THE SPANISH CURATE,

A COMEDY.

* * * * *



Persons Represented in the Play.

Don Henrique, an uxorious Lord, cruel to his Brother.

Don Jamie, younger Brother to Don Henrique.

Bartolus, a covetous Lawyer Husband to Amaranta.

Leandro, a Gentleman who wantonly loves the Lawyers Wife.

Angelo, } Three Gentlemen Friend[s] Milanes,} to Leandro. Arsenio,}

Ascanio, Son to Don Henrique.

Octavio, supposed Husband to Jacintha.

Lopez, the Spanish Curate.

Diego, his Sexton.

Assistant, which we call a Judge.

Algazeirs, whom we call Serjeants.

4 Parishioners.

Apparitor.

Singers.

Servants.

WOMEN.

Violante, supposed Wife to Don Henrique.

Jacintha, formerly contracted to Don Henrique.

Amaranta, Wife to Bartolus.

A Woman Moor, Servant to Amaranta.

* * * * * The Scene Spain.

* * * * *

The principal Actors were,

Joseph Taylor. } {William Eglestone. John Lowin. } {Thomas Polard. Nicholas Toolie.} {Robert Benfeild.

* * * * *

Actus primus. Scena prima.

* * * * *

Enter Angelo, Milanes, and Arsenio.

_Arsenio.

Leandro_ paid all.

Mil.

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

Ars.

Fie upon thee. This is prophane.

Mil.

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

Ars.

He is th'owner Of a fair Estate.

Mil.

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

_Ars.

Don Jamie_ the Brother To the Grandee _Don Henrique_, appears much taken With his behaviour.

Mil.

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

Ars.

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

Mil.

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

Ars.

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

Mil.

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

Enter Jamie, Leandro, and Ascanio.

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

Jam.

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

Asc.

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

Lean.

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

Jam.

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

Asc.

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

Jam.

Thou art a hopeful Boy, And it was bravely spoken: For this answer, I love thee more than ever.

Mil.

Pity such seeds Of promising courage should not grow and prosper.

Ang.

What ever his reputed Parents be, He hath a mind that speaks him right and noble.

Lean.

You make him blush; it needs not sweet Ascanio, We may hear praises when they are deserv'd, Our modesty unwounded. By my life I would add something to the building up So fair a mind, and if till you are fit To bear Arms in the Field, you'l spend some years In Salamanca, I'le supply your studies With all conveniences.

Asc.

Your goodness (Signiors) And charitable favours overwhelm me. If I were of your blood, you could not be More tender of me: what then can I pay (A poor Boy and a stranger) but a heart Bound to your service? with what willingness I would receive (good Sir) your noble offer, Heaven can bear witness for me: but alas, Should I embrace the means to raise my fortunes, I must destroy the lives of my poor Parents (To who[m] I ow my being) they in me Place all their comforts, and (as if I were The light of their dim eyes) are so indulgent They cannot brook one short dayes absence from me; And (what will hardly win belief) though young, I am their Steward and their Nurse: the bounties Which others bestow on me serves to sustain 'em, And to forsake them in their age, in me Were more than Murther.

Enter Henrique.

Aug.

This is a kind of begging Would make a Broker charitable.

Mil.

Here, (sweet heart) I wish it were more.

Lean.

When this is spent, Seek for supply from me.

Jam.

Thy piety For ever be remembred: nay take all, Though 'twere my exhibition to a Royal For one whole year.

Asc.

High Heavens reward your goodness.

Hen.

So Sir, is this a slip of your own grafting, You are so prodigal?

Jam.

A slip Sir?

Hen.

Yes, A slip; or call it by the proper name, Your Bastard.

Jam.

You are foul-mouth'd; do not provoke me, I shall forget your Birth if you proceed, And use you, (as your manners do deserve) uncivilly.

Hen.

So brave! pray you give me hearing, Who am I Sir?

Jam.

My elder Brother: One That might have been born a fool, and so reputed, But that you had the luck to creep into The world a year before me.

Lean.

Be more temperate.

Jam.

I neither can nor will, unless I learn it By his example: let him use his harsh Unsavoury reprehensions upon those That are his Hinds, and not on me. The Land Our Father left to him alone rewards him, For being twelve months elder, let that be Forgotten, and let his Parasites remember One quality of worth or vertue in him That may authorize him, to be a censurer Of me, or my manners, and I will Acknowledge him for a Tutor, till then, never.

Hen.

From whom have you your means Sir?

Jam.

From the will Of my dead Father; I am sure I spend not Nor give't upon your purse.

_Hen.

But will it hold out Without my help?

Jam.

I am sure it shall, I'le sink else, For sooner I will seek aid from a Whore, Than a courtesie from you.

Hen.

'Tis well; you are proud of Your new Exchequer, when you have cheated him And worn him to the quick, I may be found In the List of your acquaintance.

Lean

Pray you hold And give me leave (my Lord) to say thus much (And in mine own defence) I am no Gull To be wrought on by perswasion: nor no Coward To be beaten out of my means, but know to whom And why I give or lend, and will do nothing But what my reason warrants; you may be As sparing as you please, I must be bold To make use of my own, without your licence.

Jam.

'Pray thee let him alone, he is not worth thy anger. All that he do's (Leandro) is for my good, I think there's not a Gentleman of Spain, That has a better Steward, than I have of him.

Hen.

Your Steward Sir?

Jam.

