Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (1 of 10) - The Custom of the Country
by
Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
Part 1 out of 3
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles M. Bidwell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY.
* * * * *
Persons Represented in the Play.
Count Clodio, _Governour and a dishonourable pursuer of_ Zenocia.
Manuel du Sosa, _Governour of_ Lisbon, _and Brother to_ Guiomar.
Arnoldo, _A Gentleman contracted to_ Zenocia.
Rutilio, _A merry Gentleman Brother to_ Arnoldo.
Charino, _Father to_ Zenocia.
Duarte, _Son to_ Guiomar, _a Gentleman well qualified but vain glorious_.
Alonzo, _a young_ Portugal _Gentleman, enemy to_ Duarte.
Leopold, _a Sea Captain Enamour'd on_ Hippolyta.
Zabulon, _a_ Jew, _servant to_ Hippolyta.
Jaques, _servant to_ Sulpitia.
Doctor.
Chirurgion.
Officers.
Guard.
Page.
Bravo.
Knaves, _of the Male Stewes_.
Servants.
_WOMEN._
Zenocia, _Mistress to_ Arnoldo, _and a chaste Wife_.
Guiomar, _a vertuous Lady, Mother to_ Duarte.
Hippolyta, _a rich Lady, wantonly in Love with_ Arnoldo.
Sulpitia, _a Bawd, Mistress of the Male Stewes_.
* * * * *
_The Scene sometimes_ Lisbon, _sometimes_ Italy.
* * * * *
The principal Actors were
_Joseph Taylor_. _Robert Benfeild_.
_John Lowin_. _William Eglestone_.
_Nicholas Toolie_. _Richard Sharpe_.
_John Underwood_. _Thomas Holcomb_.
* * * * *
_Actus primus. Scena prima_.
_Enter_ Rutilio, _and_ Arnold[o].
_Rut._ Why do you grieve thus still?
_Arn._ 'Twould melt a Marble,
And tame a Savage man, to feel my fortune.
_Rut._ What fortune? I have liv'd this thirty years,
And run through all these follies you call fortunes,
Yet never fixt on any good and constant,
But what I made myself: why should I grieve then
At that I may mould any way?
_Arn._ You are wide still.
_Rut._ You love a Gentlewoman, a young handsom woman,
I have lov'd a thosand, not so few.
_Arn._ You are dispos'd.
_Rut._ You hope to Marry her; 'tis a lawful calling
And prettily esteem'd of, but take heed then,
Take heed dear Brother of a stranger fortune
Than e're you felt yet; fortune my foe is a friend to it.
_Arn._ 'Tis true I love, dearly, and truly love,
A noble, vertuous, and most beauteous Maid,
And am belov'd again.
_Rut._ That's too much o' Conscience,
To love all these would run me out o' my wits.
_Arn._ Prethee give ear, I am to Marry her.
_Rut._ Dispatch it then, and I'le go call the Piper.
_Arn._ But O the wicked Custom of this Country,
The barbarous, most inhumane, damned Custom.
_Rut_. 'Tis true, to marry is a Custom
I' the world; for look you Brother,
Wou'd any man stand plucking for the Ace of Harts,
With one pack of Cards all dayes on's life?
_Arn._ You do not
Or else you purpose not to understand me.
_Rut._ Proceed, I will give ear.
_Arn._ They have a Custom
In this most beastly Country, out upon't.
_Rut._ Let's hear it first.
_Arn._ That when a Maid is contracted
And ready for the tye o'th' Church, the Governour,
He that commands in chief, must have her Maiden-head,
Or Ransom it for mony at his pleasure.
_Rut._ How might a man atchieve that place? a rare Custom!
An admirable rare Custom: and none excepted?
_Arn._ None, none.
_Rut._ The rarer still: how could I lay about me,
In this rare Office? are they born to it, or chosen?
_Arn._ Both equal damnable.
_Rut._ Me thinks both excellent,
Would I were the next heir.
_Arn._ To this mad fortune
Am I now come, my Marriage is proclaim'd,
And nothing can redeem me from this mischief.
_Rut._ She's very young.
_Arn._ Yes.
_Rut._ And fair I dare proclaim her,
Else mine eyes fail.
_Arn._ Fair as the bud unblasted.
_Rut._ I cannot blame him then, if 'twere mine own case,
I would not go an Ace less.
_Arn._ Fye _Rutilio_,
Why do you make your brothers misery
Your sport and game?
_Rut._ There is no pastime like it.
_Arn._ I look'd for your advice, your timely Counsel,
How to avoid this blow, not to be mockt at,
And my afflictions jeer'd.
_Rut._ I tell thee _Arnoldo_,
An thou wert my Father, as thou art but my Brother,
My younger Brother too, I must be merry.
And where there is a wench yet can, a young wench,
A handsome wench, and sooner a good turn too,
An I were to be hang'd, thus must I handle it.
But you shall see Sir, I can change this habit
To do you any service; advise what you please,
And see with what Devotion I'le attend it?
But yet me thinks, I am taken with this Custom,
[_Enter_ Charino _and_ Zenocia.
And could pretend to th' place.
_Arn._ Draw off a little;
Here comes my Mistress and her Father.
_Rut._ A dainty wench!
Wou'd I might farm his Custom.
_Char._ My dear Daughter,
Now to bethink your self of new advice
Will be too late, later this timeless sorrow,
No price, nor prayers, can infringe the fate
Your beauty hath cast on yo[u], my best _Zenocia_,
Be rul'd by me, a Fathers care directs ye,
Look on the Count, look chearfully and sweetly;
What though he have the power to possess ye,
To pluck your Maiden honour, and then slight ye
By Custom unresistible to enjoy you;
Yet my sweet Child, so much your youth and goodness,
The beauty of your soul, and Saint-like Modesty,
Have won upon his mild mind, so much charm'd him,
That all power laid aside, what Law allows him,
Or sudden fires, kindled from those bright eyes,
He sues to be your servant, fairly, nobly
For ever to be tyed your faithful Husband:
Consider my best child.
_Zeno._ I have considered.
_Char._ The blessedness that this breeds too, consider
Besides your Fathers Honour, your own peace,
The banishment for ever of this Custom,
This base and barbarous use, for after once
He has found the happiness of holy Marriage,
And what it is to grow up with one Beauty,
How he will scorn and kick at such an heritage
Left him by lust and lewd progenitors.
