John Fletcher - The Spanish Curate: A Comedy стр 2.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

When this is spent,
Seek for supply from me.

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

High Heavens reward your goodness.

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

A slip Sir?

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

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.

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

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.

Be more temperate.

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.

From whom have you your means Sir?

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

But will it hold out
Without my help?

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

'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.

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.

'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.

Your Steward Sir?

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.

If I live,
Thou dearly shalt repent this.

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

Now they begin to burn
Like oppos'd Meteors.

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

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.

That the Law
Should force me to endure this!

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.