Читать книгу The Spanish Curate: A Comedy - Beaumont Francis - Страница 5

Can any thing but wonder?

Wonder on,

I am as ye see, and, what will follow, Gentlemen?

Why dost thou put on this form? what can this do?

Thou lookest most sillily.

Like a young Clerk,

A half pin'd-puppy that would write for a Royal.

Is this a commanding shape to win a beauty?

To what use, what occasion?

Peace, ye are fools,

More silly than my out-side seems, ye are ignorant;

They that pretend to wonders must weave cunningly.

What manner of access can this get? or if gotten

What credit in her eyes?

Will ye but leave me?

Me thinks a young man and a handsom Gentleman

(But sure thou art lunatick) me thinks a brave man

That would catch cunningly the beams of beauty,

And so distribute 'em unto his comfort,

Should like himself appear, young, high, and buxom,

And in the brightest form.

Ye are cozen'd (Gentlemen)

Neither do I believe this, nor will follow it,

Thus as I am, I will begin my voyage.

When you love, lanch it out in silks and velvets,

I'le love in Serge, and will outgo your Sattins.

To get upon my great horse and appear

The sign of such a man, and trot my measures,

Or fiddle out whole frosty nights (my friends)

Under the window, while my teeth keep tune,

I hold no handsomness. Let me get in,

There trot and fiddle where I may have fair play.

But how get in?

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.

We do confess it.

Weak simple men, this Vicar to this Lawyer

Is the most inward Damon.

What can this do?

We know the fellow, and he dwells there.

So.

A poor, thin thief: he help? he? hang the Vicar,

Can reading of an – prefer thee?

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 handsomly,

Will I work cunningly, and home: understand me.

Next I pray leave me, leave me to my fortune

Difficilia pulchra, that's my Motto (Gentlemen)

I'le win this Diamond from the rock and wear her,

Or—

Peace, the Vicar: send ye a full sail, Sir.

There's your Confessor, but what shall be your penance?

A fools head if I fail, and so forsake me.

You shall hear from me daily.

We will be ready.

Thin world indeed!

I'le let him breath and mark him:

No man would think a stranger as I am

Should reap any great commodity from his pigbelly.

Poor stirring for poor Vicars.

And poor Sextons.

We pray and pray, but to no purpose,

Those that enjoy our lands, choak our Devotions.

Our poor thin stipends make us arrant dunces.

If you live miserably, how shall we do (Master)

That are fed only with the sound of prayers?

We rise and ring the Bells to get good stomachs,

And must be fain to eat the ropes with reverence.

When was there a Christning, Diego?

Not this ten weeks:

Alas, they have forgot to get children (Master)

The Wars, the Seas, and usurie undoe us,

Takes off our minds, our edges, blunts our plough-shares.

They eat nothing here, but herbs, and get nothing but green sauce:

There are some poor Labourers, that perhaps

Once in seven year, with helping one another,

Produce some few pin'd-Butter-prints, that scarce hold

The christning neither.

Your Gallants, they get Honour,

A strange fantastical Birth, to defraud the Vicar,

And the Camp Christens their Issues, or the Curtizans,

'Tis a lewd time.

They are so hard-hearted here too,

They will not dye, there's nothing got by Burials.

Diego, the Air's too pure, they cannot perish.

To have a thin Stipend, and an everlasting Parish,

Lord what a torment 'tis!

Good sensible Master,

You are allow'd to pray against all weathers,

(Both foul, and fair, as you shall find occasion)

Why not against all airs?

That's not i'th' Canons.

I would it had, 'tis out of our way forty pence.

'Tis strange, they are starv'd too yet they will not die here,

They will not earth: a good stout plague amongst 'em,

Or half a dozen new fantastical Fevers

That would turn up their heels by whole-sale (Master)

And take the Doctors too, in their grave Counsels,

That there might be no natural help for mony:

How merrily would my Bells goe then?

The Doctors are our friends, let's please them well.

For though they kill but slow, they are certain, Diego,

We must remove into a muddy Air,

A most contagious Climate.

We must certain,

An air that is the nursery of agues,

Such agues (Master) that will shake mens souls out,

Ne're stay for Possets, nor good old wives plasters.

Gowts and dead Palsies.

The dead do's well at all times,

Yet Gowts will hang an arse a long time (Master)

The Pox, or English Surfeits if we had 'em;

Those are rich marle, they make a Church-yard fat,

And make the Sexton sing, they never miss, Sir.

Then Wills and Funeral Sermons come in season,

And Feasts that make us frolick.

Would I could see 'em.

And though I weep i'th' Pulpit for my Brother,

Yet (Diego) here I laugh.

The cause requires it.

Since people left to die I am dunce, Diego.

Die. 'Tis a strange thing, I have forgot to dig too.

A pretious pair of youths! I must make toward'em.

Who's that? look it seems he would speak to us.