All Virgins too, shall bless your name, shall Saint it,
And like so many Pilgrims go to your shrine,
When time has turn'd your beauty into ashes,
Fill'd with your pious memory.
_Zeno._ Good Father
Hide not that bitter Pill I loath to swallow
In such sweet words.
_Char._ The Count's a handsome Gentleman,
And having him, y'are certain of a fortune,
A high and noble fortune to attend you:
Where if you fling your Love upon this stranger
This young _Arnoldo_, not knowing from what place
Or honourable strain of blood he is sprung, you venture
All your own sweets, and my long cares to nothing,
Nor are you certain of his faith; why may not that
Wander as he does, every where?
_Zen._ No more Sir;
I must not hear, I dare not hear him wrong'd thus,
Vertue is never wounded, but I suffer.
'Tis an ill Office in your age, a poor one,
To judge thus weakly: and believe your self too,
A weaker, to betray your innocent Daughter,
To his intemp'rate, rude, and wild embraces,
She hates as Heaven hates falshood.
_Rut._ A good wench,
She sticks close to you Sir.
_Zeno._ His faith uncertain?
The nobleness his vertue springs from, doubted?
D'ye doubt it is day now? or when your body's perfect,
Your stomach's well dispos'd, your pulse's temperate,
D'ye doubt you are in health? I tell you Father,
One hour of this mans goodness, this mans Nobleness
Put in the Scale, against the Counts whole being,
Forgive his lusts too, which are half his life,
He could no more endure to hold weight with him;
_Arnoldo's_ very looks, are fair examples;
His common and indifferent actions,
Rules and strong ties of vertue: he has my first love,
To him in sacred vow I have given this body,
In him my mind inhabits.
_Rut._ Good wench still.
_Zeno._ And till he fling me off, as undeserving,
Which I confess I am, of such a blessing,
But would be loth to find it so--
_Arn._ O never;
Never my happy Mistress, never, never,
When your poor servant lives but in your favour,
One foot i'th' grave the other shall not linger.
What sacrifice of thanks, what age of service,
What danger, of more dreadful look than death,
What willing Martyrdom to crown me constant
May merit such a goodness, such a sweetness?
A love so Nobly great, no power can ruine;
Most blessed Maid go on, the Gods that gave this,
This pure unspotted love, the Child of Heaven,
In their own goodness, must preserve and save it,
And raise you a reward beyond our recompence.
_Zeno._ I ask but you, a pure Maid to possess,
And then they have crown'd my wishes: If I fall then
Go seek some better love, mine will debase you.
_Rut._ A pretty innocent fool; well, Governour,
Though I think well of your custom, and could wish my self
For this night in your place, heartily wish it:
Yet if you play not fair play and above board too,
I have a foolish gin here, I say no more;
I'le tell you what, and if your honours guts are not inchanted.
_Arn._ I should now chide you Sir, for so declining
The goodness and the grace you have ever shew'd me,
And your own vertue too, in seeking rashly
To violate that love Heaven has appointed,
To wrest your Daughters thoughts, part that affection
That both our hearts have tyed, and seek to give it.
_Rut._ To a wild fellow, that would weary her;
A Cannibal, that feeds on the heads of Maids,
Then flings their bones and bodies to the Devil,
Would any man of discretion venture such a gristle,
To the rude clawes of such a _Cat-a-mountain_?
You had better tear her between two Oaks, a Town Bull
Is a meer _Stoick_ to this fellow, a grave Philosopher,
And a _Spanish_ Jennet, a most vertuous Gentleman.
_Arn._ Does this seem handsome Sir?
_Rut._ Though I confess
Any man would desire to have her, and by any means,
At any rate too, yet that this common Hangman,
That hath whipt off the heads of a thousand maids already,
That he should glean the Harvest, sticks in my stomach:
This Rogue breaks young wenches to the Saddle,
And teaches them to stumble ever after;
That he should have her? for my Brother now
That is a handsome young fellow; and well thought on,
And will deal tenderly in the business;
Or for my self that have a reputation,
And have studied the conclusions of these causes,
And know the perfect manage, I'le tell you old Sir,
If I should call you wise Sir, I should bely you,
This thing, you study to betray your child to,
This Maiden-monger. When you have done your best,
And think you have fixt her in the point of honour,
Who do you think you have tyed her to? a Surgeon,
I must confess an excellent dissector,
One that has cut up more young tender Lamb-pies--
_Char_. What I spake Gentlemen, was meer compulsion,
No Fathers free-will, nor did I touch your person
With any edge of spight; or strain your loves
With any base, or hir'd perswasions;
Witness these tears, how well I wisht your fortunes. [_Exit._
_Rut_. There's some grace in thee yet, you are determined
To marry this Count, Lady.
_Zen_. Marry him _Rutilio_?
_Rut_. Marry him, and lye with him I mean.
_Zen_. You cannot mean that,
If you be a true Gentleman, you dare not,
The Brother to this man, and one that loves him;
I'le marry the Devil first.
_Rut_. A better choice
And lay his horns by, a handsomer bed-fellow,
A cooler o' my conscience.
_Arn_. Pray let me ask you;
And my dear Mistris, be not angry with me
For what I shall propound, I am confident,
No promise, nor no power, can force your love,
I mean in way of marriage, never stir you,
Nor to forget my faith, no state can wound you.
But for this Custom, which this wretched country
Hath wrought into a law, and must be satisfied;
Where all the pleas of honour are but laught at,
And modesty regarded as a may-game,
What shall be here considered? power we have none,
To make resistance, nor policie to cross it:
'Tis held Religion too, to pay this duty.
_Zeno_. I'le dye an _Atheist_ then.
_Arn_. My noblest Mistris,
Not that I wish it so, but say it were so,
Say you did render up part of your honour,
For whilst your will is clear, all cannot perish;
Say for one night you entertain'd this monster,
Should I esteem you worse, forc'd to this render?
Your mind I know is pure, and full as beauteous;
After this short eclipse, you would rise again,
And shaking off that cloud, spread all your lustre.
_Zeno_. Who made you witty, to undoe your self, Sir?
Or are you loaden, with the love I bring you,
And fain would fling that burthen on another?
Am I grown common in your eyes _Arnoldo_?
Old, or unworthy of your fellowship?