Yes, and a provident one: Why, he knows I am given to large expence, And therefore lays up for me: could you believe else That he, that sixteen years hath worn the yoke Of barren wedlock, without hope of issue (His Coffers full, his Lands and Vineyards fruitful) Could be so sold to base and sordid thrift, As almost to deny himself, the means And necessaries of life? Alas, he knows The Laws of Spain appoint me for his Heir, That all must come to me, if I out-live him, Which sure I must do, by the course of Nature, And the assistance of good Mirth, and Sack, How ever you prove Melancholy.

Hen.

If I live, Thou dearly shalt repent this.

Jam.

When thou art dead, I am sure I shall not.

Mil.

Now they begin to burn Like oppos'd Meteors.

Ars.

Give them line, and way, My life for Don Jamie.

Jam.

Continue still The excellent Husband, and joyn Farm to Farm, Suffer no Lordship, that in a clear day Falls in the prospect of your covetous eye To be anothers; forget you are a Grandee; Take use upon use, and cut the throats of Heirs With cozening Mortgages: rack your poor Tenants, Till they look like so many Skeletons For want of Food; and when that Widows curses, The ruines of ancient Families, tears of Orphans Have hurried you to the Devil, ever remember All was rak'd up for me (your thankful Brother) That will dance merrily upon your Grave, And perhaps give a double Pistolet To some poor needy Frier, to say a Mass To keep your Ghost from walking.

Hen.

That the Law Should force me to endure this!

Jam.

Verily, When this shall come to pass (as sure it will) If you can find a loop-hole, though in Hell, To look on my behaviour, you shall see me Ransack your Iron Chests, and once again Pluto's flame-colour'd Daughter shall be free To domineer in Taverns, Masques, and Revels As she was us'd before she was your Captive. Me thinks the meer conceipt of it, should make you Go home sick, and distemper'd; if it do's, I'le send you a Doctor of mine own, and after Take order for your Funeral.

Hen.

You have said, Sir, I will not fight with words, but deeds to tame you, Rest confident I will, and thou shalt wish This day thou hadst been dumb.—

[Exit.

Mil.

You have given him a heat, But with your own distemper.

Jam.

Not a whit, Now he is from mine eye, I can be merry, Forget the cause and him: all plagues go with him, Let's talk of something else: what news is stirring? Nothing to pass the time?

Mil.

'Faith it is said That the next Summer will determine much Of that we long have talk'd of, touching the Wars.

Lean.

What have we to do with them? Let us discourse Of what concerns our selves. 'Tis now in fashion To have your Gallants set down in a Tavern, What the Arch-Dukes purpose is the next spring, and what Defence my Lords (the States) prepare: what course The Emperour takes against the encroaching Turk, And whether his Moony-standards are design'd For Persia or Polonia: and all this The wiser sort of State-Worms seem to know Better than their own affairs: this is discourse Fit for the Council it concerns; we are young, And if that I might give the Theme, 'twere better To talk of handsome Women.

Mil.

And that's one, Almost as general.

Ars.

Yet none agree Who are the fairest.

Lean.

Some prefer the French, For their conceited Dressings: some the plump Italian Bona-Robas, some the State That ours observe; and I have heard one swear, (A merry friend of mine) that once in London, He did enjoy the company of a Gamester, (A common Gamester too) that in one night Met him th' Italian, French, and Spanish wayes, And ended in the Dutch; for to cool her self, She kiss'd him drunk in the morning.

Fam.

We may spare The travel of our tongues in forraign Nations, When in Corduba, if you dare give credit To my report (for I have seen her, Gallants) There lives a Woman (of a mean birth too, And meanly match'd) whose all-excelling Form Disdains comparison with any She That puts in for a fair one, and though you borrow From every Country of the Earth the best Of those perfections, which the Climat yields To help to make her up, if put in Ballance, This will weigh down the Scale.

Lean.

You talk of wonders.

Jam.

She is indeed a wonder, and so kept, And, as the world deserv'd not to behold What curious Nature made without a pattern, Whose Copy she hath lost too, she's shut up, Sequestred from the world.

Lean.

Who is the owner Of such a Jem? I am fire'd.

Jam.

One Bartolus, A wrangling Advocate.

Ars.

A knave on Record.

Mil.

I am sure he cheated me of the best part Of my Estate.

Jam.

Some Business calls me hence, (And of importance) which denies me leisure To give you his full character: In few words (Though rich) he's covetous beyond expression, And to encrease his heap, will dare the Devil, And all the plagues of darkness: and to these So jealous, as if you would parallel Old Argus to him, you must multiply His Eyes an hundred times: of these none sleep. He that would charm the heaviest lid, must hire A better Mercurie, than Jove made use of: Bless your selves from the thought of him and her, For 'twill be labour lost: So farewel Signiors.—

[Exit.

Ars.

Leandro? in a dream? wake man for shame.

Mil.

Trained into a fools paradise with a tale Of an imagin'd Form.

Lea.

Jamie is noble, And with a forg'd Tale would not wrong his Friend, Nor am I so much fir'd with lust as Envie, That such a churl as Bartolus should reap So sweet a harvest, half my State to any To help me to a share.

Ars.

Tush do not hope for Impossibilities.

Lea.

I must enjoy her, And my prophetique love tells me I shall, Lend me but your assistance.

Ars.

Give it o're.

Mil.

I would not have thee fool'd. Lea. I have strange Engines Fashioning here: and Bartolus on the Anvil, Disswade me not, but help me.

Mil.

Take your fortune, If you come off well, praise your wit; if not, Expect to be the subject of our Laughter.

[Exeunt.



SCENA II.

Enter Octavio, and Jacinta.

Jac.

You met Don Henrique?

Oct.

Yes.

Jac.

