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Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
LETTER READ. | 1 |
APPENDIX | 50 |
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.
Ba.
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,
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:
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,
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.
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.