Atheist's Tragedie, The - Act 3, Scene 2

Enter D' AMVILIE , S EBASTIAN , and L ANGUEBEAU . D'am .

Now, Sir, your businesse? Seba .

My Annuitie. D'am .

Not a deniere. Seba .

How would you ha' me liue? D'am .

Why turne Cryer. Cannot you turne Cryer? Seba .

Yes. D'am .

Then doe so: y' haue a good voice for 't.
Y'are excellent at crying of a Rape. Seba .

Sir, I confesse in particular respect to your selfe. I was somewhat forgetfull. Gen'rall honestie possess'd me. D'am .

Goe, th'art the base corruption of my bloud;
And, like a tetter, grow'st unto my flesh. Seba .

Inflict any punishment upon me. The severitie shall not discourage me if it be not shamefull, so you'l but put money i' my purse. The want of money makes a free spirit more mad than the possession does an Usurer. D'am .

Not a farthing. Seba .

Would you ha' me turne purse-taker? 'Tis the next way to doe 't. For want is like the Racque: it drawes a man to endanger himselfe to the gallowes rather than endure it.

Enter C HARLEMONT . D' AMVILLE counterfaites to take him for a ghoast . D'am .

What art thou? Stay — Assist my troubled sence —
My apprehension will distract me — Stay.

L ANGUEBEAU S NUFFE auoides him fearefully . Seba .

What art thou? Speake. Charl .

The spirit of Charlemont. D'am .

O! stay. Compose me. I dissolue. Lang .

No. 'Tis prophane. Spirits are inuisible. 'Tis the fiend i' the likenesse of Charlemont. I will haue no conuersation with Sathan.

Exit S NUFFE . Seba .

The Spirit of Charlemont? I'll try that.
'Fore God thou sayest true: th'art all Spirit. D'am .

Goe, call the Officers.

Exit D' AMVILLE . Charl .

Th'art a villaine, and the sonne of a villaine. Seba .

You lye.

Fight.

S EBASTIAN is downe . Char .

Haue at thee.

Enter the Ghost of M ONIFERRERS .

Reuenge, to thee I'll dedicate this worke. Mont .

Hold, Charlemont.
Let him reuenge my murder and thy wrongs
To whom the Justice of Reuenge belongs. Char .

You torture me betweene the passion of
My bloud and the religion of my soule.

S EBASTIAN rises . Seba .

A good honest fellow!

Enter D' AMVILLE with Officers . D'am .

What, wounded? Apprehend him. Sir, is this
Your salutation for the courtesie
I did you when wee parted last? You haue
Forgot I lent you a thousand Crownes. First, let
Him answere for this riot. When the Law
Is satisfied for that, an action for
His debt shall clap him up againe. I tooke
You for a Spirit and Ile conjure you
Before I ha' done. Charl .

No, I'll turne Coniurer. Diuell!
Within this Circle, in the midst of all
Thy force and malice, I coniure thee doe
Thy worst. D'am .

Away with him.

Exeunt Officers with C HARLEMONI . Seba .

Sir, I haue got
A scratch or two here for your sake. I hope
You'll giue mee money to pay the Surgeon. D'am .

Borachio, fetch me a thousand Crownes. I am
Content to countenance the freedome of
Your spirit when 'tis worthily imployed.
A God's name giue behauiour the full scope
Of gen'rous libertie, but let it not
Disperse and spend it selfe in courses of
Unbounded licence. Here, pay for your hurts.

Exit D' AMVILLE . Seba .

I thanke you, sir. — Gen'rous libertie! — that is to say, freely to bestow my habilities to honest purposes. Me thinkes I should not follow that instruction now, if hauing the meanes to doe an honest office for an honest fellow, I should neglect it. Charlemont lyes in prison for a thousand Crownes. Honestie tells mee 'twere well done to release Charlemont. But discretion sayes I had much a doe to come by this, and when this shall be gone I know not where to finger any more, especially if I employ it to this use, which is like to endanger mee into my Father's perpetuall displeasure. And then I may goe hang my selfe, or be forc'd to doe that will make another saue mee the labour. No matter, Charlemont, thou gau'st mee my life, and that's somewhat of a purer earth then gold, fine as it is. 'Tis no courtesie, I doe thee but thankfulnesse. I owe it thee, and Ile pay it. Hee fought brauely, but the Officers drag'd him villanously. Arrant knaues! for using him so discourteously; may the sins o' the poore people be so few that you sha' not be able to spare so much out o' your gettings as will pay for the hyre of a lame staru'd hackney to ride to an execution, but goe a foote to the gallowes and be hang'd. May elder brothers turne good husbands, and younger brothers get good wiues, that there be no neede of debt-bookes nor use of Serjeants. May there be all peace, but i' the warre and all charitie, but i' the Diuell, so that prisons may be turn'd to Hospitals, though the Officers liue o' the beneuolence. If this curse might come to passe, the world would say, Blessed be he that curseth .
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.