What comfort bring you? Speak cheerfully: how did my letter work On his hard temper? I am sure I wrote it So feelingly, and with the pen of sorrow, That it must force Compunction.

Oct.

You are cozen'd; Can you with one hand prop a falling Tower? Or with the other stop the raging main, When it breaks in on the usurped shore? Or any thing that is impossible? And then conclude that there is some way left, To move him to compassion.

Jac.

Is there a Justice Or thunder (my Octavio) and he Not sunk unto the center?

Oct.

Good Jacinta, With your long practised patience bear afflictions, And by provoking call not on Heavens anger, He did not only scorn to read your letter, But (most inhumane as he is) he cursed you, Cursed you most bitterly.

Jac.

The bad mans charity. Oh that I could forget there were a Tye, In me, upon him! or the relief I seek, (If given) were bounty in him, and not debt, Debt of a dear accompt!

Oct.

Touch not that string, 'Twill but encrease your sorrow: and tame silence, (The Balm of the oppressed) which hitherto Hath eas'd your griev'd soul, and preserv'd your fame, Must be your Surgeon still.

Jac.

If the contagion Of my misfortunes had not spread it self Upon my Son Ascanio, though my wants Were centupli'd upon my self, I could be patient: But he is so good, I so miserable, His pious care, his duty, and obedience, And all that can be wish'd for from a Son, Discharg'd to me, and I, barr'd of all means To return any scruple of the debt I owe him as a Mother, is a Torment, Too painfull to be born.

Oct.

I suffer with you, In that; yet find in this assurance comfort, High Heaven ordains (whose purposes cannot alter)

Enter Ascanio.

Children that pay obedience to their Parents, Shall never beg their Bread.

Jac.

Here comes our joy, Where has my dearest been?

Asc.

I have made, Mother, A fortunate voyage and brought home rich prize, In a few hours: the owners too contented, From whom I took it. See here's Gold, good store too, Nay, pray you take it.

Jac.

Mens Charities are so cold, That if I knew not, thou wert made of Goodness, 'Twould breed a jealousie in me by what means, Thou cam'st by such a sum.

Asc.

Were it ill got, I am sure it could not be employed so well, As to relieve your wants. Some noble friends, (Rais'd by heavens mercy to me, not my merits) Bestow'd it on me.

Oct.

It were a sacriledge To rob thee of their bounty, since they gave it To thy use only. Jac. Buy thee brave Cloathes with it And fit thee for a fortune, and leave us To our necessities; why do'st thou weep?

Asc.

Out of my fear I have offended you; For had I not, I am sure you are too kind, Not to accept the offer of my service, In which I am a gainer; I have heard My tutor say, of all aereal fowl The Stork's the Embleme of true pietie, Because when age hath seiz'd upon her dam, And made unfit for flight, the gratefull young one Takes her upon his back, provides her food, Repaying so her tender care of him, E're he was fit to fly, by bearing her: Shall I then that have reason and discourse That tell me all I can doe is too little, Be more unnatural than a silly bird? Or feed or cloath my self superfluously, And know, nay see you want? holy Saints keep me.

Jac.

Can I be wretched, And know my self the Mother to such Goodness?

Oct.

Come let us drie our eyes, we'll have a feast, Thanks to our little Steward.

Jac.

And in him, Believe that we are rich.

Asc.

I am sure I am, While I have power to comfort you, and serve you.

[Exeunt.



SCENA III.

Enter Henrique, and Violante.

Viol.

Is it my fault, Don Henrique, or my fate? What's my offence? I came young to your bed, I had a fruitfull Mother, and you met me With equall ardour in your May of blood; And why then am I barren?

Hen.

'Tis not in Man To yield a reason for the will of Heaven, Which is inscrutable.

Viol.

To what use serve Full fortunes, and the meaner sort of blessings, When that, which is the Crown of all our wishes, The period of humane happiness, One only Child that may possess what's ours, Is cruelly deni'd us?

Hen.

'Tis the curse Of great Estates to want those Pledges, which The poor are happy in: They in a Cottage, With joy, behold the Models of their youth, And as their Root decaies, those budding Branches Sprout forth and flourish, to renew their age; But this is the beginning, not the end Of misery to me, that 'gainst my will (Since Heaven denies us Issue of our own) Must leave the fruit of all my care and travel To an unthankfull Brother that insults On my Calamity.

Viol.

I will rather choose A Bastard from the Hospital and adopt him, And nourish him as mine own.

Hen.

Such an evasion (My Violante) is forbid to us; Happy the Romane State, where it was lawfull, (If our own Sons were vicious) to choose one Out of a vertuous Stock, though of poor Parents, And make him noble. But the laws of Spain, (Intending to preserve all ancient Houses) Prevent such free elections; with this, my Brother's Too well acquainted, and this makes him bold to Reign o're me, as a Master.

Viol.

I will fire The Portion I brought with me, e're he spend A Royal of it: no Quirck left? no Quiddit That may defeat him?

Hen.

Were I but confirmed, That you would take the means I use with patience, As I must practise it with my dishonour, I could lay level with the earth his hopes That soar above the clouds with expectation To see me in my grave. Viol. Effect but this, And our revenge shall be to us a Son That shall inherit for us.

Hen.

Do not repent When 'tis too late.

Viol.

I fear not what may fall He dispossess'd that does usurp on all.

[Exeunt.



Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Leandro, (with a letter writ out) Milanes, and Arsenio.

Mil.

Can any thing but wonder?

Lea.

Wonder on, I am as ye see, and, what will follow, Gentlemen?

Ars.

