyers, or Lubbers, or of what
condition,
And many such sweet friends in Nova
Hispania.
Lop.
It will do well; let 'em but send their
monys,
Come from what quarter of the world, I care
not,
I'le know 'em instantly; nay I'le be kin to
'em;
I cannot miss a man, that sends me
mony:
Let him law there, long as his Duckets last,
Boy,
I'le grace him, and prefer him.
Die.
I'le turn Trade, Master, and now live by the
living,
Let the dead stink, 'tis a poor stinking
Trade.
Lop.
If the young fool now
Should chance to chop upon his fair Wife,
Diego?
Die.
And handle her Case, Master, that's a law
point,
A point would make him start, and put on his
Spectacles,
A hidden point, were worth the
canvassing.
Lop.
Now surely, surely, I should love him,
Diego,
And love him heartily: nay, I should love my
self,
Or any thing that had but that good
fortune,
For to say truth, the Lawyer is a
dog-bolt,
An arrant worm: and though I call him
worshipfull,
I wish him a canoniz'd Cuckold,
Diego,
Now, if my youth do dub him—
Die.
He is too demure, Sir.
Lop.
If he do sting her home.
Dieg.
There's no such matter,
The woman was not born to so much
blessedness,
He has no heat: study consumes his oyl,
Master.
Lop.
Let's leave it to the will of Fate, and
presently
Over a cup of lustie Sack, let's
prophesie.
I am like a man that dreamt he was an
Emperour,
Come Diego, hope, and whilst he lasts, we'll
lay it on. [Ex.
SCENA III.
Enter Jamy, Milanes, Arsenio.
Jam.
Angelo, Milanes, did you see this
wonder?
Mil.
Yes, yes.
Jam.
And you Arsenio?
Ars.
Yes he's gone, Sir,
Strangely disguis'd, he's set upon his
voyage.
Love guide his thoughts: he's a brave honest
fellow.
Sit close Don Lawyer, O that arrant knave
now,
How he will stink, will smoak again, will
burst!
He's the most arrant Beast.
Mil.
He may be more beast.
Jam.
Let him bear six, and six, that all may blaze
him,
The villany he has sowed into my
Brother,
And from his State, the Revenue he has reach'd
at:
Pay him, my good Leandro, take my
prayers.
Ars.
And all our wishes plough with his fine white
heifer.
Jam.
Mark him (my dear friend) for a famous
Cuckold,
Let it out-live his Books, his pains, and hear
me,
The more he seeks to smother it with
Justice,
Enter a Servant.
Let it blaze out the more: what news
Andrea?
Andr.
News I am loth to tell ye: but I am charg'd,
sir,
Your Brother layes a strict command upon
ye,
No more to know his house, upon your
danger,
I am sorry, Sir.
Jam.
Faith never be: I am glad on't,
He keeps the house of pride, and
foolery:
I mean to shun it: so return my
Answer,
'Twill shortly spew him out; Come, let's be
merry,
And lay our heads together, carefully
How we may help our friend; and let's lodge near
him,
Be still at hand: I would not for my
patrimony,
But he should crown his Lawyer, a learned
Monster;
Come, let's away, I am stark mad till I see
him.
[Exeunt.
SCENA IV.
Enter Bartolus, and
Amaranta.
Amar.
Why will ye bring men in, and yet be
jealous?
Why will ye lodge a young man, a man
able,
And yet repine?
Bar.
He shall not trouble thee, sweet,
A modest poor slight thing, did I not tell
thee
He was only given to the Book, and for
that
How Royally he paies? finds his own meat
too.
Amar.
I will not have him here: I know your
courses,
And what fits you will fall into of
madness.
Bar.
'Faith, I will not, Wife.
Amar.
I will not try ye.
Bar.
He comes not near thee: shall not dare to
tread
Within thy Lodgings: in an old
out-Room
Where Logs, and Coles were laid.
Amar.
Now ye lay fire; fire to consume your
quiet.
Bar.
Didst thou know him,
Thou wouldst think as I do: he disquiet
thee?
Thou mayst wear him next thy heart, and yet not
warm him.
His mind (poor man) 's o'th' Law, how to live
after,
And not on lewdness: on my Conscience
He knows not how to look upon a Woman
More than by reading what Sex she is.
Amar.
I do not like it, Sir.
Bar.
Do'st thou not see (Fool)
What presents he sends hourly in his
gratefulness?
What delicate meats?
Amar.
You had best trust him at your Table,
Do, and repent it, do.
Bar.
If thou be'st willing,
By my troth, I think he might come, he's so
modest,
He never speaks: there's part of that he gave
me,
He'll eat but half a dozen bits, and rise
immediately,
Even as he eats, he studies: he'll not disquiet
thee,
Do as thou pleasest, Wife.
Amar.
What means this Wood-cock?
[Knock within.
Bar.
Retire, Sweet, there's one knocks: come in, your
business.
Enter Servant.
Ser.
My Lord, Don Henrique, would entreat ye,
Sir,
To come immediately, and speak with
him,
He has business of some moment.
Bar.
I'le attend him,
I must be gone: I pre'thee think the best,
Wife,
At my return, I'le tell thee more, good
morrow;
Sir, keep ye close, and study hard: an hour
hence
I'le read a new Case to ye.—
[Exit.
[Leandro within.]
Lean.
I'le be ready.
Amar.
So many hundred Duckets, to ly
scurvily?
And learn the pelting Law? this sounds but
slenderly,
But very poorly: I would see this
fellow,
Very fain see him, how he looks: I will
find
To what end, and what study: there's the
place:
I'le go o'th' other side, and take my
Fortune.
I think there is a window.
[Exit.
Enter Leandro.
Lean.
He's gone out
Now, if I could but see her: she is not this
way:
How nastily he keeps his house! my
Chamber,
If I continue long, will choak me up,
It is so damp: I shall be mortified
For any woma[n], if I stay a month
here:
I'le in, and strike my Lute, that sound may call
her.
[Exit.
Lute and Song.
1.
Dearest do not you delay me,
Since thou knowest I must be gone;
Wind and Tide 'tis thought doth stay
me,
But 'tis wind that must be blown
From that breath, whose native smell
Indian Odours far excel.
2.
Oh then speak thou fairest fair,
Kill not him that vows to serve thee,
But perfume this neighbouring Air;
Else dull silence sure will starve me:
'Tis a word that's quickly spoken,
Which being restrained a heart is
broken.
Enter Amaranta.
Amar.
He keeps very close: Lord, how I long to see
him!
A Lute strook handsomely, a voice too; I'le hear
that:
These Verses are no Law, they sound too
sweetly,
Now I am more desirous.
[Leandro peeping.
Lean.
'Tis she certain.
Amar.
What's that that peeps?
Lean.
O admirable face!
Amar.
Sure 'tis the man.
Lean.
I will go out a little.
Amar.
He looks not like a fool, his face is
noble:
How still he stands!
Lean.
I am strucken dumb with wonder,
Sure all the Excellence of Earth dwells
here.
Amar.
How pale he looks! yet, how his eyes like
torches,
Fling their beams round: how manly his face
shews!
He comes on: surely he will speak: he is made most
handsomly:
This is no Clerk behaviour; now I have seen
ye,
I'le take my time: Husband, ye have brought home
tinder.
[Exit.
Lean.
Sure she has transform'd me,
I had forgot my tongue clean,
I never saw a face yet, but this rare
one,
But I was able boldly to encounter it,
And speak my mind, my lips were lockt up
here.
This is divine, and only serv'd with
reverence;
O most fair cover of a hand far
fairer,
Thou blessed Innocence, that guards that
whiteness,
Live next my heart. I am glad I have got a
relick,
[A noise within]
A relick when I pray to it, may work
wonders.
Hark, there's some noise: I must retire
again.
This blessed Apparition makes me
happy;
I'le suffer, and I'le sacrifice my
substance,
But I'le enjoy: now softly to my Kennel.
[Exit.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Enter Henrique, and
Bartolus.
Hen.
You know my cause sufficiently?
Bar.
I do Sir.
Hen.
And though it will impair my honesty,
And strike deep at my Credit, yet, my
Bartolus,
There being no other evasion left to free
me
From the vexation of my spightful
Brother,
That most insultingly raigns over me,
I must and will go forward.
Bar.
Do, my Lord,
And look not after credit, we shall cure
that,
Your bended honesty we shall set right,
Sir,
We Surgeons of the Law do desperate Cures,
Sir,
And you shall see how heartily I'le handle
it:
Mark how I'le knock it home: be of good chear,
Sir,
You give good Fees, and those beget good
Causes,
The Prerogative of your Crowns will carry the
matter,
(Carry it sheer) the Assistant sits to
morrow,
And he's your friend, your monyed men love
naturally,
And as your loves are clear, so are your
Causes.
Hen.
He shall not want for that.
Bar.
No, no, he must not,
Line your Cause warmly, Sir, the times are
Aguish,
That holds a Plea in heart; hang the
penurious,
Their Causes (like their purses) have poor
Issues.
Hen.
That way, I was ever bountiful.
Bar.
'Tis true, Sir,
That makes ye fear'd, forces the Snakes to kneel to
ye,
Live full of mony, and supply the
Lawyer,
And take your choice of what mans lands you please,
Sir,
What pleasures, or what profits; what
revenges,
They are all your own: I must have
witnesses
Enough, and ready.
Hen.
You shall not want, my
Bartolus.
Bar.
Substantial fearless souls, that will swear
suddenly,
That will swear any thing.
Hen.
They shall swear truth too.
Bar.
That's no great matter: for variety
They may swear truth, else 'tis not much look'd
after:
I will serve Process, presently, and
strongly,
Upon your Brother, and Octavio,
Jacintha, and the Boy; provide your proofs,
Sir,
And set 'em fairly off, be sure of
Witnesses,
Though they cost mony, want no store of
witnesses,
I have seen a handsome Cause so foully lost,
Sir,
So beastly cast away for want of
Witnesses.
