ACT IV. SCENE I.
A Room in don Ramyres's House .
Enter RAMYRES , reading a paper , FRANCISCO , and a Notary.
Ram. 'Tis most exactly done, and firm.
Nota. I could,
Omitting or inserting but a word,
Or particle, trouble the whole conveyance,
And make work for the law till doom's-day: but —
Fran. Is't possible?
Nota. You do not know the quirks of a scrivano,
A dash undoes a family, a point,
An artificial accent i' the wrong place,
Shall poison an estate, translate your land,
In Spain now, into either of both Indies,
In less time than our galleons of plate
Are sailing hither; but you are my friend,
And noble benefactor.
Ram. There is more
For your reward.
Nota. I humbly thank you, signior; su criado .
Fran. Farewell.
Nota. Su servidor .
Ram. This deed makes thee my heir, Francisco, and
Will, like a powerful spell upon don Carlos,
Whose soul is superstitious about wealth,
Win his consent to make Jacinta thine.
Fran. Sir,
I cannot say my duty shall deserve it,
Since nature, and religion, without all
This bounty, challenges my best obedience.
Enter FERNANDO .
Ram. Away! thy sight
Is my disease.
Fer. Your blessing, sir, I kneel for.
Ram. What impudence is this! wilt thou subscribe,
To take off mine, thy curse on Felisarda?
For I do hate her heartily; disclaim
All promise, contract, or converse for ever,
I'm else inexorable.
Fer. Sir.
Ram. His eyes shoot poison at me; ha! he has
Bewitched me, sure; what coldness thus invades me?
There's something creeping to my heart. Francisco!
Possess this gift of thy inheritance.
Convey me to my chamber; oh! — Fernando,
If thou dost hope I should take off my curse,
Do not approach my sight, unless I send for thee.
Fran. Forbear, good brother. — Diego! Roderigo!
Enter two Servants.
Your hands t' assist my father; one go for his physician.
Fer. This turn is fatal, and affrights me; but
Heaven has more charity than to let him die
With such a hard heart; 'twere a sin, next his
Want of compassion, to suspect he can
Take his eternal flight and leave Fernando
This desperate legacy; he will [yet] change
The curse into some little prayer, I hope,
And then —
Enter Servant with a Physician.
Serv. Make haste, I beseech you, doctor.
Phys. Noble Fernando.
Fer. As you would have men think your art is meant
Not to abuse mankind, employ it all
To cure my poor sick father.
Phys. Fear it not, sir.
Fer. But there is more than your thin skill requir'd
T' instate a health; your recipes, perplex'd
With tough names, are but mockeries and noise,
Without some dew from heaven, to mix and make them.
Enter a Servant.
Thrive in the application. — What now?
Serv. Oh, sir, I am sent for the confessor,
The doctor fears him much: your brother says
You must have patience, and not enter, sir;
Your father is a going, good old man,
And having made him heir, is loth your presence
Should interrupt his journey.
Fer. Francisco may be honest, yet, methinks,
It would become his love to interpose
For my access at such a needful hour,
And mediate for my blessing, not assist
Unkindly thus my banishment. I'll not
Be lost so tamely: shall my father die
And not Fernando take his leave! — I dare not. —
If thou dost hope I should take off this curse,
Do not approach until I send — 'twas so,
And 'tis a law that binds above my blood. —
Re-enter Servant with a Confessor.
Make haste, good father, and if heaven deny
Him life, let not his charity die too.
One curse may sink us both: say how I kneel
And beg he would bequeath me but his blessing;
Then, though Francisco be his heir, I shall
Live happy, and take comfort in my tears,
When I remember him, so kind a father.
Conf. It is my duty.
Fer. Do your holy office —
Those fond philosophers that magnify
Our human nature, and did boast we had
Such a prerogative in our rational soul,
Convers'd but little with the world; confined
To cells, and unfrequented woods, they knew not
The fierce vexation of community,
Else they had taught, our reason is our loss,
And but a privilege that exceedeth sense,
By nearer apprehension of what wounds,
To know ourselves most miserable. — My heart
Re-enter Physician and FRANCISCO .
Is teeming with new fears. — Ha! is he dead?
Phys. Not dead, but in a desperate condition;
And so that little breath remains we have
Remitted to his confessor, whose office
Is all that's left.
Fran. Is there no hope of life, then?
Phys. None.
Fer. Is he not merciful to Fernando yet?
No talk of me?
Phys. I find he takes no pleasure
To hear you nam'd: Francisco, to us all,
He did confirm his heir, with many blessings.
Fer. And not one left for me! oh, take me in,
Thou gentle earth, and let me creep through all
Thy dark and hollow crannies, till I find
Another way to come into the world,
For all the air I breathe in here is poison'd.
Fran. We must have patience, brother; it was no
Ambitious thought of mine to supplant you:
He may live yet, and you be reconciled.
Fer. That was some kindness yet, Francisco; but
I charge thee, by the nearness of our blood,
When I am made this mockery, and wonder,
And know not where to find out charity,
If unawares a chance direct my weary
And wither'd feet to some fair house of thine,
Where plenty with full blessings crowns thy table,
If my thin face betray my want of food,
Do not despise me, cause I was thy brother. —
Fran. Leave these imagined horrors; I must not
Live when my brother is thus miserable.