Why dost thou put on this form? what can this do? Thou lookest most sillily.

Mil.

Like a young Clerk, A half pin'd-puppy that would write for a Royal. Is this a commanding shape to win a beauty? To what use, what occasion?

Lean.

Peace, ye are fools, More silly than my out-side seems, ye are ignorant; They that pretend to wonders must weave cunningly.

Ars.

What manner of access can this get? or if gotten What credit in her eyes?

Lean.

Will ye but leave me?

Mil.

Me thinks a young man and a handsom Gentleman (But sure thou art lunatick) me thinks a brave man That would catch cunningly the beams of beauty, And so distribute 'em unto his comfort, Should like himself appear, young, high, and buxom, And in the brightest form.

Lean.

Ye are cozen'd (Gentlemen) Neither do I believe this, nor will follow it, Thus as I am, I will begin my voyage. When you love, lanch it out in silks and velvets, I'le love in Serge, and will outgo your Sattins. To get upon my great horse and appear The sign of such a man, and trot my measures, Or fiddle out whole frosty nights (my friends) Under the window, while my teeth keep tune, I hold no handsomness. Let me get in, There trot and fiddle where I may have fair play.

Ars.

But how get in?

Lean.

Leave that to me, your patience, I have some toyes here that I dare well trust to: I have smelt a Vicar out, they call him Lopez. You are ne're the nearer now.

Mil.

We do confess it.

Lea.

Weak simple men, this Vicar to this Lawyer Is the most inward Damon.

Ars.

What can this do?

Mil.

We know the fellow, and he dwells there.

Lean. So.

Ars.

A poor, thin thief: he help? he? hang the Vicar, Can reading of an —— prefer thee? Thou art dead-sick in love, and hee'l pray for thee.

Lean.

Have patience (Gentlemen) I say this Vicar, This thing I say is all one with the Close Bartolus (For so they call the Lawyer) or his nature Which I have studied by relation: And make no doubt I shall hit handsomly, Will I work cunningly, and home: understand me.

Enter Lopez, and Diego.

Next I pray leave me, leave me to my fortune Difficilia pulchra, that's my Motto (Gentlemen) I'le win this Diamond from the rock and wear her, Or—

Mil.

Peace, the Vicar: send ye a full sail, Sir.

Ars.

There's your Confessor, but what shall be your penance?

Lean.

A fools head if I fail, and so forsake me. You shall hear from me daily.

Mil.

We will be ready.

[Exeunt Mil. Ars.

Lop.

Thin world indeed!

Lean.

I'le let him breath and mark him: No man would think a stranger as I am Should reap any great commodity from his pigbelly.

Lop.

Poor stirring for poor Vicars. Diego. And poor Sextons.

Lop.

We pray and pray, but to no purpose, Those that enjoy our lands, choak our Devotions. Our poor thin stipends make us arrant dunces.

Diego.

If you live miserably, how shall we do (Master) That are fed only with the sound of prayers? We rise and ring the Bells to get good stomachs, And must be fain to eat the ropes with reverence.

Lop.

When was there a Christning, Diego?

Diego.

Not this ten weeks: Alas, they have forgot to get children (Master) The Wars, the Seas, and usurie undoe us, Takes off our minds, our edges, blunts our plough-shares. They eat nothing here, but herbs, and get nothing but green sauce: There are some poor Labourers, that perhaps Once in seven year, with helping one another, Produce some few pin'd-Butter-prints, that scarce hold The christning neither.

Lop.

Your Gallants, they get Honour, A strange fantastical Birth, to defraud the Vicar, And the Camp Christens their Issues, or the Curtizans, 'Tis a lewd time.

Die.

They are so hard-hearted here too, They will not dye, there's nothing got by Burials.

Lop.

Diego, the Air's too pure, they cannot perish. To have a thin Stipend, and an everlasting Parish, Lord what a torment 'tis!

Die.

Good sensible Master, You are allow'd to pray against all weathers, (Both foul, and fair, as you shall find occasion) Why not against all airs?

Lop.

That's not i'th' Canons. I would it had, 'tis out of our way forty pence.

Die.

'Tis strange, they are starv'd too yet they will not die here, They will not earth: a good stout plague amongst 'em, Or half a dozen new fantastical Fevers That would turn up their heels by whole-sale (Master) And take the Doctors too, in their grave Counsels, That there might be no natural help for mony: How merrily would my Bells goe then? Lop. Peace Diego, The Doctors are our friends, let's please them well. For though they kill but slow, they are certain, Diego, We must remove into a muddy Air, A most contagious Climate.

Die.

We must certain, An air that is the nursery of agues, Such agues (Master) that will shake mens souls out, Ne're stay for Possets, nor good old wives plasters.

Lop.

Gowts and dead Palsies.

Die.

The dead do's well at all times, Yet Gowts will hang an arse a long time (Master) The Pox, or English Surfeits if we had 'em; Those are rich marle, they make a Church-yard fat, And make the Sexton sing, they never miss, Sir.

Lop.

Then Wills and Funeral Sermons come in season, And Feasts that make us frolick.

Die.

Would I could see 'em.

Lop.

And though I weep i'th' Pulpit for my Brother, Yet (Diego) here I laugh.

Die.

The cause requires it.

Lop.

Since people left to die I am dunce, Diego.

Die. 'Tis a strange thing, I have forgot to dig too.

Lea.

A pretious pair of youths! I must make toward'em.

Lop.

Who's that? look it seems he would speak to us. I hope a Marriage, or some Will to make, Diego.

Die.

My friend your business?

Lea.

'Tis to that grave Gentleman; Bless your good learning, Sir.