D'ye think because a woman, I must err,
And therefore rather wish that fall before-hand
Coloured with Custom, not to be resisted?
D'ye love as painters doe, only some pieces,
Some certain handsome touches of your Mistris,
And let the mind pass by you, unexamined?
Be not abus'd; with what the maiden vessel
Is seasoned first, you understand the proverb.
_Rut_. I am afraid, this thing will make me vertuous.
_Zeno_. Should you lay by the least part of that love
Y'ave sworn is mine, your youth and faith has given me,
To entertain another, nay a fairer,
And make the case thus desp'rate, she must dy else;
D'ye think I would give way, or count this honest?
Be not deceiv'd, these eyes should never see you more,
This tongue forget to name you, and this heart
Hate you, as if you were born, my full _Antipathie_.
_Empire_ and more imperious love, alone
Rule, and admit no rivals: the purest springs
When they are courted by lascivious land-floods,
Their maiden pureness, and their coolness perish.
And though they purge again to their first beauty,
The sweetness of their taste is clean departed.
I must have all or none; and am not worthy
Longer the noble name of wife, _Arnoldo_,
Than I can bring a whole heart pure and handsom.
_Arnol_. I never shall deserve you: not to thank you;
You are so heavenly good, no man can reach you:
I am sorrie I spake so rashly, 'twas but to try you.
_Rut_. You might have tryed a thousand women so,
And 900, fourscore and 19 should ha' followed your counsel.
Take heed o' clapping spurrs to such free cattell.
_Arn_. We must bethink us suddenly and constantly,
And wisely too, we expect no common danger.
_Zen_. Be most assur'd, I'le dye first.
_Enter_ Clodio, _and_ Guard.
_Rut_. An't come to that once,
The Devil pick his bones, that dyes a coward,
I'le jog along with you, here comes the Stallion,
How smug he looks upon the imagination
Of what he hopes to act! pox on your kidneys;
How they begin to melt! how big he bears,
Sure he will leap before us all: what a sweet company
Of rogues and panders wait upon his lewdness!
Plague of your chops, you ha' more handsome bitts,
Than a hundred honester men, and more deserving.
How the dogg leers.
_Clod_. You need not now be jealous,
I speak at distance to your wife, but when the Priest has done,
We shall grow nearer, and more familiar.
_Rut_. I'le watch you for that trick, baboon, I'le
Smoke you: the rogue sweats, as if he had eaten
Grains, he broyles, if I do come to the
Basting of you.
_Arno_. Your Lordship
May happily speak this, to fright a stranger,
But 'tis not in your honour, to perform it;
The Custom of this place, if such there be,
At best most damnable, may urge you to it,
But if you be an honest man you hate it,
How ever I will presently prepare
To make her mine, and most undoubtedly
Believe you are abus'd, this custome feign'd too,
And what you now pretend, most fair and vertuous.
_Clod_. Go and believe, a good belief does well Sir;
And you Sir, clear the place, but leave her here.
_Arn_. Your Lordships pleasure.
_Clod_. That anon _Arnoldo_,
This is but talk.
_Rut_. Shall we goe off?
_Arn_. By any means,
I know she has pious thoughts enough to guard her:
Besides, here's nothing due to him till the tye be done,
Nor dare he offer.
_Rut_. Now do I long to worry him:
Pray have a care to the main chance.
_Zen_. Pray Sir, fear not. [_Exit_ Ar. _and_ Rut.
_Clod_. Now, what say you to me?
_Zen_. Sir it becomes
The modestie, that maids are ever born with,
To use few words.
_Clod_. Do you see nothing in me?
Nothing to catch your eyes, nothing of wonder
The common mould of men, come short, and want in?
Do you read no future fortune for your self here?
And what a happiness it may be to you,
To have him honour you, all women aim at?
To have him love you Lady, that man love you,
The best, and the most beauteous have run mad for?
Look and be wise, you have a favour offer'd you
I do not every day propound to women;
You are a prettie one; and though each hour
I am glutted with the sacrifice of beautie,
I may be brought, as you may handle it,
To cast so good a grace and liking on you.
You understand, come kiss me, and be joyfull,
I give you leave.
_Zen_. Faith Sir, 'twill not shew handsome;
Our sex is blushing, full of fear, unskil'd too
In these alarms.
_Clod_. Learn then and be perfect.
_Zen_. I do beseech your honour pardon me,
And take some skilfull one can hold you play,
I am a fool.
_Clod_. I tell thee maid I love thee,
Let that word make thee happie, so far love thee,
That though I may enjoy thee without ceremony,
I will descend so low, to marry thee,
Me thinks I see the race that shall spring from us,
Some Princes, some great Souldiers.
_Zen_. I am afraid
Your honour's couzen'd in this calculation;
For certain, I shall ne're have a child by you.
_Clod_. Why?
_Zen_. Because I must not think to marry you,
I dare not Sir, the step betwixt your honour,
And my poor humble State.
_Clod_. I will descend to thee,
And buoy thee up.
_Zen_. I'le sink to th' Center first.
Why would your Lordship marry, and confine that pleasure
You ever have had freely cast upon you?
Take heed my Lord, this marrying is a mad matter,
Lighter a pair of shackles will hang on you,
And quieter a quartane feaver find you.
If you wed me I must enjoy you only,
Your eyes must be called home, your thoughts in cages,
To sing to no ears then but mine; your heart bound,
The custom, that your youth was ever nurst in,
Must be forgot, I shall forget my duty else,
And how that will appear--
_Clod_. Wee'l talk of that more.
_Zen_. Besides I tell ye, I am naturally,
As all young women are, that shew like handsome,
Exceeding proud, being commended, monstrous.
Of an unquiet temper, seldom pleas'd,
Unless it be with infinite observance,
Which you were never bred to; once well angred,
As every cross in us, provokes that passion,
And like a Sea, I roule, toss, and chafe a week after.
And then all mischief I can think upon,
Abusing of your bed the least and poorest,
I tell you what you'le finde, and in these fitts,
This little beauty you are pleased to honour,
Will be so chang'd, so alter'd to an ugliness,
To such a vizard, ten to one, I dye too,
Take't then upon my death you murder'd me.
_Clod_. Away, away fool, why dost thou proclame these
To prevent that in me, thou hast chosen in another?
