 | The Spanish Curat |  |
Scena prima
Enter Leandro (with a letter writ out) Milanes & AsermoMil.
Can any thing, but wonder?
Lean.
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 Royall.
Is this a commanding shape to win a Beautie?
To what use, what occasion?
Lean.
Peace ye are fooles,
More silly then my out-side seems ye are ignorant
They that pretend to wonders must weave cunningly.
Ars.
What manner of accesse can this get? or if gotten
What credit in her eyes?
Lean.
Will ye but leave me?
Mil.
Me thinks a yong man, and a handsom Gentleman
(But sure thou art lunatick) me thinks a brave man
That would catch cunningly the beames of Beautie,
And so distribute 'em, unto his comfort,
Should like himself appeare, young, high, and buxom.
And in the brightest form.
Lean.
Ye are cozen'd (Gentlemen)
Neither doe I believe this, nor will follow it,
Thus I am, I will begin my voyage,
When you love, lanch it out in silks and velvets,
Ile love in Serge, and will outgo your Sattins
To get upon my great horse and appeare.
The signe of such a man, and trot my measures,
Or fiddle out whole frosty nights (my friends)
Vnder the window, while my teeth keep tune,
I hold no handsomnesse. Let me get in
There trot and fiddle where I may have faire 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 confesse it.
Lean.
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 poore, thin theef: he help? he; hang the Vicar
Can reading of an—preferre thee?
Lean.
Thou art dead-sick in love, and hee'l pray for thee
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 hansomly,
Will I work cunningly and home: understand me.
Enter Lopez and Diego.
Next I pray leave me, Leave me to my fortune
Difficilia pulchra, thats my Motto (Gentlemen)
I'le win this Diamond from the rock and weare her
Or—
Mil.
Peace, the Vicar: send ye a full sail, Sir.
Ars.
There's your Confessor, but what shal be your pennance?
exit lea.
A fools head if I fail and so forsake me.
You shall heare from me daily.
Mil.
We will be ready,
Lop.
Thin world indeed:
Lean.
I'le let him breathe and mark him:
No man would think a stranger as I am
Should reap any great commodity from his pigbelly,
Lop.
Poore stirring for poore Vicars,
Diego.
And poore Sextons.
Lop.
We pray and pray, but to no purpose
Those that enjoy our Lands, choak our Devotions.
Our poore thin stipends make us arrant dunces,
Diego.
If you live miserably, how shall we do (Master?)
That are fed onely with the sound of prayers?
We rise and ring the Bells to get good stomacks.
And must be fain to eat the ropes with reverence,
30
When was there a Christning (Diego?)
Dieg.
Not this ten weekes:
Alas, they have forgot to get children (Master)
The Warres, the Seas, and usurie undoe us,
Takes off our minds, our edges, blunts our plough-shares,
They eat nothing here, but herbs, & get nothing but green sauce:
There are some poore Labourers, that perhaps
Once in seven yeare, with helping one another,
Produce some few pind—Butter—prints, that scarce hold
The christning neither.
Lop.
Your Gallants, they get Honour,
A strange fantasticall 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 Burialls.
Lop.
Diego, the Ayre'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 foule, and faire, as you shall find occasion)
Why not against all ayres?
Lop.
That's not i'th' Canons,
I would it had, 'tis out of our way forty pence.
Di.
'Tis strange, they are starv'd too yet they wil not die here,
They will not Earth: a good stout plague amongst 'um,
Or halfe a dozen new fantasticall Fevers
That would turne up their heeles by whole-sale (Master)
And take the Doctors too, in their grave Counsells,
That there might be no naturall help for money;
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 certaine (Diego)
We must remove into a muddy Ayre,
A most contagious Clymat.
Die.
We must certaine,
An ayre that is the nursery of Agues,
Such Agues (Master) that will shake mens soules out,
Ne're stay for Possets, nor good old wives plaisters.
Lop.
Gowts and dead Palsies.
Die.
The dead doe's well at all times,
Yet Gowts will hang an arsse a long time (Master)
The Pox, or English Surfets if we had 'em;
Those are rich Marle, they make a Church-yard fat,
And make the Sexton sing, they never misse, Sir.
Lop.
Then Wills and Funerall Sermons come in season,
And Feasts that makes us frolicke.
Die.
Would I could see 'em.
Lop.