Hen.
There shall want nothing.
Bar.
Then be gone, be provident,
Send to the Judge a secret way: you have
me,
And let him understand the heart.
Hen.
I shall, Sir.
Bar.
And feel the pulses strongly beat, I'le
study,
And at my hour, but mark me, go, be
happy,
Go and believe i'th' Law.
Hen.
I hope 'twill help me.
[Exeunt.
SCENA II.
Enter Lopez, Diego, and four
Parishioners and Singers.
Lop.
Ne're talk to me, I will not stay amongst
ye,
Debaush'd and ignorant lazie knaves I found
ye,
And fools I leave ye. I have taught these twenty
years,
Preacht spoon-meat to ye, that a Child might
swallow,
Yet ye are Block-heads still: what should I say to
ye?
Ye have neither faith, nor mony left to save
ye,
Am I a fit companion for such Beggers?
1..
If the Shepheard will suffer the sheep to be
scab'd, Sir—
Lop.
No, no ye are rotten.
Die.
Would they were, for my sake.
Lap.
I have Nointed ye, and Tarr'd ye with my
Doctrine,
And yet the Murren sticks to ye, yet ye are
Mangy,
I will avoid ye.
2..
Pray ye, Sir, be not angry,
In the pride of your new Cassock, do not part with
us,
We do acknowledge ye are a careful
Curate,
And one that seldom troubles us with
Sermons,
A short slice of a Reading serves us,
Sir,
We do acknowledge ye a quiet Teacher,
Before you'll vex your Audience, you'll sleep with
'em,
And that's a loving thing.
3..
We grant ye, Sir,
The only benefactor to our Bowling,
To all our merry Sports the first
provoker,
And at our Feasts, we know there is no
reason,
But you that edifie us most, should eat
most.
Lop.
I will not stay for all this, ye shall know
me
A man born to a more beseeming fortune
Than ringing all-in, to a rout of
Dunces.
4..
We will increase your Tithes, you shall have Eggs
too,
Though they may prove most dangerous to our
Issues.
1..
I am a Smith; yet thus far out of my
love,
You shall have the tenth Horse I prick, to pray
for,
I am sure I prick five hundred in a year,
Sir.
2..
I am a Cook, a man of a dri'd
Conscience,
Yet thus far I relent: you shall have tith
Pottage.
3.
Your stipend shall be rais'd too, good Neighbour
Diego.
Die.
Would ye have me speak for ye? I am more
angry,
Ten times more vex'd, not to be
pacified:
No, there be other places for poor
Sextons,
Places of profit, Friends, fine stirring
places,
And people that know how to use our
Offices,
Know what they were made for: I speak for such
Capons?
Ye shall find the Key o'th' Church
Under the door, Neighbours,
You may go in, and drive away the
Dawes.
Lop.
My Surpless, with one sleeve, you shall find
there,
For to that dearth of Linnen you have driven
me;
And the old Cutwork Cope, that hangs by
Geometry:
'Pray ye turn 'em carefully, they are very
tender;
The remnant of the Books, lie where they did,
Neighbours,
Half puft away with the Church-wardens
pipings,
Such smoaky zeals they have against hard
places.
The Poor-mans Box is there too: if ye find any
thing
Beside the Posie, and that half rub'd out
too,
For fear it should awake too much
charity,
Give it to pious uses, that is, spend
it.
Die.
The Bell-ropes, they are strong enough to hang
ye,
So we bequeath ye to your destiny.
1.
'Pray ye be not so hasty.
Die.
I'le speak a proud word to ye,
Would ye have us stay?
2.
We do most heartily pray ye.
3.
I'le draw as mighty drink, Sir.
Lop.
A strong motive,
The stronger still, the more ye come unto
me.
3. And I'le send for my
Daughter.
Lop.
This may stir too:
The Maiden is of age, and must be
edified.
4.
You shall have any thing: lose our learned
Vicar?
And our most constant friend; honest dear
Diego?
Die.
Yet all this will not do: I'le tell ye,
Neighbours,
And tell ye true, if ye will have us
stay,
If you will have the comforts of our
companies,
You shall be bound to do us right in these
points,
You shall be bound, and this the
obligation,
Dye when 'tis fit, that we may have fit
duties,
And do not seek to draw out our
undoings,
Marry try'd Women, that are free, and
fruitful,
Get Children in abundance, for your
Christnings,
Or suffer to be got, 'tis equal
justice.
Lop.
Let Weddings, Christnings, Churchings,
Funerals,
And merry Gossippings go round, go round
still,
Round as a Pig, that we may find the
profit.
Die.
And let your old men fall sick
handsomely,
And dye immediately, their Sons may shoot
up:
Let Women dye o'th' Sullens too, 'tis
natural,
But be sure their Daughters be of age
first,
That they may stock us still: your queazie young
Wives
That perish undeliver'd, I am vext
with,
And vext abundantly, it much concerns
me,
There's a Child's Burial lost, look that be
mended.
Lop.
Let 'em be brought to Bed, then dye when they
please.
These things considered, Country-men, and sworn
to.
2.
All these, and all our Sports again, and
Gambols.
3.
We must dye, and we must live, and we'll be
merry,
Every man shall be rich by one
another.
2.
We are here to morrow and gone to day, for my
part
If getting Children can befriend my
Neighbours,
I'le labour hard but I'le fill your Font,
Sir.
1.
I have a Mother now, and an old
Father,
They are as sure your own, within these two
months—
4.
My Sister must be pray'd for too, she is
desperate,
Desperate in love.
Die.
Keep desperate men far from her,
Then 'twill go hard: do you see how
melancholy?
Do you mark the man? do you profess ye love
him?
And would do any thing to stay his
fury?
And are ye unprovided to refresh him,
To make him know your loves? fie
Neighbours.
2.
We'll do any thing.
We have brought Musick to appease his
spirit,
And the best Song we'll give him.
Die.
'Pray ye sit down, Sir,
They know their duties now, and they stand
ready
To tender their best mirth.
Lop.
'Tis well, proceed Neighbours,
I am glad I have brought ye to understand good
manners,
Ye had Puritan hearts a-while, spurn'd at all
pastimes,
But I see some hope now.
Die.
We are set, proceed Neighbours.
SONG.
1
Let the Bells ring, and let the Boys
sing,
The young Lasses skip and play,
Let the Cups go round, till round goes the
ground,
Our Learned old Vicar will
stay.
2
Let the Pig turn merrily, merrily ah,
And let the fat Goose swim,
For verily, verily, verily ah,
Our Vicar this day shall be
trim.
3
The stewed Cock shall Crow,
Cock-a-loodle-loo,
A loud Cock-a-loodle shall he Crow;
The Duck and the Drake, shall swim in a
lake
Of Onions and Claret below.
4
Our Wives shall be neat, to bring in our
meat;
To thee our most noble adviser,
Our pains shall be great, and Bottles shall
sweat,
And we our selves will be
wiser.
5
We'll labour and swinck, we'll kiss and we'll
drink,
And Tithes shall come thicker and
thicker;
We'll fall to our Plow, and get Children
enough,
And thou shalt be learned old
Vicar.
Enter Arsenio and
Milanes.
Ars.
What ails this Priest? how highly the thing takes
it!
Mil.
Lord how it looks! has he not bought some
Prebend?
Leandro's mony makes the Rascal
merry,
Merry at heart; he spies us.
Lop.
Be gone Neighbours,
Here are some Gentlemen: be gone good
Neighbours,
Be gone, and labour to redeem my
favour,
No more words, but be gone: these two are
Gentlemen,
No company for crusty-handed fellows.
Die.
We will stay for a year or two, and try
ye.
Lop.
Fill all your hearts with joy, we will stay with
ye,
Be gone, no more; I take your pastimes
graciously.
[Exeunt Parishioners.
Would ye with me, my friends?
Ars.
We would look upon ye,
For me thinks ye look lovely.
Lop.
Ye have no Letters?
Nor any kind Remembrances?
Mil.
Remembrances?
Lop.
From Nova Hispania, or some part remote,
Sir,
You look like Travel'd men: may be some old
friends
That happily I have forgot; some
Signiours
In China or Cataya; some
Companions—
Die.
In the Moguls Court, or
else-where.
Ars.
They are mad sure.
Lop.
Ye came not from Peru? do they look,
Diego,
As if they had some mystery about 'em?
Another Don Alonzo now?
Die.
I marry,
And so much mony, Sir, from one you know
not,
Let it be who it will.
Lop.
They have gracious favours.
Would ye be private?
Mil. There's no need on't, Sir,
We come to bring ye a Remembrance from a
Merchant.
Lop.
'Tis very well, 'tis like I know him.
Ars.
No, Sir,
I do not think ye do.
Lop.
A new mistake, Diego,
Let's carry it decently.
Ars.
We come to tell ye,
You have received great sums from a young
Factor
They call Leandro, that has rob'd his
Master,
Rob'd him, and run away.
Die.
Let's keep close, Master;
This news comes from a cold Country.
Lop.
By my faith it freezes.
Mil.
Is not this true? do you shrink now good-man
Curat?
Do I not touch ye?
Lop.
We have a hundred Duckets
Yet left, we do beseech ye, Sir—
Mil.
You'll hang both.
Lop.
One may suffice.
Die.
I will not hang alone, Master,
I had the least part, you shall hang the
highest.
Plague o' this Tiveria, and the
Letter,
The Devil sent it post, to pepper us,
From Nova Hispania, we shall hang at home
now.
Ars.
I see ye are penitent, and I have
compassion:
Ye are secure both; do but what we charge
ye,
Ye shall have more gold too, and he shall give
it,
Yet ne're indanger ye.
Lop.