_Zen_. Him I have chosen, I can rule and master,
Temper to what I please, you are a great one
Of a strong will to bend, I dare not venture.
Be wise my Lord, and say you were well counsel'd,
Take mony for my ransom, and forget me,
'Twill be both safe, and noble for your honour,
And wheresoever my fortunes shall conduct me,
So worthy mentions I shall render of you,
So vertuous and so fair.
_Clod_. You will not marrie me?
_Zen_. I do beseech your honour, be not angry
At what I say, I cannot love ye, dare not;
But set a ransom, for the flowr you covet.
_Clod_. No mony, nor no prayers, shall redeem that,
Not all the art you have.
_Zen_. Set your own price Sir.
_Clod_. Goe to your wedding, never kneel to me,
When that's done, you are mine, I will enjoy you:
Your tears do nothing, I will not lose my custom
To cast upon my self an Empires fortune.
_Zen_. My mind shall not pay this custom, cruel man. [_Ex_.
_Clod_. Your body will content me: I'le look for you. [_Ex_.
_Enter_ Charino, _and servants in blacks. Covering the
place with blacks_.
_Char_. Strew all your withered flowers, your Autumn sweets
By the hot Sun ravisht of bud and beauty
Thus round about her Bride-bed, hang those blacks there
The emblemes of her honour lost; all joy
That leads a Virgin to receive her lover,
Keep from this place, all fellow-maids that bless her,
And blushing do unloose her Zone, keep from her:
No merry noise nor lusty songs be heard here,
Nor full cups crown'd with wine make the rooms giddy,
This is no masque of mirth, but murdered honour.
Sing mournfully that sad Epithalamion
I gave thee now: and prethee let thy lute weep.
Song, Dance. _Enter_ Rutilio.
_Rut_. How now, what livery's this? do you call this a wedding?
This is more like a funeral.
_Char_. It is one,
And my poor Daughter going to her grave,
To his most loath'd embraces that gapes for her.
Make the Earles bed readie, is the marriage done Sir?
_Rut_. Yes they are knit; but must this slubberdegullion
Have her maiden-head now?
[_Char_.] There's no avoiding it.
_Rut_. And there's the scaffold where she must lose it.
[_Char_.] The bed Sir.
_Rut_. No way to wipe his mouldy chaps?
_Char_. That we know.
_Rut_. To any honest well-deserving fellow,
And 'twere but to a merry Cobbler, I could sit still now,
I love the game so well; but that this puckfist,
This universal rutter--fare ye well Sir;
And if you have any good prayers, put 'em forward,
There may be yet a remedie.
_Char_. I wish it, [_Exit_ Rut.
And all my best devotions offer to it.
_Enter_ Clodio, _and_ Guard.
_Clod_. Now is this tye dispatch'd?
_Char_. I think it be Sir.
_Clod_. And my bed ready?
_Char_. There you may quickly find Sir,
Such a loath'd preparation.
_Clod_. Never grumble,
Nor fling a discontent upon my pleasure,
It must and shall be done: give me some wine,
And fill it till it leap upon my lips: [_wine_
Here's to the foolish maidenhead you wot of,
The toy I must take pains for.
_Char_. I beseech your Lordship
Load not a Fathers love.
_Clod_. Pledge it _Charino_,
Or by my life I'le make thee pledge thy last,
And be sure she be a maid, a perfect Virgin,
(I will not have my expectation dull'd)
Or your old pate goes off. I am hot and fiery,
And my bloud beats alarms through my body,
And fancie high. You of my guard retire,
And let me hear no noise about the lodging
But musick and sweet ayres, now fetch your Daughter,
And bid the coy wench put on all her beauties,
All her enticements, out-blush damask Roses,
And dim the breaking East with her bright Crystals.
I am all on fire, away.
_Char_. And I am frozen. [_Exit_.
_Enter_ Zenocia _with Bow and Quiver, an Arrow bent_,
Arnoldo _and_ Rutilio _after her, arm'd_.
_Zen_. Come fearless on.
_Rut_. Nay an I budge from thee
Beat me with durty sticks.
_Clod_. What Masque is this?
What pretty fancy to provoke me high?
The beauteous Huntress, fairer far, and sweeter;
Diana shewes an Ethiop to this beauty
Protected by two Virgin Knights.
_Rut_. That's a lye,
A loud one, if you knew as much as I do,
The Guard's dispers'd.
_Arn_. Fortune I hope invites us.
_Clod_. I can no longer hold, she pulls my heart from me.
_Zen_. Stand, and stand fixt, move not a foot, nor speak not,
For if thou doest, upon this point thy death sits.
Thou miserable, base, and sordid lecher,
Thou scum of noble blood, repent and speedily,
Repent thy thousand thefts, from helpless Virgins,
Their innocence betrayed to thy embraces.
_Arn_. The base dishonour, that thou doest to strangers,
In glorying to abuse the Laws of Marriage,
Thy Infamy thou hast flung upon thy Country,
In nourishing this black and barbarous Custom.
_Clod_. My Guard.
_Arn_. One word more, and thou diest.
_Rut_. One syllable
That tends to any thing, but I beseech you,
And as y'are Gentlemen tender my case,
And I'le thrust my Javeling down thy throat.
Thou Dog-whelp, thou, pox upon thee, what
Should I call thee, Pompion,
Thou kiss my Lady? thou scour her Chamber-pot:
Thou have a Maiden-head? a mottly Coat,
You great blind fool, farewel and be hang'd to ye,
Lose no time Lady.
_Arn_. Pray take your pleasure Sir,
And so we'l take our leaves.
_Zen_. We are determined,
Dye, before yield.
_Arn_. Honour, and a fair grave.
_Zen_. Before a lustful Bed, so for our fortunes.
_Rut_. _Du cat awhee_, good Count, cry, prethee cry,
O what a wench hast thou lost! cry you great booby. [_Exe_.
_Enter_ Charino.
_Clod_. And is she gone then, am I dishonoured thus,
Cozened and baffl'd? my Guard there, no man answer?
My Guard I say, sirrah you knew of this plot;
Where are my Guard? I'le have your life you villain,
You politick old Thief.
_Char_. Heaven send her far enough,
_Enter Guard_.
And let me pay the ransom.
_Guard_. Did your honour call us?
_Clod_. Post every way, and presently recover
The two strange Gentlemen, and the fair Lady.