Re-enter Confessor.
Fer. There's something in that face looks comfortably.
Conf. Your father, sir, is dead; his will to make
Francisco the sole master of his fortunes
Is now irrevocable; a small pension
He hath given you for life, which, with his blessing,
Is all the benefit I bring.
Fer. Ha! blessing!
Speak it again, good father.
Conf. I did apply some lenitives to soften
His anger, and prevail'd; your father hath
Revers'd that heavy censure of his curse,
And in the place bequeath'd his prayer and blessing.
Fer. I am new created by his charity.
Conf. Some ceremonies are behind: he did
Desire to be interr'd within our convent,
And left his sepulture to me; I am confident
Your pieties will give me leave —
Fran. His will in all things I obey, and your's,
Most reverend father; order, as you please,
His body; we may after celebrate,
With all due obsequies, his funeral.
Fer. Why you alone obey? I am your brother;
My father's eldest son, though not his heir.
Fran. It pleas'd my father, sir, to think me worthy
Of such a title; you shall find me kind,
If you can look on matters without envy. —
Fer. If I can look on matters without envy!
Fran. You may live here still.
Fer. I may live here, Francisco!
Enter a Gentleman with a letter, and whispers
FRANCISCO .
Conditions?
I would not understand this dialect. —
Fran. With me? from madam Estefania?
Gent. If you be signior Francisco.
Fer. Slighted!
I find my father was not dead till now.
Crowd not, you jealous thoughts,
So thick into my brain, lest you do tempt
Me to an act will forfeit all again.
Fran. This is Jacinta's character. — [ reads aside.
— Fail not to meet [me] timely, as you will prevent the danger of my rape. — My soul! Estefania can instruct you all particulars. —
My service to your lady; say, I shall obey her commands.
Fer. Is that an inventory you peruse?
Fran. Fernando, you must pardon me, there's something
Of essence to my life, exacts my care,
And person; I must leave you, we may seasonably
Confer of things at my return. — Jacinta!
Fer. 'Tis clear, I am neglected: he did name
Jacinta, too, in triumph, and is gone,
Big with his glories, to divide them there,
And laugh at what my constant love hath made me.
My heart is in a storm, and day grows black;
There's not a star in heaven will lend a beam
To light me to my ruin. Felisarda! —
That name is both my haven and my shipwreck.
SCENE II.
Don Alberto's Lodgings .
Enter ALBERTO and LUYS .
Alb. Excellent!
Luys. You'll give me now a general release
For all the sums I owe you?
Alb. Thou hast bless'd me.
Luys. I was born to do you good; about it presently:
Now you know where to ambush. Away! I say,
And get comrades: Jacinta and my mother
Is all the carriage; you may know the coach,
By the old woman's cough, ere it come near you;
She has a desperate malice to one tooth left
Still in her gums; till she has shook that out,
You will not need a warning-piece; farewell.
Alb. Farewell! why, what's the matter? you shall not leave me;
Thy mother will not know thee in a vizard.
Luys. You must excuse me, friend; I would join wi'ye
I' the surprise, out that —
Alb. What, I prithee?
Luys. I have extraordinary business, that concerns me
As near as life.
Alb. May not I know't? thou art going
To the widow now, thy mistress.
Luys. 'Tis a business of more consequence; dost think I would leave thee, an there were not such a necessity?
Alb. For what?
Luys. An there were no more sisters in the world,
You must excuse me.
Alb. Nay, nay, we must not part, unless I know
This mystery; some reason why you leave me.
Luys. If you will needs know, there's a wench stays for me,
The toy I told thee of. Farewell, Alberto.
Alb. But will you leave such business, and a friend?
Luys. Business! art thou a gentleman, and wouldst have me leave a lady I have not seen this three year
For business, or a friend? I must to her.
If I had a heart [that weigh'd] ten ton of iron,
This female adamant would draw it to her;
I feel it going; I do tell thee, don,
There is no business so material
In nature as a wench, and if thou art my friend,
Thou wouldst leave my sister now in such a cause,
And bear me company. I must be drunk,
And she must pick my pocket, too, that is
Another secret, when we meet together,
That never fails?
Alb. Why, art thou desperate?
Dost not thou fear thy body?
Luys. A wench is physic
My body has been us'd to; leave thy prating,
And let me take my course.
Alb. An you be so resolute —
Luys. I must give you one advice before you go.
When my sister's in thy custody, observe
The time and place, and things convenient;
And stand not fooling about ceremonies,
But put her to't.
Alb. Thou wouldst not have me ravish her?
Luys. Yes, but I would,
She is no sister of mine if she cry out
For such a business: she has more wit.
Alb. Was ever such a mad-cap!
Luys. I'll not pray for thee.
Alb. I shall not prosper if thou dost.
Luys. Thy hand;
I'll drink thy health, and hang thyself.
Farewell.
SCENE III.
A Room in don Carlos's House .
Enter JACINTA , and ESTEFANIA hooded, and dressed alike .
