John Fletcher - The Spanish Curate - A Comedy

Leandro paid all.

'Tis his usual custom,
And requisite he should: he has now put off
The Funeral black, (your rich heir wears with joy,
When he pretends to weep for his dead Father)
Your gathering Sires, so long heap muck together,
That their kind Sons, to rid them of their care,
Wish them in Heaven; or if they take a taste
Of Purgatory by the way, it matters not,
Provided they remove hence; what is befaln
To his Father, in the other world, I ask not;
I am sure his prayer is heard: would I could use one
For mine, in the same method.

Fie upon thee.
This is prophane.

Good Doctor, do not school me
For a fault you are not free from: On my life
Were all Heirs in Corduba , put to their Oaths,
They would confess with me, 'tis a sound Tenet:
I am sure Leandro do's.

He is th'owner
Of a fair Estate.

And fairly he deserves it,
He's a Royal Fellow: yet observes a mean
In all his courses, careful too on whom
He showers his bounties: he that's liberal
To all alike, may do a good by chance,
But never out of Judgment: This invites
The prime men of the City to frequent
All places he resorts to, and are happy
In his sweet Converse.

Don Jamie the Brother
To the Grandee Don Henrique , appears much taken
With his behaviour.

There is something more in't:
He needs his Purse, and knows how to make use on't.
'Tis now in fashion for your Don , that's poor,
To vow all Leagues of friendship with a Merchant
That can supply his wants, and howsoe're
Don Jamie's noble born, his elder Brother
Don Henrique rich, and his Revenues long since
Encreas'd by marrying with a wealthy Heir
Call'd, Madam Vi[o]lante , he yet holds
A hard hand o're Jamie , allowing him
A bare annuity only.

Yet 'tis said
He hath no child, and by the Laws of Spain
If he die without issue, Don Jamie
Inherits his Estate.

Why that's the reason
Of their so many jarrs: though the young Lord
Be sick of the elder Brother, and in reason
Should flatter, and observe him, he's of a nature
Too bold and fierce, to stoop so, but bears up,
Presuming on his hopes.

What's the young Lad
That all of 'em make so much of?

'Tis a sweet one,
And the best condition'd youth, I ever saw yet,
So humble, and so affable, that he wins
The love of all that know him, and so modest,
That (in despight of poverty) he would starve
Rather than ask a courtesie: He's the Son
Of a poor cast-Captain, one Octavio ;
And She, that once was call'd th'fair Jacinta ,
Is happy in being his Mother: for his sake,

(Though in their Fortunes faln) they are esteem'd of,
And cherish'd by the best. O here they come.
I now may spare his Character, but observe him,
He'l justifie my report.

My good Ascanio ,
Repair more often to me: above Women
Thou ever shalt be welcome.

My Lord your favours
May quickly teach a raw untutour'd Youth
To be both rude and sawcy.

You cannot be
Too frequent where you are so much desir'd:
And give me leave (dear friend) to be your Rival
In part of his affection; I will buy it
At any rate.

Stood I but now possess'd
Of what my future hope presages to me,
I then would make it clear thou hadst a Patron
That would not say but do: yet as I am,
Be mine, I'le not receive thee as a servant,
But as my Son, (and though I want my self)
No Page attending in the Court of Spain
Shall find a kinder master.

I beseech you
That my refusal of so great an offer
May make no ill construction, 'tis not pride
(That common vice is far from my condition)
That makes you a denyal to receive
A favour I should sue for: nor the fashion
Which the Country follows, in which to be a servant
In those that groan beneath the heavy weight
Of poverty, is held an argument
Of a base abject mind, I wish my years
Were fit to do you service in a nature
That might become a Gentleman (give me leave
To think my self one) My Father serv'd the King
As a Captain in the field; and though his fortune
Return'd him home a poor man, he was rich
In Reputation, and wounds fairly taken.
Nor am I by his ill success deterr'd,
I rather feel a strong desire that sways me
To follow his profession, and if Heaven
Hath mark'd me out to be a man, how proud,
In the service of my Country, should I be,
To trail a Pike under your brave command!
There, I would follow you as a guide to honour,
Though all the horrours of the War made up
To stop my passage.

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.