Lop.

And bless you also, He bears a promising face, there's some hope toward.

Lea.

I have a Letter to your worship.

Lop.

Well Sir, From whence I pray you?

Lea.

From Nova Hispania, Sir, And from an ancient friend of yours.

Lop.

'Tis well, Sir, 'Tis very well: the devil a-one I know there.

Die.

Take heed of a Snap, Sir, h'as a cozening countenance do not like his way.

Lop.

Let him goe forward. Cantabit vacuus, They that have nothing fear nothing, All I have to lose, Diego, is my learning, And when he has gotten that, he may put it in a Nut shell.

LETTER READ.

_Signior Lopez, Since my arrival from_ Cordova _to these parts, I have written divers Letters unto you, but as yet received no Answer of any_ (Good and very good) _And although so great a forgetfulness might cause a want in my due correspondence, yet the desire I have still to serve you must more prevail with me_ (Better and better: the devil a man know I yet) _and therefore with the present occasion offered I am willing to crave a continuance of the favours, which I have heretofore received from you, and do recommend my Son_ Leandro _the Bearer to you with request that he may be admitted in that Universitie till such time as I shall arrive at home; his studies he will make you acquainted withall; This kindness shall supply the want of your slackness: And so heaven keep you.

Yours_

Alonzo Tiveria.

Alonzo Tiveria, very well, A very ancient friend of mine, I take it, For till this hour I never heard his name yet.

Lea.

You look, Sir, as if ye had forgot my Father.

Lop.

No, no, I look, as I would remember him, For that I never remembred, I cannot forget, Sir, Alonzo Tiveria?

Lea.

The same, Sir.

Lop.

And now i'th' Indies?

Lea.

Yes.

Lop.

He may be any where, For ought that I consider.

Lea.

Think again, Sir, You were Students both at one time in Salamanca, And, as I take it, Chamber-fellows.

Lop.

Ha?

Lea.

Nay, sure you must remember.

Lop.

Would I could.

Lea.

I have heard him say, you were Gossips too.

Lop.

Very likely, You did not hear him say, to whom? for we Students May oft-times over-reach our memories. Do'st thou remember, Diego, this same Signiour? Thou hast been mine these twenty years.

Die.

Remember? Why this Fellow would make ye mad: Nova Hispania? And Signiour Tiveria? what are these? He may as well name ye Friends out of Cataya. Take heed I beseech your worship: do you hear, (my friend?) You have no Letters for me?

Lea.

Not any letter, But I was charged to doe my Fathers love To the old honest Sexton Diego: are you he, Sir?

Di[e].

Ha? have I friends, and know 'em not? my name is Diego, But if either I remember you or your Father, Or Nova Hispania (I was never there Sir) Or any kindred that you have—for heaven-sake, Master, Let's cast about a little, and consider, We may dream out our time.

Lea.

It seems I am deceiv'd, Sir, Yet, that you are Don Lopez all men tell me, The Curate here, and have been some time, Sir, And you the Sexton Diego, such I am sent to, The letter tells as much: may be they are dead, And you of the like names succeed: I thank ye Gentlemen, Ye have done honestly, in telling truth, I might have been forward else. For to that Lopez, That was my Fathers friend, I had a charge, (A charge of mony) to deliver (Gentlemen) Five hundred Duckets, a poor small gratuity, But since you are not he—

Lop.

Good Sir, let me think, I pray ye be patient, Pray ye stay a little, Nay, let me remember, I beseech ye stay, Sir.

Die.

An honest noble friend, that sends so lovingly; An old friend too; I shall remember sure, Sir.

Lop.

Thou sayst true Diego.

Die.

'Pray ye consider quickly, Doe, doe, by any means, me thinks already A grave staid gentleman comes to my memory.

Lea.

He's old indeed, sir.

Die.

With a goodly white Beard, (For now he must be so: I know he must be) Signior Alonzo, Master.

Lop.

I begin to have him.

Die.

H'as been from hence, about some twenty years, sir.

Lea.

Some five and twenty, sir.

Die.

You say most true, Sir, Just to an hour; 'tis now just five and twenty, A fine straight timber'd man, and a brave soldier, He married: let me see,—

Lea.

De Castro's Daughter.

Die.

The very same.

Lea.

Thou art a very Rascal. De Castro is the Turk to thee, or any thing: The Mony rubbs 'em into strange remembrances, For as many Duckets more they would remember Adam.

Lop.

Give me your hand, you are welcome to your country, Now I remember plainly, manifestly, As freshly, as if yesterdy I had seen him, Most heartily welcome: sinfull that I am, Most sinfull man! why should I lose this Gentleman? This loving old Companion? we had all one soul, sir, He dwelt here hard by, at a handsome—

Lea.

Farm sir, You say most true.

Lop.

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

Lea.

Lord, how I blush for these two impudents!

Die.

Well Gentleman, I think your name's Leandro.

Lea.

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

Die.

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

Lop.

A sweet Boy.

Lea.

Sweet lying knaves. What would these doe for thousands?

Lop.

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

Lea.

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

Lop.

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

Lea.

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

Lop.

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

Die.

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

Lop.

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

Lea.

Pray ye Sir, unlade me.

Lop.

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

Lea.

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

Lop.

Come, I am tender of ye.

Lea.

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

[Exeunt.



SCENA II.

Enter Bartolus, and Amaranta.

Bar.

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

Ama.

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

Bar.

Peace, ye are too loud.

Ama.

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

Bar.

Peace Amaranta.

Ama.

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

Bar.

Thou shalt too.

Ama.

