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The Spanish Curate: A Comedy

Автор John Fletcher

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О книге

Дата написания1970-01-01

Язык книгиen

Возрастное ограничение12+

Жанры

зарубежная драматургия зарубежная классика зарубежная старинная литература пьесы и драматургия

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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.

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