Curate, and Sexton,
     I have heard of you too, let me hear no more,
     And what’s past, is forgotten; For this woman,
     Though her intent were bloody, yet our Law
     Calls it not death:  yet that her punishment
     May deter others from such bad attempts,
     The dowry she brought with her, shall be emploi’d
     To build a Nunnery, where she shall spend
     The remnant of her life.

     Viol.

     Since I have miss’d my ends,
     I scorn what can fall on me.

     Assist.

The strict discipline Of the Church, will teach you better thoughts.  And Signiors, You that are Batchelours, if you ever marry, In Bartolus you may behold the issue Of Covetousness and Jealousie; and of dotage, And falshood in Don Henrique:  keep a mean then; For be assured, that weak man meets all ill, That gives himself up to a womans will.

[Exeunt.

* * * * *

     Prologue.

To tell ye (Gentlemen,) we have a Play, A new one too, and that ’tis launch’d to day, The Name ye know, that’s nothing to my Story; To tell ye, ’tis familiar, void of Glory, Of State, of Bitterness:  of wit you’ll say, For that is now held wit, that tends that way, Which we avoid:  To tell ye too ’tis merry, And meant to make ye pleasant, and not weary:  The Stream that guides ye, easie to attend:  To tell ye that ’tis good, is to no end, If you believe not.  Nay, to goe thus far, To swear it, if you swear against, is war.  To assure you any thing, unless you see, And so conceive, is vanity in me; Therefore I leave it to it self, and pray Like a good Bark, it may work out to day, And stem all doubts; ’twas built for such a proof, And we hope highly:  if she lye aloof For her own vantage, to give wind at will, Why let her work, only be you but still, And sweet opinion’d, and we are bound to say, You are worthy Judges, and you crown the Play.

* * * * *

     Epilogue.

The Play is done, yet our Suit never ends, Still when you part, you would still part our friends, Our noblest friends; if ought have faln amiss, O let it be sufficient, that it is, And you have pardon’d it.  In Buildings great All the whole Body cannot be so neat, But something may be mended; Those are fair, And worthy love, that may destroy, but spare.

APPENDIX

     Ad Janum

     Take Comfort Janus, never feare thy head
     Which to the quick belongs, not to the dead
     Thy wife did lye with one, thou being dead drunke
     Thou are not Cuckold though shee bee a Punke.

Tis not the state nor soveraintie of Jove could draw thy pure affections from my love nor is there Venus in the Skyes could from thy looks with draw my greedy eyes.

THE SPANISH CURATE.