Command us, Master,
Command us presently, and see how
nimbly—
Die.
And if we do not handsomely
endeavour—
Ars.
Go home, and till ye hear more, keep
private,
Till we appear again, no words, Vicar,
There's something added.
Mil.
For you too.
Lop.
We are ready.
Mil.
Go and expect us hourly, if ye falter,
Though ye had twenty lives—
Die.
We are fit to lose 'em.
Lop.
'Tis most expedient that we should hang
both.
Die.
If we be hang'd, we cannot blame our
fortune.
Mil.
Farewel, and be your own friends.
Lop.
We expect ye.—
[Exeunt.
SCENA III.
Enter Octavio, Jacintha, and
Ascanio.
Octa.
We cited to the Court!
{A Bar, Table-book, 2 Chairs, and Paper,
standish set out.
Jac.
It is my wonder.
Octa.
But not our fear, Jacintha; wealthy
men,
That have Estates to lose; whose conscious
thoughts
Are full of inward guilt, may shake with
horrour
To have their Actions sifted, or
appear
Before the Judge. But we that know our
selves
As innocent, as poor, that have no
Fleece
On which the Talons of the griping Law
Can take sure hold, may smile with scorn on
all
That can be urg'd against us.
Jac.
I am confident
There is no man so covetous, that
desires
To ravish our wants from us, and less
hope
There can be so much Justice left on
earth,
(T[h]ough sued, and call'd upon) to ease us
of
The burthen of our wrongs.
Octa.
What thinks Ascanio?
Should we be call'd in question, or
accus'd
Unjustly, what would you do to redeem
us
From tyrannous oppression?
Asc.
I could pray
To him that ever has an open ear,
To hear the innocent, and right their
wrongs;
Nay, by my troth, I think I could
out-plead
An Advocate, and sweat as much as he
Do's for a double Fee, ere you should
suffer
In an honest cause.
Enter Jamie and
Bartolus.
Octa.
Happy simplicitie!
Jac.
My dearest and my best one, Don
Jamie.
Octa.
And the Advocate, that caus'd us to be
summon'd.
Asc.
My Lord is mov'd, I see it in his
looks,
And that man, in the Gown, in my
opinion
Looks like a proguing Knave.
Jac.
Peace, give them leave.
Jam.
Serve me with Process?
Bar.
My Lord, you are not lawless.
Jam.
Nor thou honest;
One, that not long since was the buckram
Scribe,
That would run on mens errands for an
Asper,
And from such baseness, having rais'd a
Stock
To bribe the covetous Judge, call'd to the
Bar.
So poor in practice too, that you would
plead
A needy Clyents Cause, for a starv'd
Hen,
Or half a little Loin of Veal, though
fly-blown,
And these, the greatest Fees you could arrive
at
For just proceedings; but since you turn'd
Rascal—
Bar.
Good words, my Lord.
Jam.
And grew my Brothers Bawd,
In all his vitious courses, soothing
him
In his dishonest practises, you are
grown
The rich, and eminent Knave, in the Devils
name,
What am I cited for?
Bar.
You shall know anon,
And then too late repent this bitter
language,
Or I'll miss of my ends.
Jam.
Were't not in Court,
I would beat that fat of thine, rais'd by the
food
Snatch'd from poor Clyents mouths, into a
jelly:
I would (my man of Law) but I am
patient,
And would obey the Judge.
Bar.
'Tis your best course:
Would every enemy I have would beat
me,
I would wish no better Action.
Octa.
'Save your Lordship.
Asc.
My humble service.
Jam.
My good Boy, how dost thou?
Why art thou call'd into the Court?
Enter Assistant, Henrique, Officer,
and Witnesses.
Asc.
I know not,
But 'tis my Lord the Assistants
pleasure
I should attend here.
Jam.
He will soon resolve us.
Offi.
Make way there for the Judge.
Jam.
How? my kind Brother?
Nay then 'tis rank: there is some villany
towards.
Assist.
This Sessions purchas'd at your suit, Don
Henrique,
Hath brought us hither, to hear and
determine
Of what you can prefer.
Hen.
I do beseech
The honourable Court, I may be heard
In my Advocate.
Assist.
'Tis granted.
Bar.
Humh, humh.
Jam.
That Preface,
If left out in a Lawyer, spoils the
Cause,
Though ne're so good, and honest.
Bar.
If I stood here,
To plead in the defence of an ill man,
(Most equal Judge) or to accuse the
innocent
(To both which, I profess my self a
stranger)
It would be requisite I should deck my
Language
With Tropes and Figures, and all
flourishes
That grace a Rhetorician, 'tis
confess'd
Adulterate Metals need the Gold-smiths
Art,
To set 'em off; what in it self is
perfect
Contemns a borrowed gloss: this Lord (my
Client)
Whose honest cause, when 'tis related
truly,
Will challenge justice, finding in his
Conscience
A tender scruple of a fault long since
By him committed, thinks it not
sufficient
To be absolv'd of't by his Confessor,
If that in open Court he publish not
What was so long conceal'd.
Jam.
To what tends this?
Bar.
In his young years (it is no miracle
That youth, and heat of blood, should mix
together)
He look'd upon this woman, on whose
face
The ruines yet remain, of excellent
form,
He look'd on her, and lov'd her.
Jac.
You good Angels,
What an impudence is this?
Bar.
And us'd all means
Of Service, Courtship, Presents, that might win
her
To be at his devotion: but in vain;
Her Maiden Fort, impregnable held out,
Until he promis'd Marriage; and before
These Witnesses a solemn Contract
pass'd
To take her as his Wife.
Assist.
Give them their Oath.
Jam.
They are incompetent Witnesses, his own
Creatures,
And will swear any thing for half a
Royal.
Offi.
Silence.
Assist.
Proceed.
Bar.
Upon this strong assurance
He did enjoy his wishes to the full,
Which satisfied, and then with eyes of
Judgement
(Hood-wink'd with Lust before) considering
duly
The inequality of the Match, he being
Nobly descended, and allyed, but she
Without a name, or Family, secretly
He purchas'd a Divorce, to disanul
His former Contract, Marrying openly
The Lady Violante.
Jac.
As you sit here
The Deputy of the great King, who is
The Substitute of that impartial
Judge,
With whom, or wealth, or titles prevail
nothing,
Grant to a much wrong'd Widow, or a
Wife
Your patience, with liberty to speak
In her own Cause, and let me face to
face
To this bad man, deliver what he is:
And if my wrongs, with his ingratitude
ballanc'd,
Move not compassion, let me die
unpitied;
His Tears, his Oaths, his Perjuries, I pass
o're;
To think of them is a disease; but
death
Should I repeat them. I dare not deny,
(For Innocence cannot justifie what's
false)
But all the Advocate hath alledged
concerning
His falshood, and my shame, in my
consent,
To be most true: But now I turn to
thee,
To thee Don Henrique, and if impious
Acts
Have left thee blood enough to make a
blush,
I'le paint it on thy cheeks. Was not the
wrong
Sufficient to defeat me of mine
honour,
To leave me full of sorrow, as of
want,
The witness of thy lust left in my
womb,
To testifie thy falshood, and my
shame?
But now so many years I had conceal'd
Thy most inhumane wickedness, and won
This Gentleman, to hide it from the
world,
To Father what was thine (for yet by
Heaven,
Though in the City he pass'd for my
husband,
He never knew me as his wife.)
Assist.
'Tis strange:
Give him an Oath.
Oct.
I gladly swear, and truly.
Jac.
After all this (I say) when I had born
These wrongs, with Saint-like patience, saw
another
Freely enjoy, what was (in Justice)
mine,
Yet still so tender of thy rest and
quiet,
I never would divulge it, to disturb
Thy peace at home; yet thou most
barbarous,
To be so careless of me, and my fame,
(For all respect of thine in the first
step
To thy base lust, was lost) in open
Court
To publish my disgrace? and on record,
To write me up an easie-yielding
wanton?
I think can find no precedent: In my
extreams,
One comfort yet is left, that though the
Law
Divorce me from thy bed, and made free
way
To the unjust embraces of another,
It cannot yet deny that this thy Son
(Look up Ascanio since it is come
out)
Is thy legitimate heir.
Jam.
Confederacie!
A trick (my Lord) to cheat me; e're you
give
Your Sentence, grant me hearing.
Assist.
New Chimera's?
Jam.
I am (my Lord) since he is without
Issue,
Or hope of any, his undoubted heir,
And this forg'd by the Advocate, to defeat
me
Of what the laws of Spain confer upon
me,
A meer Imposture, and conspiracie
Against my future fortunes.
Assist.
You are too bold.
Speak to the cause Don
Henrique.
Hen.
I confess,
(Though the acknowledgment must wound mine
honour,)
That all the Court hath heard touching this
Cause,
(Or with me, or against me) is most
true:
The later part my Brother urg'd,
excepted:
For what I now doe, is not out of
Spleen
(As he pretends) but from remorse of
conscience
And to repair the wrong that I have
done
To this poor woman: And I beseech your
Lordship
To think I have not so far lost my
reason,
To bring into my familie, to succeed
me,
The stranger—Issue of anothers
Bed,
By proof, this is my Son, I challenge
him,
Accept him, and acknowledge him, and
desire
By a definitive Sentence of the Court,
He may be so recorded, and full power
To me, to take him home.
Jac.
A second rape
To the poor remnant of content that's left
me,
If this be granted: and all my former
wrongs
Were but beginnings to my miseries,
But this the height of all: rather than
part
With my Ascanio, I'le deny my
oath,
Profess my self a Strumpet, and endure
What punishment soe're the Court
decrees
Against a wretch that hath forsworn her
self,
Or plai'd the impudent whore.
Assist.