_Guard_. This day was Married Sir?
_Clod_. The same.
_Guard_. We saw 'em.
Making with all main speed to th' Port.
_Clod_. Away villains. [_Exit Guard_.
Recover her, or I shall dye; deal truly,
Didst not thou know?
_Char_. By all that's good I did not.
If your honour mean their flight, to say I grieve for that,
Will be to lye; you may handle me as you please.
_Clod_. Be sure, with all the cruelty, with all the rigor,
For thou hast rob'd me villain of a treasure.
_Enter Guard_.
How now?
_Guard_. They're all aboard, a Bark rode ready for 'em,
And now are under Sail, and past recovery.
_Clod_. Rig me a Ship with all the speed that may be,
I will not lose her: thou her most false Father,
Shalt go along; and if I miss her, hear me,
A whole day will I study to destroy thee.
_Char_. I shall be joyful of it; and so you'l find me.
[_Exeunt omnes_.
_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima_.
_Enter_ Manuel du Sosa, _and_ Guiomar.
_Man_. I Hear and see too much of him, and that
Compels me Madam, though unwillingly,
To wish I had no Uncles part in him,
And much I fear, the comfort of a Son
You will not long enjoy.
_Gui_. 'Tis not my fault,
And therefore from his guilt my innocence
Cannot be tainted, since his Fathers death,
(Peace to his soul) a Mothers prayers and care
Were never wanting, in his education.
His Child-hood I pass o're, as being brought up
Under my wing; and growing ripe for study,
I overcame the tenderness, and joy
I had to look upon him, and provided
The choicest Masters, and of greatest name
Of _Salamanca_, in all liberal Arts.
_Man_. To train his youth up.
I must witness that.
_Gui_. How there he prospered to the admiration
Of all that knew him, for a general Scholar,
Being one of note, before he was a man,
Is still remembred in that _Academy_,
From thence I sent him to the Emperours Court,
Attended like his Fathers Son, and there
Maintain'd him, in such bravery and height,
As did become a Courtier.
_Man_. 'Twas that spoil'd him, my Nephew had been happy.
The Court's a School indeed, in which some few
Learn vertuous principles, but most forget
What ever they brought thither good and honest.
Trifling is there in practice, serious actions
Are obsolete and out of use, my Nephew
Had been a happy man, had he ne're known
What's there in grace and fashion.
_Gui_. I have heard yet,
That while he liv'd in Court, the Emperour
Took notice of his carriage and good parts,
The Grandees did not scorn his company,
And of the greatest Ladies he was held
A compleat Gentleman.
_Man_. He indeed Daunc'd well;
A turn o'th' Toe, with a lofty trick or two,
To argue nimbleness, and a strong back,
Will go far with a Madam: 'tis most true,
That he's an excellent Scholar, and he knows it;
An exact Courtier, and he knows that too;
He has fought thrice, and come off still with honour,
Which he forgets not.
_Gui_. Nor have I much reason,
To grieve his fortune that way.
_Man_. You are mistaken,
Prosperity does search a Gentlemans temper,
More than his adverse fortune: I have known
Many, and of rare parts from their success
In private Duels, rais'd up to such a pride,
And so transform'd from what they were, that all
That lov'd them truly, wish'd they had fallen in them.
I need not write examples, in your Son
'Tis too apparent; for e're _Don Duarte_
Made tryal of his valour, he indeed was
Admired for civil courtesie, but now
He's swoln so high, out of his own assurance,
Of what he dares do, that he seeks occasions,
Unjust occasions, grounded on blind passion,
Ever to be in quarrels, and this makes him
Shunn'd of all fair Societies.
_Gui_. Would it were
In my weak power to help it: I will use
With my entreaties th' Authority of a Mother,
As you may of an Uncle, and enlarge it
With your command, as being a Governour
To the great King in _Lisbon.
Enter_ Duarte _and his Page_.
_Man_. Here he comes.
We are unseen, observe him.
_Dua_. Boy.
_Page_. My Lord.
_Dua_. What saith the _Spanish_ Captain that I struck,
To my bold challenge?
_Page_. He refus'd to read it.
_Dua_. Why didst not leave it there?
_Page_. I did my Lord,
But to no purpose, for he seems more willing
To sit down with the wrongs, than to repair
His honour by the sword; he knows too well,
That from your Lordship nothing can be got
But more blows, and disgraces.
_Dua_. He's a wretch,
A miserable wretch, and all my fury
Is lost upon him; holds the Mask, appointed
I'th' honour of _Hippolyta_?
_Page_. 'Tis broke off.
_Dua_. The reason?
_Page_. This was one, they heard your Lordship
Was by the Ladies choice to lead the Dance,
And therefore they, too well assur'd how far
You would outshine 'em, gave it o're and said,
They would not serve for foiles to set you off.
_Dua_. They at their best are such, and ever shall be
Where I appear.
_Man_. Do you note his modesty?
_Dua_. But was there nothing else pretended?
_Page_. Yes,
Young Don _Alonzo_, the great Captains Nephew,
Stood on comparisons.
_Dua_. With whom?
_Page_. With you,
And openly profess'd that all precedence,
His birth and state consider'd, was due to him,
Nor were your Lordship to contend with one
So far above you.
_Dua_. I look down upon him
With such contempt and scorn, as on my slave,
He's a name only, and all good in him
He must derive from his great grandsires Ashes,
For had not their victorious acts bequeath'd
His titles to him, and wrote on his forehead,
This is a Lord, he had liv'd unobserv'd
By any man of mark, and died as one
Amongst the common route. Compare with me?
'Tis Gyant-like ambition; I know him,
And know my self, that man is truly noble,
And he may justly call that worth his own,
Which his deserts have purchas'd, I could wish
My birth were more obscure, my friends and kinsmen
Of lesser power, or that my provident Father
Had been like to that riotous Emperour
That chose his belly for his only heir;
For being of no family then, and poor
My vertues wheresoe'r I liv'd, should make
That kingdom my inheritance.
_Gui_. Strange self Love!
_Dua_. For if I studied the Countries Laws,
I should so easily sound all their depth,
And rise up such a wonder, that the pleaders,
That now are in most practice and esteem,
Should starve for want of Clients: if I travell'd,
Like wise _Ulysses_ to see men and manners,
I would return in act, more knowing, than
_Homer_ could fancy him; if a Physician,
So oft I would restore death-wounded men,
That where I liv'd, _Galen_ should not be nam'd,
And he that joyn'd again the scatter'd limbs
Of torn _Hippolytus_ should be forgotten.
