The Spanish Curate: A Comedy. Beaumont Francis

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.

      Jam.

      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.

      Asc.

      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.

      Jam.

      Thou art a hopeful Boy,

      And it was bravely spoken: For this answer,

      I love thee more than ever.

      Mil.

      Pity such seeds

      Of promising courage should not grow and prosper.

      Ang.

      What ever his reputed Parents be,

      He hath a mind that speaks him right and noble.

      Lean.

      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.

      Asc.

      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.

      Enter Henrique.

      Aug.

      This is a kind of begging

      Would make a Broker charitable.

      Mil.

      Here, (sweet heart)

      I wish it were more.

      Lean.

      When this is spent,

      Seek for supply from me.

      Jam.

      Thy piety

      For ever be remembred: nay take all,

      Though 'twere my exhibition to a Royal

      For one whole year.

      Asc.

      High Heavens reward your goodness.

      Hen.

      So Sir, is this a slip of your own grafting,

      You are so prodigal?

      Jam.

      A slip Sir?

      Hen.

      Yes,

      A slip; or call it by the proper name,

      Your Bastard.

      Jam.

      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.

      Hen.

      So brave! pray you give me hearing,

      Who am I Sir?

      Jam.

      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.

      Lean.

      Be more temperate.

      Jam.

      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