This tastes of passion,
And that must not divert the course of
Justice;
Don Henrique, take your Son, with this
condition
You give him maintenance, as becomes his
birth,
And 'twill stand with your honour to doe
something
For this wronged woman: I will compel
nothing,
But leave it to your will. Break up the
Court:
It is in vain to move me; my doom's
pass'd,
And cannot be revok'd.—
[Exit.
Hen.
There's your reward.
Bar.
More causes, and such Fees. Now to my
Wife,
I have too long been absent: Health to your
Lordship.
[Exit.
Asc.
You all look strangely, and I fear
believe
This unexpected fortune makes me
proud,
Indeed it do's not: I shall ever pay
you
The duty of a son, and honour you
Next to my Father: good my Lord, for
yet
I dare not call you, uncle, be not
sad,
I never shall forget those noble
favours
You did me being a stranger, and if
ever
I live to be the master of a fortune,
You shall command it.
Jam.
Since it was determin'd
I should be cozen'd, I am glad the
profit
Shall fall on thee, I am too tough to
melt,
But something I will do.
Hen.
'Pray you take leave
Of your steward (gentle Brother) the good
husband
That takes up all for you.
Jam.
Very well, mock on,
It is your turn: I may have
mine—
[Exit.
Oct.
But do not
Forget us, dear Ascanio.
Asc.
Do not fear it,
I every day will see you: every hour
Remember you in my prayers.
Oct.
My grief's too great
To be expressed in words—
[Exit.
Hen.
Take that and leave us,
[gives mony to Jacinta.
Leave us without reply, nay come back
sirrah
And study to forget such things as
these
As are not worth the knowledge.
[Asca. offers to follow.
Asc.
O good Sir,
These are bad principles—
Hen.
Such as you must learn
Now you are mine, for wealth and
poverty
Can hold no friendship: and what is my
will
You must observe and do, though good or ill.
[Exeunt.
SCENA IV.
Enter Bartolus.
Bar.
Where is my wife? 'fore heaven, I have done
wonders,
Done mighty things to day, my
Amaranta,
My heart rejoyces at my wealthy
Gleanings,
A rich litigious Lord I love to
follow,
A Lord that builds his happiness on
brawlings,
O 'tis a blessed thing to have rich
Clyents,
Why, wife I say, how fares my studious
Pupil?
Hard at it still? ye are too violent,
All things must have their rests, they will not
last else,
Come out and breathe. [Leandro
within.
Lean.
I do beseech you pardon me,
I am deeply in a sweet point Sir.
Bar.
I'le instruct ye:
Enter Amaranta.
I say take breath, seek health first, then your
study.
O my sweet soul, I have brought thee golden birds
home,
Birds in abundance: I have done strange
wonders:
There's more a hatching too.
Am.
Have ye done, good husband?
Then 'tis a good day spent.
Bar.
Good enough chicken,
I have spread the nets o'th' law, to catch rich
booties,
And they come fluttering in: how do's my
Pupil?
My modest thing, hast thou yet spoken to
him?
Am.
As I past by his chamber I might see
him,
But he is so bookish.
Bar.
And so bashfull too,
I' faith he is, before he will speak, he will
starve there.
Am.
I pitie him a little.
Bar.
So do I too.
Am.
And if he please to take the air o'th'
gardens,
Or walk i'th' inward rooms, so he molest
not—
Bar.
He shall not trouble thee, he dare not speak to
thee.
Enter Moor, with
Chesse-board.
Bring out the Chesse-board,—come let's have a
game wife,
I'le try your masterie, you say you are
cunning.
Am.
As learned as ye are, Sir, I shall beat
ye.
Enter Leandro.
Bar.
Here he steals out, put him not out of
countenance,
Prethee look another way, he will be gone
else
Walk and refresh your self, I'll be with you
presently.
Lean.
I'le take the air a little. [Play at
chess.
Bar.
'Twill be healthfull.
Am.
Will ye be there? then here? I'le spare ye that
man.
Lea.
Would I were so near too, and a mate
fitting.
Am.
What think ye, Sir, to this I have at your Knight
now.
Bar.
'Twas subtilly play'd: your Queen lies at my
service.
Prethee look off, he is ready to pop in
again,
Look off I say, do'st thou not see how he
blushes?
Am.
I do not blast him.
Lean.
But ye do, and burn too,
What killing looks she steals!
Bar.
I have you now close,
Now for a Mate.
Lean.
You are a blessed man that may so have
her.
Oh that I might play with her—
[knock within.
Bar.
Who's there? I come, you cannot scape me now
wife.
I come, I come.
[knock.
Lean.
Most blessed hand that calls him.
Bar.
Play quickly wife.
Am.
'Pray ye give leave to think, Sir.
Enter Moor.
Moor.
An honest neighbour that dwells hard by,
Sir,
Would fain speak with your worship about
business.
Lean.
The devil blow him off.
Bar.
Play.
Am.
I will study:
For if you beat me thus, you will still laugh at
me—[knock.
Bar.
He knocks again; I cannot stay.
Leandro,
'Pray thee come near.
Lean>.
I am well, Sir, here.
Bar.
Come hither:
Be not afraid, but come.
Am.
Here's none will bite, Sir.
Lean.
God forbid Lady.
Am.
'Pray come nearer.
Lean.
Yes forsooth.
Bar.
'Prethee observe these men: just as they stand
here,
And see this Lady do not alter 'em,
And be not partial, Pupil.
Lean.
No indeed Sir.
Bar.
Let her not move a pawn, I'le come back
presently,
Nay you shall know I am a Conquerour.
Have an eye Pupil—
[Exit.
Am.
Can ye play at Chess Sir?
Lean.
A little, Lady.
Am.
But you cannot tell me
How to avoid this Mate, and win the Game
too;
H'as noble eyes: ye dare not friend me so
far.
Lean.
I dare do any thing that's in mans power
Lady,
To be a friend to such a noble beauty.
Am.
This is no Lawyers language: I pray ye tell
me,
Whither may I remove, Ye see I am set
round,
To avoid my husband?
Lean.
I shall tell ye happily,
But happily you will not be
instructed.
Am.
Yes, and thank ye too, shall I move this
man?
Lean.
Those are unseemly: move one can serve
ye,
Can honour ye, can love ye.
Am.
'Pray ye tell quickly,
He will return, and then.
Lean.
I'le tell ye instantly,
Move me, and I will move any way to serve
ye,
Move your heart this way, Lady.
Am.
How?
Lean.
'Pray ye hear me.
Behold the sport of love, when he is
imperious,
Behold the slave of love.
Am.
Move my Queen this way?
Sure, he's some worthy man: then if he hedge
me,
Or here to open him.
Lean.
Do but behold me,
If there be pity in you, do but view
me,
But view the misery I have undertaken
For you, the povertie.
Am.
He will come presently.
Now play your best Sir, though I lose this Rook
here,
Yet I get libertie.
Lean.
I'le seise your fair hand,
And warm it with a hundred, hundred
kisses.
The God of love warm your desires but
equal,
That shall play my game now.
Am.
What do you mean Sir?
Why do you stop me?
Lean.
That ye may intend me.
The time has blest us both: love bids us use
it.
I am a Gentleman nobly descended,
Young to invite your love, rich to maintain
it.
I bring a whole heart to ye, thus I give
it,
And to those burning altars thus I
offer,
And thus, divine lips, where perpetual Spring
grows—
Am.
Take that, ye are too saucy.
Lean.
How, proud Lady?
Strike my deserts?
Am.
I was to blame.
Enter
Bartolus.
Bar.
What wife, there?
Heaven keep my house from thieves.
Lean.
I am wretched:
Opened, discovered, lost to my wishes.
I shall be whooted at.
Bar.
What noise was this, wife?
Why dost thou smile?
Lean.
This proud thing will betray me.
Bar. Why these lie here? what angry,
dear?
Am.
No, Sir,
Only a chance, your pupil said he plaid
well,
And so indeed he do's: he undertook for
ye,
Because I would not sit so long time
idle,
I made my liberty, avoided your mate,
And he again as cunningly endangered
me,
Indeed he put me strangely to it. When
presently
Hearing you come, & having broke his ambush
too,
Having the second time brought off my Queen
fair,
I rose o'th' sudden smilingly to shew
ye,
My apron caught the Chesse-board, and the
men,
And there the noise was.
Bar.
Thou art grown a Master,
For all this I shall beat ye.
Lean.
Or I, Lawyer,
For now I love her more, 'twas a neat
answer,
And by it hangs a mighty hope, I thank
her,
She gave my pate a sound knock that it rings
yet,
But you shall have a sounder if I live
lawyer,
My heart akes yet, I would not be in that
fear—
Bar.
I am glad ye are a gamester, Sir,
sometimes
For recreation we two shall fight hard at
it.
Am.
He will prove too hard for me.
Lean.
I hope he shall do,
But your Chess-board is too hard for my head, line
that, good Lady.
Bar.
I have been attoning two most wrangling
neighbours,
They had no mony, therefore I made
even.
Come, let's go in and eat, truly I am
hungry.
Lean.
I have eaten already, I must intreat your
pardon.
Bar.
Do as ye please, we shall expect ye at
supper.
He has got a little heart, now it seems
handsomly.
Am.
You'l get no little head, if I do not look to
ye.
Lean.
If ever I do catch thee again thou
vanity—
Am.
I was to blame to be so rash, I am
sorry—
[Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Don Henrique, Violante,
Ascanio.
H[en].
Hear but my reasons.
Viol.
O my patience, hear 'em!
Can cunning falshood colour an excuse
With any seeming shape of borrowed
truth?
Extenuate this wofull wrong, not
error?
Hen.
You gave consent that, to defeat my
brother
I should take any course.
Vio.
But not to make
The cure more loathsom than the foul
disease:
Was't not enough you took me to your
bed,
Tir'd with loose dalliance, and with emptie
veins,
All those abilities spent before and
wasted,
That could confer the name of mother on
me?