I could teach _Ovid_ courtship, how to win
A _Julia_, and enjoy her, though her Dower
Were all the Sun gives light to: and for arms
Were the _Persian_ host that drank up Rivers, added
To the _Turks_ present powers, I could direct,
Command, and Marshal them.
_Man_. And yet you know not
To rule your self, you would not to a boy else
Like _Plautus_ Braggart boast thus.
_Dua_. All I speak,
In act I can make good.
_Gui_. Why then being Master
Of such and so good parts do you destroy them,
With self opinion, or like a rich miser,
Hoard up the treasures you possess, imparting
Nor to your self nor others, the use of them?
They are to you but like inchanted viands,
On which you seem to feed, yet pine with hunger;
And those so rare perfections in my Son
Which would make others happy, render me
A wretched Mother.
_Man_. You are too insolent.
And those too many excellencies, that feed
Your pride, turn to a Pleurisie, and kill
That which should nourish vertue; dare you think
All blessings are confer'd on you alone?
Y'are grosly cousen'd; there's no good in you,
Which others have not: are you a Scholar? so
Are many, and as knowing: are you valiant?
Waste not that courage then in braules, but spend it
In the Wars, in service of your King and Country.
_Dua_. Yes, so I might be General, no man lives
That's worthy to command me.
_Man_. Sir, in _Lisbon_
I am: and you shall know it; every hour
I am troubled with complaints of your behaviour
From men of all conditions, and all sexes.
And my authority, which you presume
Will bear you out, in that you are my Nephew,
No longer shall protect you, for I vow
Though all that's past I pardon, I will punish
The next fault with as much severity
As if you were a stranger, rest assur'd on't.
_Gui_. And by that love you should bear, or that duty
You owe a Mother, once more I command you
To cast this haughtiness off; which if you do,
All that is mine, is yours, if not, expect
My prayers, and vows, for your conversion only,
But never means nor favour. [_Ex_. Manuel _and_ Guiomar.
_Dua_. I am Tutor'd
As if I were a child still, the base Peasants
That fear, and envy my great worth, have done this;
But I will find them out, I will o'boord
Get my disguise; I have too long been idle,
Nor will I curb my spirit, I was born free,
And will pursue the course best liketh me. [_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ Leopold, Sailers, _and_ Zenocia.
_Leop_. Divide the spoil amongst you, this fair Captive
I only challenge for my self.
_Sail_. You have won her
And well deserve her: twenty years I have liv'd
A Burgess of the Sea, and have been present
At many a desperate fight, but never saw
So small a Bark with such incredible valour
So long defended, and against such odds,
And by two men scarce arm'd too.
_Leop_. 'Twas a wonder.
And yet the courage they exprest being taken,
And their contempt of death wan more upon me
Than all they did, when they were free: me thinks
I see them yet when they were brought aboard us,
Disarm'd and ready to be put in fetters
How on the suddain, as if they had sworn
Never to taste the bread of servitude,
Both snatching up their swords, and from this Virgin,
Taking a farewel only with their eyes,
They leapt into the Sea.
_Sail_. Indeed 'twas rare.
_Leop_. It wrought so much on me, that but I fear'd
The great ship that pursued us, our own safety
Hindring my charitable purpose to 'em,
I would have took 'em up, and with their lives
They should have had their liberties.
_Zen_. O too late,
For they are lost, for ever lost.
_Leop_. Take comfort
'Tis not impossible, but that they live yet,
For when they left the ships, they were within
A League o'th' shore, and with such strength and cunning
They swimming, did delude the rising Billows,
With one hand making way, and with the other,
Their bloudy swords advanced, threatning the Sea-gods
With war, unless they brought them safely off,
That I am almost confident they live,
And you again may see them.
_Zen_. In that hope
I brook a wretched being, till I am
Made certain of their fortunes; but they dead,
Death hath so many doors to let out life,
I will not long survive them.
_Leop_. Hope the best,
And let the courteous usage you have found,
Not usual in men of War perswade you
To tell me your condition.
_Zen_. You know it,
A Captive, my fate and your power have made me,
Such I am now, but what I was it skills not:
For they being dead, in whom I only live,
I dare not challenge Family, or Country,
And therefore Sir enquire not, let it suffice,
I am your servant, and a thankful servant
(If you will call that so, which is but duty)
I ever will be, and my honour safe,
Which nobly hitherto ye have preserv'd,
No slavery can appear in such a form,
Which with a masculine constancy I will not
Boldly look on and suffer.
_Leop_. You mistake me:
That you are made my prisoner, may prove
The birth of your good fortune. I do find
A winning language in your tongue and looks;
Nor can a suit by you mov'd be deni'd,
And therefore of a prisoner you must be
The Victors advocate.
_Zen._ To whom?
_Leap._ A Lady:
In whom all graces that can perfect beauty
Are friendly met. I grant that you are fair:
And had I not seen her before, perhaps
I might have sought to you.
_Zen._ This I hear gladly.
_Leap._ To this incomparable Lady I will give you,
(Yet being mine, you are already hers)
And to serve her is more than to be free,
At least I think so; and when you live with her,
If you will please to think on him that brought you
To such a happiness, for so her bounty
Will make you think her service, you shall ever
Make me at your devotion.
_Zen._ All I can do,
Rest you assur'd of.
_Leap._ At night I'le present you,
Till when I am your Guard.
_Zen._ Ever your servant. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Arnoldo _and_ Rutilio.
_Arn._ To what are we reserv'd?
_Rut._ Troth 'tis uncertain,
Drowning we have scap'd miraculously, and
Stand fair for ought I know for hanging; mony
We have none, nor e're are like to have,
'Tis to be doubted: besides we are strangers,
Wondrous hungry strangers; and charity
Growing cold, and miracles ceasing,
Without a Conjurers help, cannot find
When we shall eat again.
_Arn._ These are no wants
If put in ballance with _Zenocias_ loss;
In that alone all miseries are spoken:
O my _Rutilio_, when I think on her,
And that which she may suffer, being a Captive,
Then I could curse my self, almost those powers
That send me from the fury of the Ocean.
