The Spanish Curate: A Comedy

As sparing as you please, I must be bold
To make use of my own, without your licence.

Jam.

'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.

Hen.

Your Steward Sir?

Jam.

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.

Hen.

If I live,
Thou dearly shalt repent this.

Jam.

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

Mil.

Now they begin to burn
Like oppos'd Meteors.

Ars.

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

Jam.

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.

Hen.

That the Law
Should force me to endure this!

Jam.

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.

Hen.

You have said, Sir,
I will not fight with words, but deeds to tame you,
Rest confident I will, and thou shalt wish
This day thou hadst been dumb.—

[Exit.

Mil.