Jac. You tell
Me wonders, madam; don Ramyres dead,
His son Fernando disinherited,
And young Francisco made his heir?
Estef. I took
Francisco's word.
Jac. 'Tis strange.
Estef. Your stars smile on you.
Jac. Yet I much pity the poor gentleman.
Estef. Busy your thought about your own; Francisco —
Jac. Hath promis'd not to fail?
Estef. He waits where he can easily observe
How soon the coast is clear, to visit you.
Jac. So, so; thus hooded,
The day cannot distinguish our two faces,
And for your voice, you know how to disguise it
By imitation of my cold and hoarseness,
And when you come to church —
Estef. Let me alone, there I'll produce the contract,
Which will surprise don Pedro, and your father,
To see me challenge him; I have prepar'd the priest, too,
Whose holy eloquence may assist; however,
This will give you opportunity to perfect
Your wishes with your servant; put the rest
To fate, Jacinta.
Jac. I hear some approach;
Retire into my closet. —
Enter don CARLOS and don Pedro .
Car. Jacinta!
Jac. Sir.
Car. Not thy voice recover'd?
Jac. A violent cold —
Car. Count Pedro must salute you ere we go.
Ped. Impute it to devotion, that I make
Such haste to be within thy arms;
One kiss, and I shall carry with me
Another soul, and count with joy the minutes
I am to expect this happiness.
Car. Jacinta,
You follow with your mother in the coach. —
My lord, I wait you.
Ped. There's heaven upon her lip.
Re-enter ESTEFANIA .
Jac. He has kiss'd, and took his leave, I hope
I must
Owe all my happiness to you, sweet madam;
I had been lost without your art to help me.
Estef. Love will not leave his votaries.
Jac. I hear my mother's cough; I have finish'd,
And you must act your part.
Enter ALSIMIRA .
Als. Come, are you ready, daughter? the coach stays.
Estef. I attend.
Als. Don Pedro will cure your cold before the morning.
SCENE IV.
A street.
FRANCISCO and JACINTA pass hastily over the stage .
SCENE V.
A Room in Theodoro's House .
Enter THEODORO and FELISARDA .
Theo. What duty, Felisarda, shall we pay
To heaven for this last care of us?
Let not thy eyes,
Although thy grief become them, be in love
With tears; I prophesy a joy shall weigh
Down all our sufferings; I see comfort break
Like day, whose forehead cheers the world; if don
Fernando love thee, he is a gentleman,
Confirm'd in all that's honourable, and cannot
Forget whom his own virtue hath made choice
To shine upon.
Fel. Unless my innocence,
Apt to believe a flattering tongue, see not
The serpent couch, and hide his speckled breast
Among the flowers; but it were sin to think
He can dissemble, father; and I know not,
Since I was first the object of his charity,
I find a pious gratitude disperse
Within my soul, and every thought of him
Engenders a warm sigh within me, which,
Like curls of holy incense, overtake
Each other in my bosom, and enlarge
With their embrace his sweet remembrance.
Theo. Cherish
Those thoughts; and where such noble worth invites,
Be bold to call it love.
Fel. It is too much
Ambition to hope he should be just
To me, or keep his honour, when I look on
The pale complexion of my wants; and yet,
Unless he loves me dearly, I am lost,
And, if he have but mock'd me into faith,
He might as well have murder'd me, for I
Shall have no heart to live, if his neglect
Deface what my affection printed there.
Theo. There is no fear of his revolt; lose not
His character. I must attend some business;
If don Fernando visit thee, preserve
His fair opinion, and thou may'st live
Above thy uncle's pity.
Fel. Will you leave me?
Theo. My stay shall not be long; the garden will,
With smiling flowers, encourage thee to walk,
And raise thy drooping eyes, with hope to see
A spring like their's upon thee.
Fel. Why should I
Give any entertainment to my fears?
Suspicions are but like the shape of clouds,
And idle forms i' the air, we make to fright us,
I will admit no jealous thought to wound
Fernando's truth, but with that cheerfulness,
My own first clear intents to honour him
Can arm me with, expect to meet his faith
As noble as he promis'd. — Ha! 'tis he.
Enter FERNANDO .
My poor heart trembles like a timorous leaf,
Which the wind shakes upon his sickly stalk,
And frights into a palsy.
Fer. Felisarda!
Fel. Shall I want fortitude to bid him welcome? —
Sir, if you think there is a heart alive
That can be grateful, and with humble thought
And prayers reward your piety, despise not
The offer of it here; you have not cast
Your bounty on a rock; while the seeds thrive
Where you did place your charity, my joy
May seem ill dress'd to come like sorrow thus,
But you may see through every tear, and find
My eyes meant innocence, and your hearty welcome.
Fer. Who did prepare thee, Felisarda, thus
To entertain me weeping? Sure our souls
Meet and converse, and we not know't; there is
Such beauty in that watery circle, I
Am fearful to come near, and breathe a kiss
Upon thy cheek, lest I pollute that crystal,
And yet I must salute thee, and I dare,
With one warm sigh, meet and dry up this sorrow.