_Rut_. You have lost a wife indeed, a fair and chast one,
Two blessings, not found often in one woman;
But she may be recovered, questionless
The ship that took us was of _Portugal_,
And here in _Lisbon_, by some means or other
We may hear of her.
_Arn_. In that hope I live.
_Rut_. And so do I, but hope is a poor Sallad
To dine and sup with, after a two dayes fast too,
Have you no mony left?
_Arn_. Not a Denier.
_Rut_. Nor any thing to pawn? 'tis now in fashion,
Having a Mistress, sure you should not be
Without a neat Historical shirt.
_Arn_. For shame
Talk not so poorly.
_Rut_. I must talk of that
Necessity prompts us to, for beg I cannot,
Nor am I made to creep in at a window,
To filch to feed me, something must be done,
And suddenly resolve on't.
_Enter_ Zabulon _and a Servant_.
_Arn_. What are these?
_Rut_. One by his habit is a _Jew_.
_Zab_. No more:
Thou art sure that's he.
_Ser_. Most certain.
_Zab_. How long is it
Since first she saw him?
_Ser_. Some two hours.
_Zab_. Be gone--let me alone to work him. [_Exit_ Ser.
_Rut_. How he eyes you!
Now he moves towards us, in the Devils name
What would he with us?
_Arn_. Innocence is bold:
Nor can I fear.
_Zab_. That you are poor and strangers,
I easily perceive.
_Rut_. But that you'l help us,
Or any of your tribe, we dare not hope Sir.
_Zab_. Why think you so?
_Rut_. Because you are a _Jew_ Sir,
And courtesies come sooner from the Devil
Than any of your Nation.
_Zab_. We are men,
And have like you, compassion when we find
Fit subjects for our bounty, and for proof
That we dare give, and freely, not to you Sir,
Pray spare your pains, there's gold, stand not amaz'd,
'Tis current I assure you.
_Rut_. Take it man,
Sure thy good Angel is a _Jew_, and comes
In his own shape to help thee: I could wish now
Mine would appear too like a _Turk_.
_Arn_. I thank you,
But yet must tell you, if this be the Prologue
To any bad act, you would have me practise,
I must not take it.
_Zab_. This is but the earnest
Of [t]hat which is to follow, and the bond
Which you must seal to for't, is your advancement,
Fortune with all that's in her power to give,
Offers her self up to you: entertain her,
And that which Princes have kneel'd for in vain
Presents it self to you.
_Arn_. 'Tis above wonder.
_Zab_. But far beneath the truth, in my relation
Of what you shall possess, if you emb[r]ace it.
There is an hour in each mans life appointed
To make his happiness if then he seize it,
And this, (in which, beyond all expectation,
You are invited to your good) is yours,
If you dare follow me, so, if not, hereafter
Expect not the like offer. [_Exit_.
_Arn_. 'Tis no vision.
_Rut_. 'Tis gold I'm sure.
_Arn_. We must like brothers share;
There's for you.
_Rut_. By this light I'm glad I have it:
There are few Gallants, (for men may be such
And yet want gold, yea and sometimes silver)
But would receive such favours from the Devil,
Though he appear'd like a Broker, and demanded
Sixty i'th' hundred.
_Arn_. Wherefore should I fear
Some plot upon my life? 'tis now to me
Not worth the keeping. I will follow him,
Farewel, wish me good fortune, we shall meet
Again I doubt not.
_Rut_. Or I'le ne're trust _Jew_ more, [_Exit_ Arnoldo.
Nor Christian for his sake--plague o' my stars,
How long might I have walkt without a Cloak,
Before I should have met with such a fortune?
We elder Brothers, though we are proper men,
_Ha' not the luck_, ha' too much beard, that spoils us;
The smooth Chin carries all: what's here to do now?
[_Manet_ Rutilio.
_Enter_ Duarte, Alonzo, _and a_ Page.
_Dua_. I'le take you as I find you.
_Alon_. That were base--you see I am unarm'd.
_Dua_. Out with your Bodkin
Your Pocket-dagger, your Steletto, out with it,
Or by this hand I'le kill you: such as you are
Have studied the undoing of poor Cutlers,
And made all manly weapons out of fashion:
You carry Poniards to murder men,
Yet dare not wear a sword to guard your Honour.
_Rut_. That's true indeed: upon my life this gallant
Is brib'd to repeal banisht swords.
_Dua_. I'le shew you
The difference now between a _Spanish_ Rapier
And your pure Pisa.
_Alon_. Let me fetch a sword,
Upon mine honour I'le return.
_Dua._ Not so Sir.
_Alon._ Or lend me yours I pray you, and take this.
_Rut._ To be disgrac'd as you are, no I thank you
Spight of the fashion, while I live, I am
Instructed to go arm'd: what folly 'tis
For you that are a man, to put your self
Into your enemies mercy.
_Dua._ Yield it quickly
Or I'le cut off your hand, and now disgrace you,
Thus kick and baffle you: as you like this,
You may again prefer complaints against me
To my Uncle and my Mother, and then think
To make it good with a Poniard.
_Alon._ I am paid
For being of the fashion.
_Dua._ Get a sword,
Then if you dare redeem your reputation:
You know I am easily found: I'le add this to it
To put you in mind.
_Rut._ You are too insolent,
And do insult too much on the advantage
Of that which your unequal weapon gave you,
More than your valour.
_Dua._ This to me, you Peasant?
Thou art not worthy of my foot poor fellow,
'Tis scorn, not pity, makes me give thee life:
Kneel down and thank me for't: how, do you stare?
_Rut._ I have a sword Sir, you shall find, a good one;
This is no stabbing guard.
_Dua._ Wert thou thrice arm'd,
Thus yet I durst attempt thee.
_Rut._ Then have at you, [_Fight._
I scorn to take blows.
_Dua._ O I am slain. [_Falls._
_Page._ Help! murther, murther!
_Alon._ Shift for your self you are dead else,
You have kill'd the Governou[r]s Nephew.
_Page._ Raise the streets there.
_Alon._ If once you are beset you cannot scape,
Will you betray your self?
_Rut_. Undone for ever. [_Exit_ Rut. _and_ Alonzo.
_Enter_ Officers.
_1 Off_. Who makes this out-cry?
_Page_. O my Lord is murdered;
This way he took, make after him,
Help help there. [_Exit_ Page.