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

Enter Woman-Mo[o]re.

Bar.

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

Ama.

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

Bar.

No more such words, good wife, What would you have, Maid?

Moor.

Master Curate, and the Sexton, and a stranger, sir, Attend to speak with your worship.

Bar.

A stranger?

Ama.

You had best to be jealous of the man you know not.

Bar.

'Pray thee no more of that.

Ama.

'Pray ye goe out to 'em, That will be safest for ye, I am well here, I only love your peace, and serve like a slave for it.

Bar.

No, no, thou shalt not; 'tis some honest Client, Rich, and litigious, the Curate has brought to me, Pre'thee goe in (my Duck) I'le but speak to 'em, And return instantly.

Ama.

I am commanded, One day you will know my sufferance.—

[Exit.

Bar.

And reward it. So, so, fast bind, fast find; Come in my neighbours, My loving neighbours pray ye come in, ye are welcome.

Enter Lopez, Leandro, and Diego.

Lop.

Bless your good reverence.

Bar.

Good-day, good Master Curate, And neighbour Diego, welcom: what's your business? And 'pray ye be short (good friends) the time is pretious, Welcom, good Sir.

Lop.

To be short then with your Mastership, (For I know your several hours are full of business) We have brought ye this young-man, of honest parents, And of an honest face.

Bar.

It seems so, Neighbours, But to what end?

Lop.

To be your Pupil, Sir, Your Servant, if you please.

Lea.

I have travell'd far, Sir, To seek a worthy man.

Bar.

Alas, good Gentleman, I am a poor man, and a private too, Unfit to keep a Servant of your Reckoning; My house a little Cottage, and scarce able To hold my self, and those poor few live under it; Besides, you must not blame me Gentlemen, If I were able to receive a Servant, To be a little scrupulous of his dealing, For in these times—

Lop.

'Pray let me answer that, sir, Here is five hundred Duckets, to secure him, He cannot want, Sir, to make good his credit, Good gold, and coin.

Bar.

And that's an honest pledge; Yet sure, that needs not, for his face, and carriage, Seem to declare an in-bred honesty.

Lea.

And (for I have a ripe mind to the Law, sir, In which I understand you live a Master) The least poor corner in your house, poor Bed, sir, (Let me not seem intruding to your worship) With some Books to instruct me, and your counsel, Shall I rest most content with: other Acquaintance Than your grave presence, and the grounds of Law I dare not covet, nor I will not seek, sir, For surely mine own nature desires privacy. Next, for your monthly pains (to shew my thanks,) I do proportion out some twenty Duckets; As I grow riper, more: three hundred now, sir, To shew my love to learning, and my Master, My diet I'le defray too, without trouble.

Lop.

Note but his mind to learning.

Bar.

I do strangely, yes, and I like it too, thanks to his mony.

Die.

Would he would live with me, and learn to dig too.

Lop.

A wondrous modest man, sir.

Bar.

So it seems, His dear love to his Studie must be nourish'd, Neighbour, he's like to prove.

Lop.

With your good counsel, And with your diligence, as you will ply him; His Parents, when they know your care—

Bar.

Come hither.

Die.

An honester young man, your worship ne're kept, But he is so bashfull—

Bar.

O I like him better. Say I should undertake ye, which indeed, sir, Will be no little straitness to my living, Considering my Affairs, and my small house, sir, For I see some promises that pull me to ye; Could you content your self, at first thus meanly, To lie hard, in an out-part of my house, sir? For I have not many Lodgings to allow ye; And studie should be still remote from company; A little fire sometimes too, to refresh ye; A Student must be frugal: sometimes Lights too, According to your labour.

Lea.

Any thing, Sir, That's dry, and wholsome: I am no bred-wanton.

Bar.

Then I receive you: but I must desire ye To keep within your confines.

Lea.

Ever Sir, There's the Gold, and ever be your servant, Take it and give me Books: may I but prove, sir, According to my wish, and these shall multiply.

Lop.

Do, study hard, pray ye take him in, and settle him, He's only fit for you; Shew him his Cell, sir.

Die.

Take a good heart; and when ye are a cunning Lawyer, I'le sell my Bells, and you shall prove it lawfull.

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, This banishment is a kind of civil death, And now, as it were at his funeral To shed a tear or two, is not unmanly, And so farewel for ever: one word more, Though I must never see thee (my Ascanio) When this is spent (for so the Judge decreed) Send to me for supply: are you pleas'd now?

Vio.

Yes: I have cause: to see you howl and blubber At the parting of my torment, and your shame. 'Tis well: proceed: supply his wants: doe doe: Let the great dower I brought serve to maintain Your Bastards riots: send my Clothes and Jewels, To your old acquaintance, your dear dame his Mother. Now you begin to melt, I know 'twill follow.

Hen.

Is all I doe misconstru'd?

Viol.

I will take A course to right my self, a speeding one: By the bless'd Saints, I will; if I prove cruel, The shame to see thy foolish pity, taught me To lose my natural softness, keep off from me, Thy flatteries are infectious, and I'le flee thee As I would doe a Leper.

Hen.

Let not fury Transport you so: you know I am your Creature, All love, but to your self, with him, hath left me. I'le joyn with you in any thing.

Viol.

In vain, I'le take mine own waies, and will have no partners.

Hen.

I will not cross you.

Viol.

Do not, they shall find That to a Woman of her hopes beguil'd A Viper trod on, or an Aspick's mild.

[Exeunt.



SCENA II.

Enter Lopez, Milanes, Arsenio.

Lop.

Sits the game there? I have you by mine order, I love Leandro for't.