But that (to perfect my account of
sorrow
For my long barr[en]ness) you must heighten
it
By shewing to my face, that you were
fruitfull
Hug'd in the base embraces of another?
If Solitude that dwelt beneath my
roof,
And want of children was a torment to
me,
What end of my vexation to behold
A bastard to upbraid me with my wants?
And hear the name of father paid to
ye,
Yet know my self no mother,
What can I say?
Hen.
Shall I confess my fault and ask your
pardon?
Will that content ye?
Vio.
If it could make void,
What is confirm'd in Court: no, no, Don
Henrique,
You shall know that I find my self
abus'd,
And adde to that, I have a womans
anger,
And while I look upon this Basilisk,
Whose envious eyes have blasted all my
comforts
Rest confident I'le study my dark
ends,
And not your pleasures.
Asc.
Noble Lady, hear me,
Not as my Fathers son, but as your
servant,
Vouchsafe to hear me, for such in my
duty,
I ever will appear: and far be it from
My poor ambition, ever to look on you,
But with that reverence, which a slave stands
bound
To pay a worthy Mistris: I have heard
That Dames of highest place, nay Queens
themselves
Disdain not to be serv'd by such as
are
Of meanest Birth: and I shall be most
happie,
To be emploi'd when you please to command
me
Even in the coursest office, as your
Page,
I can wait on your trencher, fill your
wine,
Carry your pantofles, and be sometimes
bless'd
In all humilitie to touch your feet:
Or if that you esteem that too much
grace,
I can run by your Coach: observe your
looks,
And hope to gain a fortune by my
service,
With your good favour, which now, as a
Son,
I dare not challenge.
Vio.
As a Son?
Asc.
Forgive me,
I will forget the name, let it be
death
For me to call you Mother.
Vio.
Still upbraided?
Hen. No way left to appease
you?
Vio.
None: now hear me:
Hear what I vow before the face of
Heaven,
And if I break it, all plagues in this
life,
And those that after death are fear'd fall, on
me,
While that this Bastard staies under my
roof,
Look for no peace at home, for I
renounce
All Offices of a wife.
Hen.
What am I faln to?
Vio.
I will not eat, nor sleep with you, and those
hours,
Which I should spend in prayers for your
health,
Shall be emploi'd in Curses.
Hen.
Terrible.
Vio.
All the day long, I'le be as tedious to
you
As lingring fevers, and I'le watch the
nights,
To ring aloud your shame, and break your
sleeps.
Or if you do but slumber, I'le appear
In the shape of all my wrongs, and like a
fury
Fright you to madness, and if all this
fail
To work out my revenge, I have friends and
kinsmen,
That will not sit down tame with the
disgrace
That's offer'd to our noble familie
In what I suffer.
Hen.
How am I divided
Between the duties I owe as a Husband,
And pietie of a Parent?
Asc.
I am taught Sir
By the instinct of nature that
obedience
Which bids me to prefer your peace of
mind,
Before those pleasures that are dearest to
me,
Be wholly hers (my Lord) I quit all
parts,
That I may challenge: may you grow old
together,
And no distaste e're find you, and
before
The Characters of age are printed on
you
May you see many Images of your
selves,
Though I, like some false glass, that's never
look'd in,
Am cast aside, and broken; from this
hour
(Unless invited, which I dare not hope
for)
I never will set my forbidden feet
Over your threshold: only give me
leave
Though cast off to the world to mention
you
In my devotions, 'tis all I sue for
And so I take my last leave.
Hen.
Though I am
Devoted to a wife, nay almost sold
A slave to serve her pleasures, yet I
cannot
So part with all humanity, but I must
Shew something of a Father: thou shalt not
goe
Unfurnish'd and unfriended too: take
that
To guard thee from necessities; may thy
goodness
Meet many favours, and thine innocence
Deserve to be the heir of greater
fortunes,
Than thou wer't born to. Scorn me not
Violante,
This banishment is a kind of civil
death,
And now, as it were at his funeral
To shed a tear or two, is not unmanly,
And so farewel for ever: one word
more,
Though I must never see thee (my
Ascanio)
When this is spent (for so the Judge
decreed)
Send to me for supply: are you pleas'd
now?
Vio.
Yes: I have cause: to see you howl and
blubber
At the parting of my torment, and your
shame.
'Tis well: proceed: supply his wants: doe
doe:
Let the great dower I brought serve to
maintain
Your Bastards riots: send my Clothes and
Jewels,
To your old acquaintance, your dear dame his
Mother.
Now you begin to melt, I know 'twill
follow.
Hen.
Is all I doe misconstru'd?
Viol.
I will take
A course to right my self, a speeding
one:
By the bless'd Saints, I will; if I prove
cruel,
The shame to see thy foolish pity, taught
me
To lose my natural softness, keep off from
me,
Thy flatteries are infectious, and I'le flee
thee
As I would doe a Leper.
Hen.
Let not fury
Transport you so: you know I am your
Creature,
All love, but to your self, with him, hath left
me.
I'le joyn with you in any thing.
Viol.
In vain,
I'le take mine own waies, and will have no
partners.
Hen.
I will not cross you.
Viol.
Do not, they shall find
That to a Woman of her hopes beguil'd
A Viper trod on, or an Aspick's mild.
[Exeunt.
SCENA II.
Enter Lopez, Milanes, Arsenio.
Lop.
Sits the game there? I have you by mine
order,
I love Leandro for't.
Mil.
But you must shew it
In lending him your help, to gain him
means
And opportunity.
Lop.
He shall want nothing,
I know my Advocate to a hair, and what
Will fetch him from his Prayers, if he use
any,
I am honyed with the project: I would have him
horn'd
For a most precious Beast.
Ars.
But you lose time.
Lop.
I am gone, instruct you Diego, you will find
him
A sharp and subtle Knave, give him but
hints
And he will amplifie. See all things
ready,
I'le fetch him with a vengeance—
[Exit.
Ars.
If he fail now,
We'll give him over too.
Mil.
Tush, he is flesh'd.
And knows what vein to strike for his own
credit.
Ars.
All things are ready.
Mil.
Then we shall have a merry Scene, ne're fear
it.
[Exeunt.
SCENA III.
Enter Amaranta, with a note, and
Moor.
Amar.
Is thy Master gone out?
Moor.
Even now, the Curate fetch'd him,
About a serious business as it seem'd,
For he snatch'd up his Cloak, and brush'd his Hat
straight,
Set his Band handsomely, and out he
gallop'd.
Amar.
'Tis well, 'tis very well, he went out,
Egla,
As luckily, as one would say, go
Husband,
He was call'd by providence: fling this short
Paper
Into Leandro's Cell, and waken
him,
He is monstrous vexed, and musty, at my
Chess-play;
But this shall supple him, when he has read
it:
Take your own Recreation for two
hours,
And hinder nothing.
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.
Die.
I'le clap four tire of teeth into my mouth
more
But I will grind his substance.
Ars.
Well Leandro,
Thou hast had a strange Voyage, but I
hope
Thou rid'st now in safe harbour.
Mil.
Let's go drink, Friends,
And laugh aloud at all our merry
may-games.
Lop.
A match, a match, 'twill whet our stomachs
better.
[Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter Violante and
Servant.
Ser.
Madam, he's come. [Chair and stools
out.
Viol.
'Tis well, how did he look,
When he knew from whom you were sent? was he not
startled?
Or confident? or fearful?
Ser.
As appear'd
Like one that knew his fortune at the
worst,
And car'd not what could follow.
Viol.
'Tis the better,
Reach me a Chair: so, bring him in, be
careful
That none disturb us: I will try his
temper,
And if I find him apt for my
employments,
Enter Jamie, Servant.
I'le work him to my ends; if not, I
shall
Find other Engines.
Ser.
There's my Lady.
Viol.
Leave us.
Jam.
You sent for me?
Viol.
I did, and do's the favour,
Your present state considered and my
power,
Deserve no greater Ceremony?
Jam.
Ceremonie?
I use to pay that where I owe a duty,
Not to my Brothers wife: I cannot
fawn,
If you expect it from me, you are
cozen'd,
And so farewel.
Viol.
He bears up still; I like it.
Pray you a word.
Jam.
Yes, I will give you hearing
On equal terms, and sit by you as a
friend,
But not stand as a Sutor: Now your
pleasure?
Viol.
You are very bold.
Jam.
'Tis fit: since you are proud,
I was not made to feed that foolish
humour,
With flattery and observance.
Viol.
Yet, with your favour,
A little form joyn'd with respect to
her,
That can add to your wants, or free you from
'em
(Nay raise you to a fate, beyond your
hopes)
Might well become your wisdom.
Jam.
It would rather
Write me a Fool, should I but only
think
That any good to me could flow from
you,
Whom for so many years I have found and
prov'd
My greatest Enemy: I am still the
same,
My wants have not transform'd me: I dare tell
you,
To your new cerus'd face, what I have
spoken
Freely behind your back, what I think of
you,
You are the proudest thing, and have the
least
Reason to be so that I ever read of.
In stature you are a Giantess: and your
Tailor
Takes measure of you with a Jacobs
Staff,
Or he can never reach you, this by the
way
For your large size: now, in a word or
two,
To treat of your Complexion were
decorum:
You are so far from fair, I doubt your
Mother
Was too familiar with the Moor that serv'd
her,
Your Limbs and Features I pass briefly
over,
As things not worth description; and come
roundly
To your Soul, if you have any; for 'tis
doubtful.
Viol. I laugh at this, proceed.
Jam.