Fel. I shall forget all misery; for when
I look upon the world, and race of men,
I find them proud, and all so unacquainted
With pity to such miserable things
As poverty hath made us, that I must
Conclude you sent from heaven.
Fer. Oh, do not flatter
Thyself, poor Felisarda; I am mortal;
The life I bear about me is not mine,
But borrow'd to come to thee once again,
And, ere I go, to clear how much I love thee —
But first, I have a story to deliver,
A tale will make thee sad, but I must tell it, —
There is one dead that lov'd thee not.
Fel. One dead
That lov'd me not? this carries, sir, in nature
No killing sound; I shall be sad to know
I did deserve an enemy, or he want
A charity at death.
Fer. Thy cruel enemy,
And my best friend, hath took eternal leave,
And's gone — to heaven, I hope; excuse my tears,
It is a tribute I must pay his memory,
For I did love my father.
Fel. Ha! your father?
Fer. Yes, Felisarda, he is gone, that in
The morning promis'd many years; but death
Hath in few hours made him as stiff, as all
The winds of winter had thrown cold upon him,
And whisper'd him to marble.
Fel. Now trust me,
My heart weeps for him; but I understand
Not how I was concern'd in his displeasure;
And in such height as you profess.
Fer. He did
Command me, on his blessing, to forsake thee.
Was't not a cruel precept, to enforce
The soul, and curse his son for honest love?
Fel. This is a wound indeed.
Fer. But not so mortal;
For his last breath was balsam pour'd upon it,
By which he did reverse his malediction;
And I, that groan'd beneath the weight of that
Anathema, sunk almost to despair,
Where night and heavy shades hunground about me,
Found myself rising like the morning star
To view the world.
Fel. Never, I hope, to be
Eclips'd again.
Fer. This was a welcome blessing.
Fel. Heaven had a care of both: my joys are mighty.
Vouchsafe me, sir, your pardon, if I blush,
And say I love, but rather than the peace
That should preserve your bosom, suffer for
My sake, 'twere better I were dead.
Fer. No, live,
And live for ever happy, thou deserved'st it.
It is Fernando doth make haste to sleep
In his forgotten dust.
Fel. Those accents did
Not sound so cheerfully.
Fer. Dost love me?
Fel. Sir?
Fer. Do not, I prithee, do not; I am lost,
Alas! I am no more Fernando, there
Is nothing but the empty name of him
That did betray thee; place a guard about
Thy heart betime, I am not worth this sweetness.
Fel. Did not Fernando speak all this? alas,
He knew that I was poor before, and needed not
Despise me now for that.
Fer. Desert me, goodness,
When I upbraid thy wants. 'Tis I am poor,
For I have not a stock in all the world
Of so much dust, as would contrive one narrow
Cabin to shroud a worm; my dying father
Hath given away my birthright to Francisco;
I'm disinherited, thrown out of all,
But the small earth I borrow, thus to walk on,
And having nothing left, I come to kiss thee,
And take my everlasting leave of thee too.
Farewell! this will persuade thee to consent
To my eternal absence.
Fel. I must beseech you stay a little, sir,
And clear my faith. Hath your displeased father
Depriv'd you then of all, and made Francisco
The lord of your inheritance, without hope
To be repair'd in fortune?
Fer. 'Tis sad truth.
Fel. This is a happiness I did not look for.
Fer. A happiness!
Fel. Yes, sir, a happiness.
Fer. Can Felisarda take delight to hear
What hath undone her servant?
Fel. Heaven avert it.
But 'tis not worth my grief to be assured
That this will bring me nearer now to him
Whom I most honour of the world; and 'tis
My pride, if you exceed me not in fortune,
That I can boast my heart, as high, and rich,
With noble flame, and every way your equal;
And if you be as poor as I, Fernando,
I can deserve you now, and love you more
Than when your expectation carried all
The pride and blossoms of the spring upon it
Fer. Those shadows will not feed more than your fancies:
Two poverties will keep but a thin table;
And while we dream of this high nourishment,
We do but starve more gloriously.
Fel. 'Tis ease
And wealth first taught us art to surfeit by:
Nature is wise, not costly, and will spread
A table for us in the wilderness;
And the kind earth keep us alive and healthful,
With what her bosom doth invite us to;
The brooks, not there suspected, as the wine
That sometime princes quaff, are all transparent,
And with their pretty murmurs call to taste them.
In every tree a chorister to sing
Health to our loves; our lives shall there be free
As the first knowledge was from sin, and all
Our dreams as innocent.
Fer. Oh, Felisarda?
If thou didst own less virtue I might prove
Unkind, and marry thee: but being so rich
In goodness, it becomes me not to bring
One that is poor in every worth, to waste
So excellent a dower; be free, and meet
One that hath wealth to cherish it, I shall
Undo thee quite; but pray for me, as I,
That thou mayst change for a more happy bridegroom;
I dare as soon be guilty of my death,
As make thee miserable by expecting me.
Farewell! and do not wrong my soul, to think
That any storm could separate us two,
But that I have no fortune now to serve thee.
Fel. This will be no exception, sir, I hope,
When we are both dead, yet our bodies may
Be cold, and strangers in the winding sheet,
We shall be married when our spirits meet
A Room in don Ramyres's House .
