Might prove a curse to me: my sorrow springs
Out of my fear and doubt he is not safe.
I am acquainted withDon Henrique's nature,
And I have heard too much the fiery temper
Of MadamViolante: can you think
That she, that almost is at war with Heaven
For being barren, will with equal eyes
Behold a Son of mine?
Octa.
His Father's care,
That for the want of Issue, took him home,
(Though with the forfeiture of his own fame)
Will look unto his safety.
Jac.
Step-mothers
Have many eyes, to find a way to mischief,
Though blind to goodness.
EnterJamieandAscanio.
Octa.
Here comesDon Jamie,
And with him ourAscanio.
Jam.
Good youth leave me,
I know thou art forbid my company,
And only to be seen with me, will call on
Thy Fathers anger.
[Asc.]
Sir, if that to serve you
Could lose me any thing (as indeed it cannot)
I still would follow you. Alas I was born
To do you hurt, but not to help my self,
I was, for some particular end, took home,
But am cast off again.
Jam.
Is't possible?
Asc.
The Lady, whom my Father calls his Wife,
Abhors my sight, is sick of me, and forc'd him
To turn me out of doors.
Jac.
By my best hopes
I thank her cruelty, for it comes near
A saving Charity.
Asc.
I am only happy
That yet I can relieve you, 'pray you share:
My Father's wondrous kind, and promises
That I should be supplied: but sure the Lady
Is a malicious Woman, and I fear
Means me no good.
EnterServant.
Jam.
I am turn'd a stone with wonder,
And know not what to think.
Ser.
From my Lady,
Your private ear, and this—
Jam.
New Miracles?
Ser.
She says, if you dare make your self a Fortune,
She will propose the means; my LordDon Henrique
Is now from home, and she alone expects you,
If you dare trust her, so, if not despair of
A second offer.
[Exit.
Jam.
Though there were an Ambush
Laid for my life, I'le on and sound this secret.
Retire thee, myAscanio, with thy Mother:
But stir not forth, some great design's on foot,
Fall what can fall, if e're the Sun be set
I see you not, give me for dead.
Asc.
We will expect you,
And those bless'd Angels, that love goodness, guard you.
[Exeunt.
SCENA V.
EnterLopezandBartolus.
Bar.
Is't possible he should be rich?
Lop.
Most possible,
He hath been long, though he had but little gettings,
Drawing together, Sir.
Bar.
Accounted a poor Sexton,
Honest poorDiego.
Lop.
I assure ye, a close Fellow,
Both close, and scraping, and that fills the Bags, Sir.
Bar.
A notable good fellow too?
Lop.
Sometimes, Sir,
When he hop'd to drink a man into a Surfeit,
That he might gain by his Grave.
Bar.
So many thousands?
Lop.
Heaven knows what.
Bar.
'Tis strange,
'Tis very strange; but we see by endeavour,
And honest labour—
Lop.
Milo, by continuance
Grew from a silly Calf (with your worships reverence)
To carry a Bull, from a penny, to a pound, Sir,
And from a pound, to many: 'tis the progress.
Bar.
Ye say true, but he lov'd to feed well also,
And that me-thinks—
Lop.
From another mans Trencher, Sir,
And there he found it season'd with small charge:
There he would play the Tyrant, and would devour ye
More than the Graves he made; at home he liv'd
Like a Camelion, suckt th' Air of misery,
[Table out, Standish, Paper, Stools.
And grew fat by the Brewis of an Egg-shell,
Would smell a Cooks-shop, and go home and surfeit.
And be a month in fasting out that Fever.
Bar.
These are good Symptoms: do's he lye so sick say ye?
Lop.
Oh, very sick.
Bar.
And chosen me Executor?
Lop.
Only your Worship.
Bar.
No hope of his amendment?
Lop.
None, that we find.
Bar.
He hath no Kinsmen neither?
Lop.
'Truth, very few,
Bar.
His mind will be the quieter.
What Doctors has he?
Lop.
There's none, Sir, he believes in.
Bar.
They are but needless things, in such extremities.
Who draws the good mans Will?
Lop.
Marry that do I, Sir,
And to my grief.
Bar.
Grief will do little now, Sir,
Draw it to your comfort, Friend, and as I counsel ye,
An honest man, but such men live not always:
Who are about him?
Lop.
Many, now he is passing,
That would pretend to his love, yes, and some Gentlemen
That would fain counsel him, and be of his Kindred;
Rich men can want no Heirs, Sir.
Bar.
They do ill,
Indeed they do, to trouble him; very ill, Sir.
But we shall take a care.
EnterDiego,in a Bed, Milanes, Arsenio,andParishioners.
Lop.
Will ye come near, Sir?
'Pray ye bring him out; now ye may see in what state:
Give him fresh Air.
Bar.
I am sorry, NeighbourDiego,
To find ye in so weak a state.
Die.
Ye are welcome,
But I am fleeting, Sir.
Bar.
Me-thinks he looks well,
His colour fresh, and strong, his eyes are chearful.
Lop.
A glimmering before death, 'tis nothing else, Sir,
Do you see how he fumbles with the Sheet? do ye note that?
Die.
My learned Sir, 'pray ye sit: I am bold to send for ye,
To take a care of what I leave.
Lop.
Do ye hear that?
Ars.
Play the Knave finely.
Die.
So I will, I warrant ye,
And carefully.
Bar.
'Pray ye do not trouble him,