This Soul I speak of,
Or rather Salt to keep this heap of
flesh
From being a walking stench, like a large
Inn,
Stands open for the entertainment of
All impious practices: but there's no
Corner
An honest thought can take up: and as it were
not
Sufficient in your self to comprehend
All wicked plots, you have taught the Fool, my
Brother,
By your contagion, almost to put off
The nature of the man, and turn'd him
Devil,
Because he should be like you, and I
hope
Will march to Hell together: I have
spoken,
And if the Limning you in your true
Colours
Can make the Painter gracious, I stand
ready
For my reward, or if my words distaste
you,
I weigh it not, for though your Grooms were
ready
To cut my Throat for't, be assur'd I
cannot
Use other Language.
Viol.
You think you have said now,
Like a brave fellow: in this Womans
War
You ever have been train'd: spoke big, but
suffer'd
Like a tame Ass; and when most spur'd and
gall'd
Were never Master of the Spleen or
Spirit,
That could raise up the anger of a
man,
And force it into action.
Jam.
Yes, vile Creature,
Wer't thou a subject worthy of my
Sword,
Or that thy death, this moment, could call
home
My banish'd hopes, thou now wer't dead; dead,
woman;
But being as thou art, it is
sufficient
I scorn thee, and contemn thee.
Viol.
This shews nobly,
I must confess it: I am taken with it,
For had you kneel'd and whin'd and shew'd a
base
And low dejected mind, I had despis'd
you.
This bravery (in your adverse fortune)
conquers
And do's command me, and upon the
suddain
I feel a kind of pity, growing in me,
For your misfortunes, pity some say's the
Parent,
Of future love, and I repent my part
So far in what you have suffered, that I
could
(But you are cold) do something to
repair
What your base Brother (such Jamie I think
him)
Hath brought to ruine.
Jam.
Ha?
Viol.
Be not amaz'd,
Our injuries are equal in his Bastard,
You are familiar with what I groan
for,
And though the name of Husband holds a
tye
Beyond a Brother, I, a poor weak
Woman,
Am sensible, and tender of a wrong,
And to revenge it would break through all
lets,
That durst oppose me.
Jam.
Is it possible?
Viol.
By this kiss: start not: thus much, as a
stranger
You may take from me; but, if you were
pleas'd,
I should select you as a bosom friend,
I would print 'em thus, and thus.
Jam.
Keep off.
Viol.
Come near,
Near into the Cabinet of my Counsels:
Simplicity and patience dwell with
Fools,
And let them bear those burthens, which wise
men
Boldly shake off; be mine and joyn with
me,
And when that I have rais'd you to a
fortune,
(Do not deny your self the happy
means)
You'll look on me with more judicious
eyes
And swear I am most fair.
Jam.
What would this Woman?
The purpose of these words? speak not in
riddles,
And when I understand, what you would
counsel,
My answer shall be suddain.
Viol.
Thus then Jamie,
The objects of our fury are the same,
For young Ascanio, whom you Snake-like
hug'd
(Frozen with wants to death) in your warm
bosom,
Lives to supplant you in your certain
hopes,
And kills in me all comfort.
Jam.
Now 'tis plain,
I apprehend you: and were he
remov'd—
Viol.
You, once again, were the undoubted
heir.
Jam.
'Tis not to be deny'd; I was ice
before,
But now ye have fir'd me.—
Viol.
I'le add fuel to it,
And by a nearer cut, do you but steer
As I direct you, wee'l bring our Bark
into
The Port of happiness.
Jam.
How?
Viol.
By Henriques death:
But you'l say he's your Brother; in great
fortunes
(Which are epitomes of States and
Kingdoms)
The politick brook no Rivals.
Jam.
Excellent!
For sure I think out of a scrupulous
fear,
To feed in expectation, when I may
(Dispensing but a little with my
conscience)
Come into full possession, would not
argue
One that desir'd to thrive.
Viol.
Now you speak like
A man that knows the World.
Jam.
I needs must learn
That have so good a Tutress: and what think
you,
(Don Henrique and Ascanio cut
off)
That none may live, that shall desire to trace
us
In our black paths, if that
Octavio
His foster Father, and the sad
Jacinta,
(Faith pitie her, and free her from her
Sorrows)
Should fall companions with 'em? When we are
red
With murther, let us often bath in
blood,
The colour will be scarlet.
Viol.
And that's glorious,
And will protect the fact.
Jam.
Suppose this done:
(If undiscovered) we may get for mony,
(As that you know buyes any thing in
Rome)
A dispensation.
Viol.
And be married?
Jam.
True.
Or if it be known, truss up our Gold and
Jewels,
And fly to some free State, and there with
scorn—
Viol.
Laugh at the laws of Spain.
'Twere admirable.
Jam.
We shall beget rare children. I am rapt
with
The meer imagination.—
Viol.
Shall it be done?
Jam.
Shall? 'tis too tedious: furnish me with
means
To hire the instruments, and to your
self
Say it is done already: I will shew
you,
E're the Sun set, how much you have wrought upon
me,
Your province is only to use some
means,
To send my Brother to the Grove that's
neighbour
To the west Port of th' City; leave the
rest
To my own practice; I have talk'd too
long,
But now will doe: this kiss, with my
Confession,
To work a fell revenge: a man's a
fool,
If not instructed in a Womans School.
[Exeunt.
SCENA II.
Enter Bartolus, Algazeirs, and a
Paratour.
The Table set out and stools.
Bar.
You are well enough disguiz'd, furnish the
Table,
Make no shew what ye are, till I
discover:
Not a soul knows ye here: be quick and
diligent,
These youths I have invited to a
Breakfast,
But what the Sawce will be, I am of
opinion
I shall take off the edges of their
Appetites,
And grease their gums for eating
heartily
This month or two, they have plaid their prizes
with me,
And with their several flurts they have lighted
dangerously,
But sure I shall be quit: I hear 'em
coming.
Go off and wait the bringing in your
service,
And do it handsomely: you know where to have
it.
Enter Milanes, Arsenio, Lopez,
Diego.
Welcom i' Faith.
Ars.
That's well said, honest Lawyer.
Lop.
Said like a neighbour.
Bar.
Welcom all: all over,
And let's be merry.
Mil.
To that end we came Sir,
An hour of freedome's worth an age of
juglings.
Die.
I am come too Sir, to specifie my
Stomach
A poor reteiner to your worships
bountie.
Bar.
And thou shalt have it fill'd my merry
Diego,
My liberal, and my bonny bounteous
Diego,
Even fill'd till it groan again.
Die.
Let it have fair play,
And if it founder then.—
Bar.
I'le tell ye neighbours,
Though I were angry yesterday with ye
all,
And very angry, for methought ye bob'd
me.
Lop.
No, no, by no means.
Bar.
No, when I considered
It was a jest, and carried off so
quaintly,
It made me merry: very merry,
Gentlemen,
I do confess I could not sleep to think
on't,
The mirth so tickled me, I could not
slumber.
Lop.
Good mirth do's work so: honest mirth,
Now, should we have meant in
earnest—
Bar.
You say true neighbour.
Lop.
It might have bred such a distast and
sowrness,
Such fond imaginations in your Brains,
Sir,
For things thrust home in
earnest.—
Bar.
Very certain,
But I know ye all for merry waggs, and ere
long
You shall know me too in another
fashion,
Though y'are pamper'd, ye shall bear part o'th'
burthen.
Enter Amaranta, and
Leandro.
Come wife; Come bid 'em welcom; Come my
Jewel:
And Pupil, you shall come too; ne're hang
backward,
Come, come the woman's pleas'd, her anger's
over,
Come, be not bashfull.
Am.
What do's he prepare here?
Sure there's no meat i'th' house, at least not
drest,
Do's he mean to mock 'em? or some new bred
crotchet
Come o're his brains; I do not like his
kindness:
But silence best becomes me: if he mean foul
play,
Sure they are enough to right themselves, and let
'em,
I'le sit by, so they beat him not to
powder.
Bar.
Bring in the meat there, ha? Sit down dear
neighbour,
A little meat needs little Complement,
Sit down I say.
Am.
What do you mean by this Sir?
Bar.
Convey away their weapons handsomely.
Am.
You know there's none i'th' house to answer
ye,
But the poor Girle; you know there's no meat
neither.
Bar.
Peace and be quiet; I shall make you smoak
else,
There's men and meat enough, set it down
formally.
Enter Algazeirs, with
dishes.
Am.
I fear some lewd trick, yet I dare not speak
on't.
Bar.
I have no dainties for ye Gentlemen,
Nor loads of meat, to make the room smell of
'em.
Only a dish to every man I have
dedicated,
And if I have pleas'd his appetite.
Lop.
O, a Capon,
A Bird of grace, and be thy will, I honour
it.
Die.
For me some fortie pound of lovely
Beef,
Plac'd in a mediterranean sea of
Brewis.
Bar.
Fall to, fall to, that we may drink and laugh
after,
Wait diligently knaves.
Mil.
What rare bit's this?
An execution! bless me!
Bar.
Nay take it to ye,
There's no avoiding it, 'tis somewhat tough
Sir,
But a good stomach will endure it
easily,
The sum is but a thousand duckets Sir.
Ars.
A Capias from my Surgeon, and my
Silk-man!
Bar.
Your carefull makers, but they have mar'd your
diet.
Stir not, your Swords are gone: there's no avoiding
me,
And these are Algazeirs, do you hear that passing
bell?
Lop.
A strong Citation, bless me!
Bar.
Out with your Beads, Curate,
The Devil's in your dish: bell, book, and
Candle.
Lop.
A warrant to appear before the Judges!
I must needs rise, and turn to th'
wall.
Bar.
Ye need not,
Your fear I hope will make ye find your
Breeches.
All.
We are betrai'd.
Bar.
Invited do not wrong me,
Fall to, good Guests, you have diligent men about
ye,
Ye shall want nothing that may persecute
ye,
These will not see ye start; Have I now found
ye?