And though I weepe i'th' Pulpit for my Brother,
Yet (Diego) here I laugh.
Di.
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 out it seemes he would speak to us.
I hope a Marriage or some Wil to make (Diego.)
Dieg.
My friend your businesse?
Lea.
'Tis to that grave Gentleman;
Blesse your good learning (Sir)
Lop.
And blesse you also,
He beares 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 divell a-one I know there.
Die.
Take heed of a Snap (Sir) has a cozening countenance,
I doe not like his way.
Lop.
Let him goe forward.
Cantabit Uacuus, They that have nothing, feare nothing,
All I have to loose (Diego) is my learning,
And when he has gotten that, he may put it in a Nut shell,
Letter Read.
Signior
Lopez, Since my arrivall 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 forgetfulnesse might cause a want in my
due correspondence yet the desire I have still to serve you
must more prevaile with me (Better and better: the divell
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 doe recommend
my Son Leandro the Bearer to you with request
that he may be admitted in that Universitie till such time
as I shall arive at home; his studies he will make you acquainted
withall: This kindnesse shall supply the want of your
slacknesse: And so heaven keep you. Yours
Alonzo Tiveria.
Alonzo Tiveria very well,A very ancient friend of mine, I take it,
For till this houre I never heard his Name, yet.
Lea.
You looke (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.
Thinke againe (Sir)
You were Students both at one time in Salamanca,
And, as I take it, Chamber-fellowes.
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 heare him say, to whom? for we Students
May often-times over-reach our memories,
Do'st thou remember (Diego) this same Signiour?
Thou hast been mine these twenty yeares.
Di.
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: doe you heare, (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.
Ha? have I friends, and know 'em not? my name is Diego,
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 dreame out our time.
Lea.
It seemes I am deceiv'd (Sir)
31
The Curat here, and have bin some time (sir)
And you the Sexton Diego, such I am sent too,
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 bin forward els. For that Lopez.
That was my Fathers friend, I had a charge,
(A charge of Money) to deliver (Gentlemen)
Five hundred Duckets, a poore small gratuity,
But since you are not he, good sir, let me thinke,
I pray ye be patient.
Lop.
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.
Di.
'Pray ye consider quickly,
Doe, doe, by any meanes, me thinkes already
A grave staid gentleman comes to my memory.
Lea.
He's old indeed, sir.
Di.
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.
Di.
'Has bin from hence, about some twenty years (sir.)
Lea.
Som five and twenty (sir.)
Di.
You say most true (sir)
Just to an houre; 'tis now just five and twenty,
A fine straite timber'd man, and a brave souldier,
He married: let me see,—
Lea.
De Castro's Daughter.
Di.
The very same.
Lea.
Thou art a very Rascall,
De Castro is the Turke to thee, or any thing:
The Money rubbs 'em into strange remembrances,
For as many Duckets more they wou'd remember Adam.
Lop.
Give me your hand, you are welcome to your countrey,
Now I remember plainly, manifestly,
As freshly, as if yesterday I had seene him,
Most heartily welcome, sinfull that I am,
Most sinfull man, why should I loose this Gentleman?
This loving old Companion? we had all one soule, sir,
He dwelt here hard by, at a handsome—
Lea.
Farme sir,
You say most true.
Lop.
Alonzo Tiveria;
Lord, Lord, that time should play the treacherous knave thus?
Why, he was the onely friend, I had in Spaine (sir)
I knew your Mother too, a handsome Gentlewoman,
She was married very young: I married 'em:
I doe remember now the Maskes and Sports then,
The Fire-workes, and the fine delights; good faith, sir.
Now I looke in your face, whose eies are those Diego?
Nay, if he be not just Alonzo's picture—
Lea.
Lord how I blush for these two impudents?
Di.
Well Gentleman, I thinke your name's Leandro;
Lea.
It is indeed (sir)
Gra'-mercy Letter, thou hadst never knowne els.
Di.
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 blesse his Country?
Lea.
O, very shortly, sir, till his returne,
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 paines
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 money 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 preferre ye,
A learned man, and my most loving Neighbour,
I'll doe ye faithfull service (sir.)
Di.
He's an Asse,
And so wee'll use him; he shall be a Lawyer.
Lo.
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 accesse, I am happy.
Lop.
Come, I am tender of ye,
Lea.
I'll goe with ye,
To have this Fort betray'd, these fooles must fliece me.
Exeunt.
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