Mil.

But you must shew it In lending him your help, to gain him means And opportunity.

Lop.

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

Ars.

But you lose time.

Lop.

I am gone, instruct you Diego, you will find him A sharp and subtle Knave, give him but hints And he will amplifie. See all things ready, I'le fetch him with a vengeance—

[Exit.

Ars.

If he fail now, We'll give him over too.

Mil.

Tush, he is flesh'd. And knows what vein to strike for his own credit.

Ars.

All things are ready.

Mil.

Then we shall have a merry Scene, ne're fear it.

[Exeunt.



SCENA III.

Enter Amaranta, with a note, and Moor.

Amar.

Is thy Master gone out?

Moor.

Even now, the Curate fetch'd him, About a serious business as it seem'd, For he snatch'd up his Cloak, and brush'd his Hat straight, Set his Band handsomely, and out he gallop'd.

Amar.

'Tis well, 'tis very well, he went out, Egla, As luckily, as one would say, go Husband, He was call'd by providence: fling this short Paper Into Leandro's Cell, and waken him, He is monstrous vexed, and musty, at my Chess-play; But this shall supple him, when he has read it: Take your own Recreation for two hours, And hinder nothing.

Moor.

If I do, I'll hang for't.

[Exeunt.



SCENA IV.

Enter Octavio, Jacintha.

Octa.

If that you lov'd Ascanio for himself, And not your private ends, you rather should Bless the fair opportunity, that restores him To his Birth-right, and the Honours he was born to, Than grieve at his good Fortune.

Jac.

Grieve, Octavio? I would resign my Essence, that he were As happy as my love could fashion him, Though every blessing that should fall on him, Might prove a curse to me: my sorrow springs Out of my fear and doubt he is not safe. I am acquainted with Don Henrique's nature, And I have heard too much the fiery temper Of Madam Violante: can you think That she, that almost is at war with Heaven For being barren, will with equal eyes Behold a Son of mine?

Octa.

His Father's care, That for the want of Issue, took him home, (Though with the forfeiture of his own fame) Will look unto his safety.

Jac.

Step-mothers Have many eyes, to find a way to mischief, Though blind to goodness.

Enter Jamie and Ascanio.

Octa.

Here comes Don Jamie, And with him our Ascanio.

Jam.

Good youth leave me, I know thou art forbid my company, And only to be seen with me, will call on Thy Fathers anger.

[Asc.]

Sir, if that to serve you Could lose me any thing (as indeed it cannot) I still would follow you. Alas I was born To do you hurt, but not to help my self, I was, for some particular end, took home, But am cast off again.

Jam.

Is't possible?

Asc.

The Lady, whom my Father calls his Wife, Abhors my sight, is sick of me, and forc'd him To turn me out of doors.

Jac.

By my best hopes I thank her cruelty, for it comes near A saving Charity.

Asc.

I am only happy That yet I can relieve you, 'pray you share: My Father's wondrous kind, and promises That I should be supplied: but sure the Lady Is a malicious Woman, and I fear Means me no good.

Enter Servant.

Jam.

I am turn'd a stone with wonder, And know not what to think.

Ser.

From my Lady, Your private ear, and this—

Jam.

New Miracles?

Ser.

She says, if you dare make your self a Fortune, She will propose the means; my Lord Don Henrique Is now from home, and she alone expects you, If you dare trust her, so, if not despair of A second offer.

[Exit.

Jam.

Though there were an Ambush Laid for my life, I'le on and sound this secret. Retire thee, my Ascanio, with thy Mother: But stir not forth, some great design's on foot, Fall what can fall, if e're the Sun be set I see you not, give me for dead.

Asc.

We will expect you, And those bless'd Angels, that love goodness, guard you.

[Exeunt.



SCENA V.

Enter Lopez and Bartolus.

Bar.

Is't possible he should be rich?

Lop.

Most possible, He hath been long, though he had but little gettings, Drawing together, Sir.

Bar.

Accounted a poor Sexton, Honest poor Diego.

Lop.

I assure ye, a close Fellow, Both close, and scraping, and that fills the Bags, Sir.

Bar.

A notable good fellow too?

Lop.

Sometimes, Sir, When he hop'd to drink a man into a Surfeit, That he might gain by his Grave.

Bar.

So many thousands?

Lop.

Heaven knows what.

_Bar.

'Tis strange, 'Tis very strange; but we see by endeavour, And honest labour—

Lop.

Milo, by continuance Grew from a silly Calf (with your worships reverence) To carry a Bull, from a penny, to a pound, Sir, And from a pound, to many: 'tis the progress.

Bar.

Ye say true, but he lov'd to feed well also, And that me-thinks—

Lop.

From another mans Trencher, Sir, And there he found it season'd with small charge: There he would play the Tyrant, and would devour ye More than the Graves he made; at home he liv'd Like a Camelion, suckt th' Air of misery,

[Table out, Standish, Paper, Stools.

And grew fat by the Brewis of an Egg-shell, Would smell a Cooks-shop, and go home and surfeit. And be a month in fasting out that Fever.

Bar.

These are good Symptoms: do's he lye so sick say ye?

Lop.

Oh, very sick.

Bar.

And chosen me Executor?

Lop.

Only your Worship.

Bar.

No hope of his amendment?

Lop.

None, that we find.

Bar.

He hath no Kinsmen neither?

Lop.

'Truth, very few,

Bar.

His mind will be the quieter. What Doctors has he?

Lop.

There's none, Sir, he believes in.

Bar.

They are but needless things, in such extremities. Who draws the good mans Will?

Lop.