Have I requited ye? You fool'd the
Lawyer,
And thought it meritorious to abuse
him,
A thick ram-headed knave: you rid, you spur'd
him,
And glorified your wits, the more ye wronged
him;
Within this hour ye shall have all your
Creditours,
A second dish of new debts, come upon
ye,
And new invitements to the whip, Don
Diego,
And Excommunications for the learned
Curate,
A Masque of all your furies shall dance to
ye.
Ars.
You dare not use us thus?
Bar.
You shall be bob'd, Gentlemen,
Stir, and as I have a life, ye goe to
prison,
To prison, without pitie instantly,
Before ye speak another word to
prison.
I have a better Guard without, that
waits;
Do you see this man, Don Curate? 'tis a
Paratour
That comes to tell ye a delightfull
story
Of an old whore ye have, and then to teach
ye
What is the penaltie; Laugh at me now
Sir,
What Legacie would ye bequeath me now,
(And pay it on the nail?) to fly my
fury?
Lop.
O gentle Sir.
Bar.
Do'st thou hope I will be gentle,
Thou foolish unconsiderate Curate?
Lop.
Let me goe Sir.
Bar.
I'le see thee hang first.
Lop.
And as I am a true Vicar,
Hark in your ear, hark softly—
Bar.
No, no bribery.
I'le have my swindge upon thee; Sirra?
Rascal?
You Lenten Chaps, you that lay sick, and mockt
me,
Mockt me abominably, abused me lewdly,
I'le make thee sick at heart, before I leave
thee,
And groan, and dye indeed, and be worth
nothing,
Not worth a blessing, nor a Bell to knell for
thee,
A sheet to cover thee, but that thou
Stealest,
Stealest from the Merchant, and the Ring he was
buried with
Stealest from his Grave, do you smell me
now?
Die.
Have mercy on me!
Bar.
No Psalm of mercy shall hold me from hanging
thee.
How do ye like your Breakfast? 'tis but short,
Gentlemen,
But sweet and healthfull; Your punishment, and
yours, Sir,
For some near reasons that concern my
Credit,
I will take to my self.
Am.
Doe Sir, and spare not:
I have been too good a wife, and too
obedient,
But since ye dare provoke me to be
foolish—
Lea.
She has, yes, and too worthie of your
usage,
Before the world I justifie her
goodness,
And turn that man, that dares but taint her
vertues,
To my Swords point; that lying man, that base
man,
Turn him, but face to face, that I may know
him.
Bar.
What have I here?
Lea.
A Gentleman, a free man,
One that made trial of this Ladies
constancie,
And found it strong as fate; leave off your
fooling,
For if you follow this course, you will be
Chronicled.
Enter Jamy and
Assistant.
For a devil, whilst a Saint she is
mentioned,
You know my name indeed; I am now no
Lawyer.
Die.
Some comfort now, I hope, or else would I were
hanged up.
And yet the Judge, he makes me sweat.
Bar.
What news now?
Jam.
I will justifie upon my life and
credit
What you have heard, for truth, and will make proof
of.
Assist.
I will be ready at the appointed hour
there,
And so I leave ye.
Bar.
Stay I beseech your worship,
And do but hear me.
Jam.
Good Sir, intend this business,
And let this bawling fool, no more words
lawyer,
And no more angers, for I guess your
reasons,
This Gentleman, I'le justifie in all
places,
And that fair Ladies worth; let who dare cross
it.
The Plot was cast by me, to make thee
jealous,
But not to wrong your wife, she is fair and
vertuous.
Die.
Take us to mercy too, we beseech your
honour,
We shall be justified the way of all flesh
else.
Jam.
No more talk, nor no more dissention
lawyer,
I know your anger, 'tis a vain and slight
one,
For if you doe, I'le lay your whole life
open,
A life that all the world shall—I'le bring
witness,
And rip before a Judge the ulcerous
villanies,
You know I know ye, and I can bring
witness.
Bar.
Nay good Sir, noble Sir.
Jam.
Be at peace then presently,
Immediatley take honest and fair truce
With your good wife, and shake hands with that
Gentleman;
H'as honour'd ye too much, and doe it
cheerfully.
Lop.
Take us along, for Heaven sake too.
Bar.
I am friends,
There is no remedie, I must put up
all,
And like my neighbours rub it out by th'
shoulders,
And perfect friends; Leandro now I thank
ye,
And there's my hand, I have no more grudge to
ye,
But I am too mean henceforward for your
Companie.
Lea.
I shall not trouble ye.
Ars.
We will be friends too.
Mil.
Nay Lawyer, you shall not fright us
farther,
For all your devils we will bolt.
Bar.
I grant ye,
The Gentleman's your Bail, and thank his
coming,
Did not he know me too well, you should smart
for't;
Goe all in peace, but when ye fool next,
Gentlemen,
Come not to me to Breakfast.
Die.
I'le be bak'd first.
Bar.
And pray ye remember, when ye are bold and
merry,
The Lawyers Banquet, and the Sawce he gave
ye.
Jam.
Come: goe along; I have employment for
ye,
Employment for your lewd brains too, to cool
ye,
For all, for every one.
All.
We are all your Servants.
Die.
All, all for any thing, from this day
forward
I'le hate all Breakfasts, and depend on
dinners.
Jam.
I am glad you come off fair.
Lea.
The fair has blest me.
[Exeunt.
SCENA III.
Enter Octavi[o], Jacinta,
[Ascanio].
Oct.
This is the place, but why we are
appointed
By Don Jamie to stay here, is a
depth
I cannot sound.
Asc.
Believ't he is too noble
To purpose any thing but for our good.
Had I assurance of a thousand lives,
And with them perpetuitie of pleasure,
And should lose all, if he prov'd only
false,
Yet I durst run the hazard.
Jac.
'Tis our comfort,
We cannot be more wretched than we
are,
And death concludes all misery.
Oct.
Undiscovered
Enter Henrique, Jamie.
We must attend him.
Asc.
Our stay is not long.
With him Don Henrique?
Jac.
Now I fear;
Be silent.
Hen.
Why dost thou follow me?
Jam.
To save your life,
A plot is laid for't, all my wrongs
forgot,
I have a Brothers Love.
Hen.
But thy false self
I fear no enemy.
Jam.
You have no friend,
But what breathes in me: If you move a
step
Beyond this ground you tread on, you are
lost.
Hen.
'Tis by thy practice then: I am sent
hither
To meet her, that prefers my life and
safetie
Before her own.
Jam.
That you should be abus'd thus
With weak credulitie! She for whose
sake
You have forgot we had one noble
Father,
Or that one Mother bare us, for whose
love
You brake a contract to which heaven was
witness,
To satisfie whose pride and wilfull
humour
You have expos'd a sweet and hopefull
Son
To all the miseries that want can bring
him,
And such a Son, though you are most
obdurate,
To give whom entertainment Savages
Would quit their Caves themselves, to keep him
from
Bleak cold and hunger: This dissembling
woman,
This Idol, whom you worship, all your
love
And service trod under her feet, designs
you
To fill a grave, or dead to lye a prey
For Wolves and Vulturs.
Hen.
'Tis false; I defie thee,
And stand upon my Guard.
Enter Leandro, Milanes, Arsenio, Bart,
Lopez, Diego,
Octavio, Jacinta, Ascanio, and
Servants.
Jam.
Alas, 'tis weak:
Come on, since you will teach me to be
cruel,
By having no faith in me, take your
fortune,
Bring the rest forth, and bind them
fast.
Oct.
My Lord.
Asc.
In what have we offended?
Jam.
I am deaf,
And following my will, I do not stand
Accomptable to reason: See her Ring
(The first pledge of your love, and service to
her)
Deliver'd as a Warrant for your death:
These Bags of gold you gave up to her
trust,
(The use of which you did deny your
self)
Bestow'd on me, and with a prodigal
hand,
Whom she pick'd forth to be the
Architect
Of her most bloudy building; and to
fee
These Instruments, to bring Materials
To raise it up, she bad me spare no
cost,
And (as a surplusage) offer'd her self
To be at my devotion.
Hen.
O accurs'd!
Jam.
But be incredulous still; think this my
plot;
Fashion excuses to your self, and
swear
That she is innocent, that she doats on
ye;
Believe this, as a fearfull Dream, and
that
You lie not at my mercy, which in this
I will shew only: She her self shall
give
The dreadfull Sentence, to remove all
scruple
Who 'tis that sends you to the other
world.
Enter Violante.
Appears my Violante? speak (my
dearest)
Do's not the object please you?
Viol.
More than if
All treasure that's above the earth, with
that,
That lyes conceal'd in both the Indian
Mines,
Were laid down at my feet: O bold
Jamy,
Thou only canst deserve me.
Jam.
I am forward,
And (as you easily may perceive,) I sleep
not
On your commands.
Enter Assistant, and Officers.
Viol.
But yet they live: I look'd
To find them dead.
Jam.
That was deferr'd, that you
Might triumph in their misery, and have the
power
To say they are not.
Viol.
'Twas well thought upon:
This kiss, and all the pleasures of my
Bed
This night, shall thank thee.
Hen.
Monster!
Viol.
You Sir, that
Would have me Mother Bastards, being
unable
To honour me with one Child of mine
own,
That underneath my roof, kept your
cast-Strumpet,
And out of my Revenues would maintain
Her riotous issue: now you find what
'tis
To tempt a woman: with as little
feeling
As I turn off a slave, that is unfit
To doe me service; or a horse, or dog
That have out-liv'd their use, I shake thee
off,
To make thy peace with heaven.
Hen.
I do deserve this,
And never truly felt before, what
sorrow
Attends on wilfull dotage.
Viol.
For you, Mistris,
That had the pleasure of his youth before
me,
And triumph'd in the fruit that you had by
him,
But that I think, to have the Bastard
strangled
Before thy face, and thou with speed to
follow
The way he leads thee, is sufficient
torture,
I would cut off thy nose, put out thine
eyes,
And set my foot on these bewitching
lips,
That had the start of mine: but as thou
art,
Goe to the grave unpitied.
