The Spanish Curate: A Comedy

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 meHow 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 undertakenFor 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 presentlyHearing 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, sometimesFor 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 excuseWith any seeming shape of borrowed truth?Extenuate this wofull wrong, not error?

Hen.

You gave consent that, to defeat my brotherI should take any course.

Vio.

But not to makeThe 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 sorrowFor my long barr[en]ness) you must heighten itBy shewing to my face, that you were fruitfullHug'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 beholdA 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 comfortsRest 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 fromMy poor ambition, ever to look on you,But with that reverence, which a slave stands boundTo pay a worthy Mistris: I have heardThat Dames of highest place, nay Queens themselvesDisdain not to be serv'd by such as areOf meanest Birth: and I shall be most happie,To be emploi'd when you please to command meEven in the coursest office, as your Page,I can wait on your trencher, fill your wine,Carry your pantofles, and be sometimes bless'dIn 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 deathFor 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 renounceAll 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 youAs 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 appearIn the shape of all my wrongs, and like a furyFright you to madness, and if all this failTo work out my revenge, I have friends and kinsmen,That will not sit down tame with the disgraceThat's offer'd to our noble familieIn what I suffer.

Hen.

How am I dividedBetween the duties I owe as a Husband,And pietie of a Parent?

Asc.

I am taught SirBy the instinct of nature that obedienceWhich 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 beforeThe Characters of age are printed on youMay 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 feetOver your threshold: only give me leaveThough cast off to the world to mention youIn my devotions, 'tis all I sue forAnd so I take my last leave.

Hen.

Though I amDevoted to a wife, nay almost soldA slave to serve her pleasures, yet I cannotSo part with all humanity, but I mustShew something of a Father: thou shalt not goeUnfurnish'd and unfriended too: take thatTo guard thee from necessities; may thy goodnessMeet many favours, and thine innocenceDeserve 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 funeralTo 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 blubberAt the parting of my torment, and your shame.'Tis well: proceed: supply his wants: doe doe:Let the great dower I brought serve to maintainYour 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 takeA 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 meTo lose my natural softness, keep off from me,Thy flatteries are infectious, and I'le flee theeAs I would doe a Leper.

Hen.

Let not furyTransport 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 findThat to a Woman of her hopes beguil'dA 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 itIn lending him your help, to gain him meansAnd opportunity.

Lop.

He shall want nothing,I know my Advocate to a hair, and whatWill fetch him from his Prayers, if he use any,I am honyed with the project: I would have him horn'dFor a most precious Beast.

Ars.

But you lose time.

Lop.

I am gone, instruct you Diego, you will find himA sharp and subtle Knave, give him but hintsAnd 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 PaperInto 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 shouldBless the fair opportunity, that restores himTo 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 wereAs happy as my love could fashion him,Though every blessing that should fall on him,Might prove a curse to me: my sorrow springsOut 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 temperOf Madam Violante: can you thinkThat she, that almost is at war with HeavenFor being barren, will with equal eyesBehold 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-mothersHave 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 onThy Fathers anger.

[Asc.]

Sir, if that to serve youCould lose me any thing (as indeed it cannot)I still would follow you. Alas I was bornTo 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 himTo turn me out of doors.

Jac.

By my best hopesI thank her cruelty, for it comes nearA saving Charity.

Asc.

I am only happyThat yet I can relieve you, 'pray you share:My Father's wondrous kind, and promisesThat I should be supplied: but sure the LadyIs a malicious Woman, and I fearMeans 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 HenriqueIs now from home, and she alone expects you,If you dare trust her, so, if not despair ofA second offer.

[Exit.

Jam.

Though there were an AmbushLaid 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 setI 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 continuanceGrew 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 yeMore than the Graves he made; at home he liv'dLike 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 GentlemenThat 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 NeighboursHave ye to swear, Sir, that you will see it executed,And what I give let equally be rendredFor 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 prophesieThe 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 yeCommodities 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 militantAs 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 moneysIn 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, villanyPlotted 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 LawyerLaid 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.