Enter RAMYRES , reading a paper , FRANCISCO , and a Notary.
Ram. 'Tis most exactly done, and firm.
Nota. I could,
Omitting or inserting but a word,
Or particle, trouble the whole conveyance,
And make work for the law till doom's-day: but —
Fran. Is't possible?
Nota. You do not know the quirks of a scrivano,
A dash undoes a family, a point,
An artificial accent i' the wrong place,
Shall poison an estate, translate your land,
In Spain now, into either of both Indies,
In less time than our galleons of plate
Are sailing hither; but you are my friend,
And noble benefactor.
Ram. There is more
For your reward.
Nota. I humbly thank you, signior; su criado .
Fran. Farewell.
Nota. Su servidor .
Ram. This deed makes thee my heir, Francisco, and
Will, like a powerful spell upon don Carlos,
Whose soul is superstitious about wealth,
Win his consent to make Jacinta thine.
Fran. Sir,
I cannot say my duty shall deserve it,
Since nature, and religion, without all
This bounty, challenges my best obedience.
Enter FERNANDO .
Ram. Away! thy sight
Is my disease.
Fer. Your blessing, sir, I kneel for.
Ram. What impudence is this! wilt thou subscribe,
To take off mine, thy curse on Felisarda?
For I do hate her heartily; disclaim
All promise, contract, or converse for ever,
I'm else inexorable.
Fer. Sir.
Ram. His eyes shoot poison at me; ha! he has
Bewitched me, sure; what coldness thus invades me?
There's something creeping to my heart. Francisco!
Possess this gift of thy inheritance.
Convey me to my chamber; oh! — Fernando,
If thou dost hope I should take off my curse,
Do not approach my sight, unless I send for thee.
Fran. Forbear, good brother. — Diego! Roderigo!
Enter two Servants.
Your hands t' assist my father; one go for his physician.
Fer. This turn is fatal, and affrights me; but
Heaven has more charity than to let him die
With such a hard heart; 'twere a sin, next his
Want of compassion, to suspect he can
Take his eternal flight and leave Fernando
This desperate legacy; he will [yet] change
The curse into some little prayer, I hope,
And then —
Enter Servant with a Physician.
Serv. Make haste, I beseech you, doctor.
Phys. Noble Fernando.
Fer. As you would have men think your art is meant
Not to abuse mankind, employ it all
To cure my poor sick father.
Phys. Fear it not, sir.
Fer. But there is more than your thin skill requir'd
T' instate a health; your recipes, perplex'd
With tough names, are but mockeries and noise,
Without some dew from heaven, to mix and make them.
Enter a Servant.
Thrive in the application. — What now?
Serv. Oh, sir, I am sent for the confessor,
The doctor fears him much: your brother says
You must have patience, and not enter, sir;
Your father is a going, good old man,
And having made him heir, is loth your presence
Should interrupt his journey.
Fer. Francisco may be honest, yet, methinks,
It would become his love to interpose
For my access at such a needful hour,
And mediate for my blessing, not assist
Unkindly thus my banishment. I'll not
Be lost so tamely: shall my father die
And not Fernando take his leave! — I dare not. —
If thou dost hope I should take off this curse,
Do not approach until I send — 'twas so,
And 'tis a law that binds above my blood. —
Re-enter Servant with a Confessor.
Make haste, good father, and if heaven deny
Him life, let not his charity die too.
One curse may sink us both: say how I kneel
And beg he would bequeath me but his blessing;
Then, though Francisco be his heir, I shall
Live happy, and take comfort in my tears,
When I remember him, so kind a father.
Conf. It is my duty.
Fer. Do your holy office —
Those fond philosophers that magnify
Our human nature, and did boast we had
Such a prerogative in our rational soul,
Convers'd but little with the world; confined
To cells, and unfrequented woods, they knew not
The fierce vexation of community,
Else they had taught, our reason is our loss,
And but a privilege that exceedeth sense,
By nearer apprehension of what wounds,
To know ourselves most miserable. — My heart
Re-enter Physician and FRANCISCO .
Is teeming with new fears. — Ha! is he dead?
Phys. Not dead, but in a desperate condition;
And so that little breath remains we have
Remitted to his confessor, whose office
Is all that's left.
Fran. Is there no hope of life, then?
Phys. None.
Fer. Is he not merciful to Fernando yet?
No talk of me?
Phys. I find he takes no pleasure
To hear you nam'd: Francisco, to us all,
He did confirm his heir, with many blessings.
Fer. And not one left for me! oh, take me in,
Thou gentle earth, and let me creep through all
Thy dark and hollow crannies, till I find
Another way to come into the world,
For all the air I breathe in here is poison'd.
Fran. We must have patience, brother; it was no
Ambitious thought of mine to supplant you:
He may live yet, and you be reconciled.
Fer. That was some kindness yet, Francisco; but
I charge thee, by the nearness of our blood,
When I am made this mockery, and wonder,
And know not where to find out charity,
If unawares a chance direct my weary
And wither'd feet to some fair house of thine,
Where plenty with full blessings crowns thy table,
If my thin face betray my want of food,
Do not despise me, cause I was thy brother. —
Fran. Leave these imagined horrors; I must not
Live when my brother is thus miserable.