I hope a Marriage, or some Will to make, Diego.

My friend your business?

'Tis to that grave Gentleman;

Bless your good learning, Sir.

And bless you also,

He bears a promising face, there's some hope toward.

I have a Letter to your worship.

Well Sir,

From whence I pray you?

From Nova Hispania, Sir,

And from an ancient friend of yours.

'Tis well, Sir,

'Tis very well: the devil a-one I know there.

Take heed of a Snap, Sir, h'as a cozening countenance

do not like his way.

Let him goe forward.

Cantabit vacuus, They that have nothing fear nothing,

All I have to lose, Diego, is my learning,

And when he has gotten that, he may put it in a Nut shell.

Alonzo Tiveria, very well,

A very ancient friend of mine, I take it,

For till this hour I never heard his name yet.

You look, Sir, as if ye had forgot my Father.

No, no, I look, as I would remember him,

For that I never remembred, I cannot forget, Sir,

Alonzo Tiveria?

The same, Sir.

And now i'th' Indies?

Yes.

He may be any where,

For ought that I consider.

Think again, Sir,

You were Students both at one time in Salamanca,

And, as I take it, Chamber-fellows.

Ha?

Nay, sure you must remember.

Would I could.

I have heard him say, you were Gossips too.

Very likely,

You did not hear him say, to whom? for we Students

May oft-times over-reach our memories.

Do'st thou remember, Diego, this same Signiour?

Thou hast been mine these twenty years.

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: do you hear, (my friend?)

You have no Letters for me?

Not any letter,

But I was charged to doe my Fathers love

To the old honest Sexton Diego: are you he, Sir?

Ha? have I friends, and know 'em not? my name is Diego,

But if either I remember you or your Father,

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 dream out our time.

It seems I am deceiv'd, Sir,

Yet, that you are Don Lopez all men tell me,

The Curate here, and have been some time, Sir,

And you the Sexton Diego, such I am sent to,

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 been forward else. For to that Lopez,

That was my Fathers friend, I had a charge,

(A charge of mony) to deliver (Gentlemen)

Five hundred Duckets, a poor small gratuity,

But since you are not he—

Good Sir, let me think,

I pray ye be patient,

Pray ye stay a little,

Nay, let me remember, I beseech ye stay, Sir.

An honest noble friend, that sends so lovingly;

An old friend too; I shall remember sure, Sir.

Thou sayst true Diego.

'Pray ye consider quickly,

Doe, doe, by any means, me thinks already

A grave staid gentleman comes to my memory.

He's old indeed, sir.

With a goodly white Beard,

(For now he must be so: I know he must be)

Signior Alonzo, Master.

I begin to have him.

H'as been from hence, about some twenty years, sir.

Some five and twenty, sir.

You say most true, Sir,

Just to an hour; 'tis now just five and twenty,

A fine straight timber'd man, and a brave soldier,

He married: let me see,—

De Castro's Daughter.

The very same.

Thou art a very Rascal.

De Castro is the Turk to thee, or any thing:

The Mony rubbs 'em into strange remembrances,

For as many Duckets more they would remember Adam.

Give me your hand, you are welcome to your country,

Now I remember plainly, manifestly,

As freshly, as if yesterdy I had seen him,

Most heartily welcome: sinfull that I am,

Most sinfull man! why should I lose this Gentleman?

This loving old Companion? we had all one soul, sir,

He dwelt here hard by, at a handsome—

Farm sir,

You say most true.

Alonzo Tiveria!

Lord, Lord that time should play the treacherous knave thus!

Why, he was the only friend I had in Spain, sir,

I knew your Mother too, a handsome Gentlewoman,

She was married very young: I married 'em:

I do remember now the Maskes and Sports then,

The Fire-works, and the fine delights; good faith, sir,

Now I look in your face, whose eyes are those, Diego?

Nay, if he be not just Alonzo's picture—

Lord, how I blush for these two impudents!

Well Gentleman, I think your name's Leandro.

It is indeed, sir,

Gra'-mercy letter, thou hadst never known else.

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.

A sweet Boy.

Sweet lying knaves.

What would these doe for thousands?

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 bless his Country?

O, very shortly, Sir, till his return

He has sent me over to your charge.

And welcome,

Nay, you shall know you are welcome to your friend, sir.

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 pains

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 mony ready, and I am weary.

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 prefer ye,

A learned man, and my most loving neighbour,

I'le doe ye faithful service, Sir.

He's an Ass,

And so wee'll use him; he shall be a Lawyer.

But if ever he recover this mony again—before, Diego,

And get some pretty pittance: my Pupill's hungry.

Pray ye Sir, unlade me.

I'le refresh ye Sir;

When ye want, you know your Exchequer.

If all this get me but access, I am happy.

Come, I am tender of ye.

I'le go with ye.

To have this fort betray'd these fools must fleece me.