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.

Страница 3 из 20

Назад 1 2 3 4…20 Далее