Re-enter Confessor.
Fer. There's something in that face looks comfortably.
Conf. Your father, sir, is dead; his will to make
Francisco the sole master of his fortunes
Is now irrevocable; a small pension
He hath given you for life, which, with his blessing,
Is all the benefit I bring.
Fer. Ha! blessing!
Speak it again, good father.
Conf. I did apply some lenitives to soften
His anger, and prevail'd; your father hath
Revers'd that heavy censure of his curse,
And in the place bequeath'd his prayer and blessing.
Fer. I am new created by his charity.
Conf. Some ceremonies are behind: he did
Desire to be interr'd within our convent,
And left his sepulture to me; I am confident
Your pieties will give me leave —
Fran. His will in all things I obey, and your's,
Most reverend father; order, as you please,
His body; we may after celebrate,
With all due obsequies, his funeral.
Fer. Why you alone obey? I am your brother;
My father's eldest son, though not his heir.
Fran. It pleas'd my father, sir, to think me worthy
Of such a title; you shall find me kind,
If you can look on matters without envy. —
Fer. If I can look on matters without envy!
Fran. You may live here still.
Fer. I may live here, Francisco!
Enter a Gentleman with a letter, and whispers
FRANCISCO .
Conditions?
I would not understand this dialect. —
Fran. With me? from madam Estefania?
Gent. If you be signior Francisco.
Fer. Slighted!
I find my father was not dead till now.
Crowd not, you jealous thoughts,
So thick into my brain, lest you do tempt
Me to an act will forfeit all again.
Fran. This is Jacinta's character. — [ reads aside.
— Fail not to meet [me] timely, as you will prevent the danger of my rape. — My soul! Estefania can instruct you all particulars. —
My service to your lady; say, I shall obey her commands.
Fer. Is that an inventory you peruse?
Fran. Fernando, you must pardon me, there's something
Of essence to my life, exacts my care,
And person; I must leave you, we may seasonably
Confer of things at my return. — Jacinta!
Fer. 'Tis clear, I am neglected: he did name
Jacinta, too, in triumph, and is gone,
Big with his glories, to divide them there,
And laugh at what my constant love hath made me.
My heart is in a storm, and day grows black;
There's not a star in heaven will lend a beam
To light me to my ruin. Felisarda! —
That name is both my haven and my shipwreck.
SCENE II.
Don Alberto's Lodgings .
Enter ALBERTO and LUYS .
Alb. Excellent!
Luys. You'll give me now a general release
For all the sums I owe you?
Alb. Thou hast bless'd me.
Luys. I was born to do you good; about it presently:
Now you know where to ambush. Away! I say,
And get comrades: Jacinta and my mother
Is all the carriage; you may know the coach,
By the old woman's cough, ere it come near you;
She has a desperate malice to one tooth left
Still in her gums; till she has shook that out,
You will not need a warning-piece; farewell.
Alb. Farewell! why, what's the matter? you shall not leave me;
Thy mother will not know thee in a vizard.
Luys. You must excuse me, friend; I would join wi'ye
I' the surprise, out that —
Alb. What, I prithee?
Luys. I have extraordinary business, that concerns me
As near as life.
Alb. May not I know't? thou art going
To the widow now, thy mistress.
Luys. 'Tis a business of more consequence; dost think I would leave thee, an there were not such a necessity?
Alb. For what?
Luys. An there were no more sisters in the world,
You must excuse me.
Alb. Nay, nay, we must not part, unless I know
This mystery; some reason why you leave me.
Luys. If you will needs know, there's a wench stays for me,
The toy I told thee of. Farewell, Alberto.
Alb. But will you leave such business, and a friend?
Luys. Business! art thou a gentleman, and wouldst have me leave a lady I have not seen this three year
For business, or a friend? I must to her.
If I had a heart [that weigh'd] ten ton of iron,
This female adamant would draw it to her;
I feel it going; I do tell thee, don,
There is no business so material
In nature as a wench, and if thou art my friend,
Thou wouldst leave my sister now in such a cause,
And bear me company. I must be drunk,
And she must pick my pocket, too, that is
Another secret, when we meet together,
That never fails?
Alb. Why, art thou desperate?
Dost not thou fear thy body?
Luys. A wench is physic
My body has been us'd to; leave thy prating,
And let me take my course.
Alb. An you be so resolute —
Luys. I must give you one advice before you go.
When my sister's in thy custody, observe
The time and place, and things convenient;
And stand not fooling about ceremonies,
But put her to't.
Alb. Thou wouldst not have me ravish her?
Luys. Yes, but I would,
She is no sister of mine if she cry out
For such a business: she has more wit.
Alb. Was ever such a mad-cap!
Luys. I'll not pray for thee.
Alb. I shall not prosper if thou dost.
Luys. Thy hand;
I'll drink thy health, and hang thyself.
Farewell.
SCENE III.
A Room in don Carlos's House .
Enter JACINTA , and ESTEFANIA hooded, and dressed alike .
