 | The Spanish Curat |  |
Scena Quinta.
Enter Lopez and Bartolus.Bar.
Is't possible he should be rich?
Lop.
Most possible,
He hath bin long, though he had but little gettings,
Drawing together, Sir.
Bar.
Accounted a poore Sexton,
Honest poore 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,
Diego ready in Bed, wine, cup.
When he hop'd to drink a man into a surfeit,
That he might gaine by his Grave.
Bar.
So many thousands?
Lop.
Heaven knowes what.
Bar.
'Tis strange,
'Tis very strange; but we see by endeavour,
And honest labour—
Lop.
Milo by continuance
Grew from a silly Calfe (with your worships reverence)
To carry a Bull, from a penny, to a pound, Sir,
And from a pound, to many: 'tis the progresse.
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 devoure ye
More then the Graves he made, at home he liv'd
Like a Camelion suckt th'Ayre of misery,
Table out Standish paper, stools.
And grew fat by th'Brewis of an Eg-shel,
42
And be a moneth in fasting out that Fever.
Bar.
These are good Symptomes: do's he lye so sick say ye?
Lop.
Oh, very sick.
Bar.
And chosen me Executor?
Lop.
Onely 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 needlesse things, in such extremities.
Who drawes the good-man's will?
Lop.
Marry that doe I, Sir.
And to my griefe.
Bar.
Griefe will doe little now, Sir,
Draw it to your comfort, Friend, and as I counsell ye,
An honest man, but such men live not alwayes
Who are about him?
Lop.
Many now he is passing,
That would pretend to his love, yes, and some gentlemen
That would faine counsell him, and be of his kindred;
Rich men can want no heires, Sir.
Bar.
They doe ill,
Indeed they doe, to trouble him: very ill, Sir,
But we shall take a care.
Enter Diego (in a Bed) Millanes, Arsenio, and Parishioners.
Lop.
Will ye come neare, Sir,
'Pray ye bring him out; Now ye may see in what state:
Give him fresh ayre.
Bed thrust out.
Bar.
I am sorry, Neighbour Diego,
To find ye in so weake a state.
Die.
Ye are welcome,
But I am fleeting, Sir.
Bar.
Me-thinkes he looks well,
His colour fresh, and strong, his eyes are chearfull.
Lop.
A glimmering before death, 'tis nothing els, Sir,
Do you see how he fumbles with the sheet? do ye note that
Di.
My learned Sir 'pray ye sit: I am bold to send for ye,
To take a care of what I leave.
Lop.
Doe you heare that?
Ars.
Play the knave finely.
Die.
So I will, I warrant ye,
And carefully.
Bar.
'Pray ye doe not trouble him,
You see he's weake and has a wandring fancie.
Di.
My honest Neighbours, weep not, I must leave ye,
I cannot alwayes beare ye company,
VVe must drop still, there is no remedie:
'Pray ye Master Curat, will ye write my Testament,
And write it largely it may be remembred
And be witnesse to my Legacies, good Gentlemen;
Your worship I doe make my full Executor,
You are a man of wit and understanding:
Give me a cup of wine to raise my Spirits,
For I speake low: I wou'd before these Neighbours
Have ye to sweare (Sir) that you will see it executed,
And what I give, let equally be rendred
For my soules health.
Bar.
I vow it truly, Neighbours,
Let not that trouble ye before all these,
Once more I give my Oath.
Di.
Then set me higher,
And pray ye come neare me all.
Lop.
VVe are ready for ye.
Mil.
Now spur the Asse, and get our friend time.
Die.
First then,
After I have given my Body to the wormes
(For they must be serv'd first, they are seldome cozen'd)
Lop.
Remember your Parish, Neighbour.
Di.
You speake truly,
I doe remember it, a lewd vile Parish,
And pray it may be mended: To the Poore of it,
(VVhich is to all the Parish) I give nothing,
For nothing, unto nothing, is most naturall,
Yet leave as much space, as will build an Hospitall,
Their children may pray for me.
Bar.
What doe you give to it?
Die.
Set downe two thousand Duckets,
Bar.
'Tis a good gift,
And will be long remembred.
Die.
To your worship,
(Because you must take paines to see all finish'd)
I give two thousand more, it may be three, Sir,
A poore gratuitie for your paines-taking.
Bar.
These are large summes;
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 coynes sure.
Di.
Give me some more drink. Pray ye buy Books, buy Books,
You have a learned head, stuffe it with Libraries,
And understand 'em, when ye have done, 'tis Justice,
Run not the Parish mad with Controversies,
Nor preach not Abstinence to longing women,
'Twill budge the bottoms of their consciences:
I would give the Church new Organs, but I prophecie
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 downe, to poore Maidens marriages.
Lo.
I that's wel thought of, what's your wil in that point?
A meritorious thing.
Bar.
No end of this will?
Di.