Marry that do I, Sir, And to my grief.

Bar.

Grief will do little now, Sir, Draw it to your comfort, Friend, and as I counsel ye, An honest man, but such men live not always: Who are about him?

Lop.

Many, now he is passing, That would pretend to his love, yes, and some Gentlemen That would fain counsel him, and be of his Kindred; Rich men can want no Heirs, Sir.

Bar.

They do ill, Indeed they do, to trouble him; very ill, Sir. But we shall take a care.

Enter Diego, in a Bed, Milanes, Arsenio, and Parishioners.

Lop.

Will ye come near, Sir? 'Pray ye bring him out; now ye may see in what state: Give him fresh Air.

Bar.

I am sorry, Neighbour Diego, To find ye in so weak a state.

Die.

Ye are welcome, But I am fleeting, Sir.

Bar.

Me-thinks he looks well, His colour fresh, and strong, his eyes are chearful.

Lop.

A glimmering before death, 'tis nothing else, Sir, Do you see how he fumbles with the Sheet? do ye note that?

Die.

My learned Sir, 'pray ye sit: I am bold to send for ye, To take a care of what I leave.

Lop.

Do ye hear that?

Ars.

Play the Knave finely.

Die.

So I will, I warrant ye, And carefully.

Bar.

'Pray ye do not trouble him, You see he's weak and has a wandring fancy.

Die.

My honest Neighbours, weep not, I must leave ye, I cannot always bear ye company, We must drop still, there is no remedy: 'Pray ye Master Curate, will ye write my Testament, And write it largely it may be remembred, And be witness to my Legacies, good Gentlemen; Your Worship I do make my full Executor, You are a man of wit and understanding: Give me a cup of Wine to raise my Spirits, For I speak low: I would before these Neighbours Have ye to swear, Sir, that you will see it executed, And what I give let equally be rendred For my souls health.

Bar.

I vow it truly, Neighbours, Let not that trouble ye, before all these, Once more I give my Oath.

Die.

Then set me higher, And pray ye come near me all.

Lop.

We are ready for ye.

Mil.

Now spur the Ass, and get our friend time.

Die.

First then, After I have given my body to the worms, (For they must be serv'd first, they are seldom cozen'd.)

Lop.

Remember your Parish, Neighbour.

Die.

You speak truly, I do remember it, a lewd vile Parish, And pray it may be mended: To the poor of it, (Which is to all the Parish) I give nothing, For nothing, unto nothing, is most natural, Yet leave as much space, as will build an Hospital, Their Children may pray for me.

Bar.

What do you give to it?

Die.

Set down two thousand Duckets.

Bar.

'Tis a good gift, And will be long remembred.

Die.

To your worship, (Because you must take pains to see all finish'd) I give two thousand more, it may be three, Sir, A poor gratuity for your pains-taking.

Bar.

These are large sums.

Lop.

Nothing to him that has 'em.

Die.

To my old Master Vicar, I give five hundred, (Five hundred and five hundred are too few, Sir) But there be more to serve.

Bar.

This fellow coins sure.

Die.

Give me some more drink. Pray ye buy Books, buy Books, You have a learned head, stuff it with Libraries, And understand 'em, when ye have done, 'tis Justice. Run not the Parish mad with Controversies, Nor preach Abstinence to longing Women, 'Twill burge the bottoms of their Consciences: I would give the Church new Organs, but I prophesie The Church-wardens would quickly pipe 'em out o'th' Parish, Two hundred Duckets more to mend the Chancel, And to paint true Orthographie, as many, They write Sunt with a C, which is abominable, 'Pray you set that down; to poor Maidens Marriages.

Lop.

I that's well thought of, what's your will in that point? A meritorious thing.

Bar.

No end of this Will?

Die.

I give per annum two hundred Ells of Lockram, That there be no strait dealings in their Linnens, But the Sails cut according to their Burthens. To all Bell-ringers, I bequeath new Ropes, And let them use 'em at their own discretions.

Ars.

You may remember us.

Die.

I do good Gentlemen, And I bequeath you both good careful Surgions, A Legacy, you have need of, more than mony, I know you want good Diets, and good Lotions, And in your pleasures, good take heed.

Lop.

He raves now, But 'twill be quickly off.

Die.

I do bequeath ye Commodities of Pins, Brown-papers, Pack-threads, Rost Pork, and Puddings, Ginger-bread, and Jews-trumps, Of penny Pipes, and mouldy Pepper, take 'em, Take 'em even where you please and be cozen'd with 'em, I should bequeath ye Executions also, But those I'le leave to th' Law.

Lop.

Now he grows temperate.

Bar.

You will give no more?

Die.

I am loth to give more from ye, Because I know you will have a care to execute. Only, to pious uses, Sir, a little.

Bar.

If he be worth all these, I am made for ever.

Die.

I give to fatal Dames, that spin mens threads out, And poor distressed Damsels, that are militant As members of our own Afflictions, A hundred Crowns to buy warm Tubs to work in, I give five hundred pounds to buy a Church-yard, A spacious Church-yard, to lay Thieves and Knaves in, Rich men and honest men take all the room up.

Lop.

Are ye not weary?

Die.

Never of well-doing.

Bar.

These are mad Legacies.

Die.

They were got as madly; My Sheep, and Oxen, and my moveables, My Plate, and Jewels, and five hundred Acres; I have no heirs.

Bar.

This cannot be, 'tis monstrous.

Die.

Three Ships at Sea too.

Bar.

You have made me full Executor?

Die.

Full, full, and total, would I had more to give ye, But these may serve an honest mind.