Jac. You tell
Me wonders, madam; don Ramyres dead,
His son Fernando disinherited,
And young Francisco made his heir?
Estef. I took
Francisco's word.
Jac. 'Tis strange.
Estef. Your stars smile on you.
Jac. Yet I much pity the poor gentleman.
Estef. Busy your thought about your own; Francisco —
Jac. Hath promis'd not to fail?
Estef. He waits where he can easily observe
How soon the coast is clear, to visit you.
Jac. So, so; thus hooded,
The day cannot distinguish our two faces,
And for your voice, you know how to disguise it
By imitation of my cold and hoarseness,
And when you come to church —
Estef. Let me alone, there I'll produce the contract,
Which will surprise don Pedro, and your father,
To see me challenge him; I have prepar'd the priest, too,
Whose holy eloquence may assist; however,
This will give you opportunity to perfect
Your wishes with your servant; put the rest
To fate, Jacinta.
Jac. I hear some approach;
Retire into my closet. —
Enter don CARLOS and don Pedro .
Car. Jacinta!
Jac. Sir.
Car. Not thy voice recover'd?
Jac. A violent cold —
Car. Count Pedro must salute you ere we go.
Ped. Impute it to devotion, that I make
Such haste to be within thy arms;
One kiss, and I shall carry with me
Another soul, and count with joy the minutes
I am to expect this happiness.
Car. Jacinta,
You follow with your mother in the coach. —
My lord, I wait you.
Ped. There's heaven upon her lip.
Re-enter ESTEFANIA .
Jac. He has kiss'd, and took his leave, I hope
I must
Owe all my happiness to you, sweet madam;
I had been lost without your art to help me.
Estef. Love will not leave his votaries.
Jac. I hear my mother's cough; I have finish'd,
And you must act your part.
Enter ALSIMIRA .
Als. Come, are you ready, daughter? the coach stays.
Estef. I attend.
Als. Don Pedro will cure your cold before the morning.
SCENE IV.
A street.
FRANCISCO and JACINTA pass hastily over the stage .
SCENE V.
A Room in Theodoro's House .
Enter THEODORO and FELISARDA .
Theo. What duty, Felisarda, shall we pay
To heaven for this last care of us?
Let not thy eyes,
Although thy grief become them, be in love
With tears; I prophesy a joy shall weigh
Down all our sufferings; I see comfort break
Like day, whose forehead cheers the world; if don
Fernando love thee, he is a gentleman,
Confirm'd in all that's honourable, and cannot
Forget whom his own virtue hath made choice
To shine upon.
Fel. Unless my innocence,
Apt to believe a flattering tongue, see not
The serpent couch, and hide his speckled breast
Among the flowers; but it were sin to think
He can dissemble, father; and I know not,
Since I was first the object of his charity,
I find a pious gratitude disperse
Within my soul, and every thought of him
Engenders a warm sigh within me, which,
Like curls of holy incense, overtake
Each other in my bosom, and enlarge
With their embrace his sweet remembrance.
Theo. Cherish
Those thoughts; and where such noble worth invites,
Be bold to call it love.
Fel. It is too much
Ambition to hope he should be just
To me, or keep his honour, when I look on
The pale complexion of my wants; and yet,
Unless he loves me dearly, I am lost,
And, if he have but mock'd me into faith,
He might as well have murder'd me, for I
Shall have no heart to live, if his neglect
Deface what my affection printed there.
Theo. There is no fear of his revolt; lose not
His character. I must attend some business;
If don Fernando visit thee, preserve
His fair opinion, and thou may'st live
Above thy uncle's pity.
Fel. Will you leave me?
Theo. My stay shall not be long; the garden will,
With smiling flowers, encourage thee to walk,
And raise thy drooping eyes, with hope to see
A spring like their's upon thee.
Fel. Why should I
Give any entertainment to my fears?
Suspicions are but like the shape of clouds,
And idle forms i' the air, we make to fright us,
I will admit no jealous thought to wound
Fernando's truth, but with that cheerfulness,
My own first clear intents to honour him
Can arm me with, expect to meet his faith
As noble as he promis'd. — Ha! 'tis he.
Enter FERNANDO .
My poor heart trembles like a timorous leaf,
Which the wind shakes upon his sickly stalk,
And frights into a palsy.
Fer. Felisarda!
Fel. Shall I want fortitude to bid him welcome? —
Sir, if you think there is a heart alive
That can be grateful, and with humble thought
And prayers reward your piety, despise not
The offer of it here; you have not cast
Your bounty on a rock; while the seeds thrive
Where you did place your charity, my joy
May seem ill dress'd to come like sorrow thus,
But you may see through every tear, and find
My eyes meant innocence, and your hearty welcome.
Fer. Who did prepare thee, Felisarda, thus
To entertain me weeping? Sure our souls
Meet and converse, and we not know't; there is
Such beauty in that watery circle, I
Am fearful to come near, and breathe a kiss
Upon thy cheek, lest I pollute that crystal,
And yet I must salute thee, and I dare,
With one warm sigh, meet and dry up this sorrow.