I give per annum two hundred ells of Lockram,
That there be no strait dealings in their Linnens,
But the Sayles cut according to their Burthens;
To all Bell-Ringers, I bequeath new Ropes,
And let them use 'em at their owne discretions.
Ars.
You may remember us.
Di.
I doe, good Gentlemen,
And I bequeath ye both good carefull Surgeons
A Legacy, you have need of, more then money,
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,
Di.
I doe bequeath ye
Commodities of pins: browne papers: pack-threds,
Rost porke, & puddings: Ginger-bread, & Jewes-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'll leave to th'Law.
Lop.
Now he growes temperate.
Bar.
You will give no more?
Di.
I am loth to give more from ye.
43
Onely, to pious uses, Sir, a little.
Bar.
If he be worth all these, I am made for ever,
Die.
I give to fatall Dames, that spin mens threds out,
And poore distressed Damsells, that are militant
As members of our owne Afflictions,
A hundred Crowns to buy warm tubbs to worke in,
I give five hundred pounds to buy a Church-yard,
A spacious Church-yard, to lay Theeves and knaves in,
Rich men, and honest men, take all the roome up.
Lop.
Are ye not weary?
Di.
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 Jewells, and five hundred Acres;
I have no heires.
Bar.
This cannot be, 'tis Monstrous.
Die.
Three Ships at Sea too.
Bar.
You have made me full Executor.
Di.
Full, full, and totall, would I had more to give ye
But these may serve an honest mind.
Bar.
Ye say true,
A very honest mind, and make it rich too;
Rich, wondrous rich, but where shall I raise these monys,
About your house? I see no such great promises;
Where shall I find these summes?
Die.
Even where you please Sir,
You are wise and provident and know businesse
Ev'n raise 'em where you shal think good, I am reasonable
Bar.
Thinke good? will that raise thousands?
What doe you make me?
Di.
You have sworn to see it done, that's all my comfort.
Bar.
Where I please? this is pack'd sure to disgrace me.
Di.
Ye are just, and honest, and I know you will doe it,
Ev'n where you please, for you know where the wealth is.
Bar.
I am abused, betrayed, I am laugh'd at, scorn'd,
Baffel'd, and boared, it seemes.
Ars.
No, no, ye are fooled.
Lop.
Most finely fooled, and handsomely, and neatly,
Such cunning Masters must be fooled sometimes, Sir,
And have their worships noses wiped, 'tis healthfull,
We are but quit: you foole us of our moneys
In every Cause, in every Quiddit wipe us.
Di.
Ha, ha, ha ha, some more drink, for my heart, Gentlemen,
This merry Lawyer—ha, ha, ha, ha this Scholler—
I thinke this fitt will cure me: this Executor—
I shall laugh out my Lungs.
Bar.
This is derision above sufferance, villany
Plotted, and set against me.
Die.
Faith 'tis knavery,
In troth I must confesse, thou art fooled indeed, Lawyer.
Mil.
Did you thinke, had this man been rich—
Bar.
'Tis well, Sir.
Mil.
He would have chosen such a Wolfe, a Cancker,
A Maggot-pate, to be his whole Executor.
Lop.
A Lawyer, that entangles all mens honesties,
And lives like a Spider in a Cobweb lurking,
And catching at all Flies that passe his pitt-falls?
Puts powder to all States, to make em caper?
Would he trust you?
Die.
Doe you deserve? I find, Gentlemen,
This Cataplasme of a well cozen'd Lawyer
Laid to my stomach lenisies my Fever,
Me-thinkes I could eat now and walke a little.
Bar.
I am asham'd to feele how flat I am cheated,
How grossely, and malitiously made a May-game,
A damned Trick; my wife, my wife, some Rascall:
My credit, and my wife, some lustfull villaine,
Some Bawd, some Rogue,
Ars.
Some craftie Foole has found ye:
This 'tis Sir, to teach ye to be too busie,
To covet all the gaines, and all the rumours
To have a stirring oare, in all mens actions.
Lop.
We did this, but to vex your fine officiousnesse.
Bar.
Good yeild ye and go'd thank ye: I am fooled, gentlemen;
The Lawyer is an Asse, I doe confesse it,
A weak dull shallow Asse: good even to your worships:
Vicar, remember Vicar, Rascall remember,
Thou notable rich Rascall.
Die.
I doe remember, Sir,
'Pray ye stay a little, I have ev'n two Legacies
To make your mouth up, Sir.
Bar.
Remember Varletts,
Quake & remember, Rogues; I have brine for your Buttocks.
Ex.
Lop.
Oh how he frets, and fumes now like a dunghill.
Di.
His gall containes fine stuffe now to make poysons,
Rare damned stuffe.
Ars.
Let's after him, and still vex him,
And take my Friend off: by this time he has prosper'd,
He cannot loose this deere time: 'tis impossible.
Mil.
Well Diego, thou hast done.
Lop.
Hast done it daintily.
Mil.
And shalt be as well paid, Boy—
Ars.
Goe, let's crucifie him.
Exeunt.
| The Spanish Curat | |