Assist.
Who would believe
Such rage could be in woman?
Viol.
For this fellow,
He is not worth my knowledge.
Jam.
Let him live then,
Since you esteem him innocent.
Viol.
No Jamy,
He shall make up the mess: now strike
together,
And let them fall so.
Assist.
Unheard of crueltie!
I can endure no longer: seise on her.
Viol.
Am I betrai'd?
Is this thy faith, Jamy?
Jam.
Could your desires
Challenge performance of a deed so
horrid?
Or, though that you had sold your self to
hell,
I should make up the bargain? Live (dear
Brother)
Live long, and happy: I forgive you
freely;
To have done you this service, is to
me
A fair Inheritance: and how e're harsh
language
(Call'd on by your rough usage) pass'd my
lips,
In my heart I ever lov'd you: all my
labours
Were but to shew, how much your love was
cozen'd,
When it beheld it self in this false
Glass,
That did abuse you; and I am so far
From envying young Ascanio his good
fortune,
That if your State were mine, I would adopt
him,
These are the Murtherers my noble
friends,
Which (to make trial of her bloudy
purpose)
I won, to come disguis'd thus.
Hen.
I am too full
Of grief, and shame to speak: but what I'le
doe,
Shall to the world proclaim my
penitence;
And howsoever I have liv'd, I'le die
A much chang'd man.
Jam.
Were it but possible
You could make satisfaction to this
woman,
Our joyes were perfect.
Hen.
That's my only comfort,
That it is in my power: I ne're was
married
To this bad woman, though I doted on
her,
But daily did defer it, still
expecting
When grief would kill Jacintha.
Assist.
All is come out,
And finds a fair success: take her Don
Henrique,
And once again embrace your Son.
Hen.
Most gladly.
Assist.
Your Brother hath deserv'd all.
Hen.
And shall share
The moitie of my State.
Assist.
I have heard, advocate,
What an ill Instrument you have been to
him,
From this time strengthen him with honest
counsels,
As you'le deserve my pardon.
Bar.
I'le change my Copy:
But I am punish'd, for I fear I have
had
A smart blow, though unseen.
Assist.
Curate, and Sexton,
I have heard of you too, let me hear no
more,
And what's past, is forgotten; For this
woman,
Though her intent were bloody, yet our
Law
Calls it not death: yet that her
punishment
May deter others from such bad
attempts,
The dowry she brought with her, shall be
emploi'd
To build a Nunnery, where she shall
spend
The remnant of her life.
Viol.
Since I have miss'd my ends,
I scorn what can fall on me.
Assist.
The strict discipline
Of the Church, will teach you better thoughts. And
Signiors,
You that are Batchelours, if you ever
marry,
In Bartolus you may behold the
issue
Of Covetousness and Jealousie; and of
dotage,
And falshood in Don Henrique: keep a mean
then;
For be assured, that weak man meets all
ill,
That gives himself up to a womans
will.
[Exeunt.
Prologue.
To tell ye (Gentlemen,) we have a
Play,
A new one too, and that 'tis launch'd to
day,
The Name ye know, that's nothing to my
Story;
To tell ye, 'tis familiar, void of
Glory,
Of State, of Bitterness: of wit you'll
say,
For that is now held wit, that tends that
way,
Which we avoid: To tell ye too 'tis
merry,
And meant to make ye pleasant, and not
weary:
The Stream that guides ye, easie to
attend:
To tell ye that 'tis good, is to no
end,
If you believe not. Nay, to goe thus
far,
To swear it, if you swear against, is
war.
To assure you any thing, unless you
see,
And so conceive, is vanity in me;
Therefore I leave it to it self, and
pray
Like a good Bark, it may work out to
day,
And stem all doubts; 'twas built for such a
proof,
And we hope highly: if she lye aloof
For her own vantage, to give wind at
will,
Why let her work, only be you but
still,
And sweet opinion'd, and we are bound to
say,
You are worthy Judges, and you crown the
Play.
Epilogue.
The Play is done, yet our Suit never
ends,
Still when you part, you would still part our
friends,
Our noblest friends; if ought have faln
amiss,
O let it be sufficient, that it is,
And you have pardon'd it. In Buildings
great
All the whole Body cannot be so neat,
But something may be mended; Those are
fair,
And worthy love, that may destroy, but
spare.
APPENDIX
Ad Janum
Take Comfort Janus, never feare thy
head
Which to the quick belongs, not to the
dead
Thy wife did lye with one, thou being dead
drunke
Thou are not Cuckold though shee bee a
Punke.
Tis not the state nor soveraintie of
Jove
could draw thy pure affections from my
love
nor is there Venus in the Skyes
could from thy looks with draw my greedy
eyes.
THE SPANISH CURATE.
A = First Folio; B = Second Folio.
p. 60,
ll. 3-41. Omitted in A.
l. 42. A omits] and.
l. 46. A] heirs.
p. 61,
l. 38. A] Encreasing by.
l. 39. B misprints] Vialante.
p. 63,
l. 17. A] base and abject.
p. 64,
l. 2. A] Or modestie.
l. 18. B misprints] whow.
l. 31. A] wish that it.
p. 65,
l. 17. A] By this example.
l. 25. A] or of my.
p. 66,
l. 8. A] of mine own.
l. 26. A] Mirth, and Seek.
p. 68,
l. 2. A] have you.
p. 70,
l. 28. A] provoking it call.
p. 73,
l. 13. A] To me, of, that misery against my
will.
p. 74,
l. 33. A omits] as.
p. 75,
l. 18. A gives this line to
Lean.
l. 31. A adds] exit lea. and
gives
ll. 32 and 33 to Ars.
l. 34. A omits] Exeunt Mil.
Ars.
p. 76,
l. 29. A comma has been substituted for a
full-stop
after weathers.
p. 77,
l. 25. A] look out it.
l. 39. A] has.
p. 79,
l. 3. A] often-times.
l. 15. B prints] Dig.
l. 28. A omits] to.
ll. 33 and 34. A gives these lines to
Lea.
p. 80,
l. 22. B misprints] yesterdy.
p. 82,
l. 9. A] still and the.
l. 16. A] jealousies.
p. 83,
l. 3. B] More.
p. 84,
l. 15. A] Gentleman.
p. 86,
l. 8. A] be a kin.
l. 10. A] 'long.
p. 87,
l. 19. A] am both to.
l. 23. A] 'Faith.
p. 88,
l. 6. A] Y'faith.
l. 26. A] ye might.
p. 89,
l. 4. A adds] Enter Amaranta.
l. 18. B misprints] woman.
ll. 21-34. Omitted in A.
p. 90,
l. 22. A] lock upon me.
p. 92,
l. 25. A adds stage direction] Two chaires
set out.
l. 28. A omits] are.p. 93,
l. 10. A] porrage.
l. 23. A] gymitrie.
p. 94,
l. 27. A] abed.
l. 34. A] I will.
pp. 95 and 96.
l. 11 A omits the Song.
p. 96,
l. 11. A adds stage direction] The Bar &
Book
ready on a Table.
l. 18. A omits] Exeunt
Parishioners.
l. 26. A] may he some.
p. 98,
l. 6. A omits] and.
l. 22. B misprints] Tough.
p. 99,
l. 4. A] proaguing.
p. 100,
l. 9. A] 'Tis Sessions.
l. 16. A] hunch, hunch.
p. 101,
l. 8. A] at her.
l. 21. A] Had winck'd.
p. 102,
l. 29. A adds stage direction] Chess-boord
and
men set ready.
p. 104,
l. 10. A omits] Exit.
l. 27. A] That rakes.
l. 35. A] Jam. (char.).
l. 37. A omits stage direction.
l. 40. A omits stage direction.
p. 105,
l. 18. A gives this line to
Lean.
p. 106,
l. 11. A] 'Pre.
l. 13. A omits stage direction.
l. 16. A] 'Would.
p. 107,
l. 32. A] and I thank.
p. 109,
l. 1. A] anger.
l. 2. A] Why none, Sir.
p. 110,
l. 3. B misprints] Hne.
l. 17. B misprints] barrneness.
l. 34. A] hath blasted.
p. 111,
l. 12. A] pontafles.
p. 113,
l. 5. A adds stage direction] Bed ready
wine,
table Standish & Paper.
p. 114,
l. 9. A] If ye.
p. 115,
l. 29. A and B] Ars.
p. 116,
l. 25. A omits] for.
p. 117,
l. 3. A adds stage direction]
Diego
ready in Bed, wine, cup.
p. 118,
l. 14. A adds stage direction] Bed thrust
out.
p. 120,
l. 1. A] Nor preach not Abstinence.
l. 2. A] budge.
p. 122,
l. 15. A prints Doe you deserve
as
the beginning of Die's speech.
p. 123,
l. 16. A. prints stage direction]
Pewter
ready for noyse.
l. 19. B misprints] joyn'd.
p. 124,
l. 10. A] 'pre'thee.
p. 125,
l. 9. A] brussels.
l. 34. A] fleere.
p. 126,
l. 39. A] has.
p. 129,
l. 3. A] I doe owe dutie.
l. 19. A adds stage direction] A
Table
ready covered with Cloath Napkins Salt
Trenchers
and Bread.
l. 27. A] cerviz'd.
p. 132,
l. 7. A omits] wee'l.
l. 12. A adds stage direction] Dishes
covered
with papers in each ready.
p. 134,
l. 11. A has Bar written in the margin,
not
printed, in the copy collated.
l. 36. A] least none drest.
p. 137,
l. 9. A] concernes.
l. 27. A] gives this line to
Lea.
p. 138,
l. 16. A] Has.
p. 139,
l. 5. B misprints] Octavia ...
Arsenio.
p. 143,
l. 24. A] deserv'd well.