Fel. I shall forget all misery; for when
I look upon the world, and race of men,
I find them proud, and all so unacquainted
With pity to such miserable things
As poverty hath made us, that I must
Conclude you sent from heaven.
Fer. Oh, do not flatter
Thyself, poor Felisarda; I am mortal;
The life I bear about me is not mine,
But borrow'd to come to thee once again,
And, ere I go, to clear how much I love thee —
But first, I have a story to deliver,
A tale will make thee sad, but I must tell it, —
There is one dead that lov'd thee not.
Fel. One dead
That lov'd me not? this carries, sir, in nature
No killing sound; I shall be sad to know
I did deserve an enemy, or he want
A charity at death.
Fer. Thy cruel enemy,
And my best friend, hath took eternal leave,
And's gone — to heaven, I hope; excuse my tears,
It is a tribute I must pay his memory,
For I did love my father.
Fel. Ha! your father?
Fer. Yes, Felisarda, he is gone, that in
The morning promis'd many years; but death
Hath in few hours made him as stiff, as all
The winds of winter had thrown cold upon him,
And whisper'd him to marble.
Fel. Now trust me,
My heart weeps for him; but I understand
Not how I was concern'd in his displeasure;
And in such height as you profess.
Fer. He did
Command me, on his blessing, to forsake thee.
Was't not a cruel precept, to enforce
The soul, and curse his son for honest love?
Fel. This is a wound indeed.
Fer. But not so mortal;
For his last breath was balsam pour'd upon it,
By which he did reverse his malediction;
And I, that groan'd beneath the weight of that
Anathema, sunk almost to despair,
Where night and heavy shades hunground about me,
Found myself rising like the morning star
To view the world.
Fel. Never, I hope, to be
Eclips'd again.
Fer. This was a welcome blessing.
Fel. Heaven had a care of both: my joys are mighty.
Vouchsafe me, sir, your pardon, if I blush,
And say I love, but rather than the peace
That should preserve your bosom, suffer for
My sake, 'twere better I were dead.
Fer. No, live,
And live for ever happy, thou deserved'st it.
It is Fernando doth make haste to sleep
In his forgotten dust.
Fel. Those accents did
Not sound so cheerfully.
Fer. Dost love me?
Fel. Sir?
Fer. Do not, I prithee, do not; I am lost,
Alas! I am no more Fernando, there
Is nothing but the empty name of him
That did betray thee; place a guard about
Thy heart betime, I am not worth this sweetness.
Fel. Did not Fernando speak all this? alas,
He knew that I was poor before, and needed not
Despise me now for that.
Fer. Desert me, goodness,
When I upbraid thy wants. 'Tis I am poor,
For I have not a stock in all the world
Of so much dust, as would contrive one narrow
Cabin to shroud a worm; my dying father
Hath given away my birthright to Francisco;
I'm disinherited, thrown out of all,
But the small earth I borrow, thus to walk on,
And having nothing left, I come to kiss thee,
And take my everlasting leave of thee too.
Farewell! this will persuade thee to consent
To my eternal absence.
Fel. I must beseech you stay a little, sir,
And clear my faith. Hath your displeased father
Depriv'd you then of all, and made Francisco
The lord of your inheritance, without hope
To be repair'd in fortune?
Fer. 'Tis sad truth.
Fel. This is a happiness I did not look for.
Fer. A happiness!
Fel. Yes, sir, a happiness.
Fer. Can Felisarda take delight to hear
What hath undone her servant?
Fel. Heaven avert it.
But 'tis not worth my grief to be assured
That this will bring me nearer now to him
Whom I most honour of the world; and 'tis
My pride, if you exceed me not in fortune,
That I can boast my heart, as high, and rich,
With noble flame, and every way your equal;
And if you be as poor as I, Fernando,
I can deserve you now, and love you more
Than when your expectation carried all
The pride and blossoms of the spring upon it
Fer. Those shadows will not feed more than your fancies:
Two poverties will keep but a thin table;
And while we dream of this high nourishment,
We do but starve more gloriously.
Fel. 'Tis ease
And wealth first taught us art to surfeit by:
Nature is wise, not costly, and will spread
A table for us in the wilderness;
And the kind earth keep us alive and healthful,
With what her bosom doth invite us to;
The brooks, not there suspected, as the wine
That sometime princes quaff, are all transparent,
And with their pretty murmurs call to taste them.
In every tree a chorister to sing
Health to our loves; our lives shall there be free
As the first knowledge was from sin, and all
Our dreams as innocent.
Fer. Oh, Felisarda?
If thou didst own less virtue I might prove
Unkind, and marry thee: but being so rich
In goodness, it becomes me not to bring
One that is poor in every worth, to waste
So excellent a dower; be free, and meet
One that hath wealth to cherish it, I shall
Undo thee quite; but pray for me, as I,
That thou mayst change for a more happy bridegroom;
I dare as soon be guilty of my death,
As make thee miserable by expecting me.
Farewell! and do not wrong my soul, to think
That any storm could separate us two,
But that I have no fortune now to serve thee.
Fel. This will be no exception, sir, I hope,
When we are both dead, yet our bodies may
Be cold, and strangers in the winding sheet,
We shall be married when our spirits meet
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