_2 Offi_. 'Tis _Don Duarte_.
_1 Offi_. Pride has got a fall,
He was still in quarrels, scorn'd us Peace-makers,
And all our Bill-authority, now h'as paid for't.
You ha' met with your match Sir now, bring off his body
And bear it to the Governour. Some pursue
The murderer; yet if he scape, it skills not;
Were I a Prince, I would reward him for't,
He has rid the City of a turbulent beast,
There's few will pity him: but for his Mother
I truly grieve indeed, she's a good Lady. [_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ Guiomar _and_ Servants.
_Gui_. He's not i'th' house?
_Ser. No Madam.
_Gui_. Haste and seek him,
Go all and every where, Pie not to bed
Till you return him, take away the lights too,
The Moon lends me too much, to find my fears
And those devotions I am to pay
Are written in my heart, not in this book, [_Kneel_.
And I shall read them there without a Taper. [_Ex_. Ser.
_Enter_ Rutilio.
_Rut_. I am pursued; all the Ports are stopt too;
Not any hope to escape, behind, before me,
On either side I am beset, cursed fortune
My enemie on the Sea, and on the Land too,
Redeem'd from one affliction to another:
Would I had made the greedy waves my tomb
And dyed obscure, and innocent, not as Nero
Smear'd o're with blood. Whither have my fears brought me?
I am got into a house, the doors all open,
This, by the largeness of the room, the hangings,
And other rich adornments, glistring through
The sable masque of night, sayes it belongs
To one of means and rank: no servant stirring?
Murmur nor whisper?
_Guio._ Who's that?
_Rut._ By the voice,
This is a woman.
_Guio._ _Stephana, Jaspe, Julia,_
Who waits there?
_Rut._ 'Tis the Lady of the house,
I'le flie to her protection.
_Guio._ Speak, what are you?
_Rut._ Of all that ever breath'd, a man most wretched.
_Guio._ I am sure you are a man of most ill manners,
You could not with so little reverence else
Press to my private chamber. Whither would you,
Or what do you seek for?
_Rut._ Gracious woman hear me;
I am a stranger, and in that I answer
All your demands, a most unfortunate stranger,
That call'd unto it by my enemies pride,
Have left him dead i'th' streets, Justice pursues me,
And for that life I took unwillingly,
And in a fair defence, I must lose mine,
Unless you in your charity protect me.
Your house is now my sanctuary, and the Altar,
I gladly would take hold of your sweet mercy.
By all that's dear unto you, by your vertues,
And by your innocence, that needs no forgiveness,
Take pity on me.
_Guio._ Are you a _Castillian_?
_Rut._ No Madam, _Italy_ claims my birth.
_Guio._ I ask not
With purpose to betray you, if you were
Ten thousand times a Spaniard, the nation
We Portugals most hate, I yet would save you
If it lay in my power: lift up these hangings;
Behind my Beds head there's a hollow place,
Into which enter; so, but from this stir not
If the Officers come, as you expect they will doe,
I know they owe such reverence to my lodgings,
That they will easily give credit to me
And search no further.
_Rut._ The blest Saints pay for me
The infinite debt I owe you.
_Guio._ How he quakes!
Thus far I feel his heart beat, be of comfort,
Once more I give my promise for your safety,
All men are subject to such accidents,
Especially the valiant; and who knows not,
But that the charity I afford this stranger
My only Son else where may stand in need of?
_Enter Officers, and Servants, with the body of Duarte--Page._
_1 Ser._ Now Madam, if your wisedom ever could
Raise up defences against floods of sorrow
That haste to overwhelm you, make true use of
Your great discretion.
_2 Ser._ Your only son
My Lord _Duart's_ slain.
_1 Off._ His murtherer, pursued by us
Was by a boy discovered
Entring your house, and that induced us
To press into it for his apprehension.
_Guio._ Oh!
_1 Ser._ Sure her heart is broke.
_Off._ Madam.
_Guio._ Stand off.
My sorrow is so dear and pretious to me,
That you must not partake it, suffer it
Like wounds that do breed inward to dispatch me.
O my _Duart_, such an end as this
Thy pride long since did prophesie; thou art dead,
And to encrease my misery, thy sad Mother
Must make a wilfull shipwrack of her vow
Or thou fall unreveng'd. My Soul's divided,
And piety to a son, and true performance
Of hospitable duties to my guest,
That are to others Angels, are my furies.
Vengeance knocks at my heart, but my word given
Denies the entrance, is no _Medium_ left,
But that I must protect the murderer,
Or suffer in that faith he made his altar?
Motherly love give place, the fault made this way,
To keep a vow, to which high Heaven is witness,
Heaven may be pleas'd to pardon.
_Enter_ Manuel, Doctors, Surgeons.
_Man._ 'Tis too late,
Hee's gone, past all recovery: now reproof
Were but unseasonable when I should give comfort,
And yet remember Sister.
_Guio._ O forbear,
Search for the murtherer, and remove the body,
And as you think fit, give it burial.
Wretch that I am, uncapable of all comfort,
And therefore I intreat my friends and kinsfolk,
And you my Lord, for some space to forbear
Your courteous visitations.
_Man._ We obey you. [_Exeunt omnes with the body._
Manet Guiomar.
_Rut._ My Spirits come back, and now despair resigns
Her place again to hope.
_Guio._ What ere thou art
To whom I have given means of life, to witness
With what Religion I have kept my promise,
Come fearless forth, but let thy face be cover'd,
That I hereafter be not forc't to know thee,
For motherly affection may return
My vow once paid to heaven. Thou hast taken from me
The respiration of my heart, the light
Of my swoln eyes, in his life that sustain'd me:
Yet my word given to save you, I make good,
Because what you did, was not done with malice,
You are not known, there is no mark about you
That can discover you; let not fear betray you.
With all convenient speed you can, flie from me
That I may never see you; and that want
Of means may be no let unto your journie,
There are a hundred Crownes: you are at the door now,
And so Farewell for ever.
_Rut._ Let me first fall
Before your feet, and on them pay the duty
I owe your goodness; next all blessings to you,
And Heaven restore the joyes I have bereft you,
With full increase hereafter, living be
The Goddess stil'd of Hospitalitie.
_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._
_Enter Leopold, and Zenocia._
_Leo._ Fling off these sullen clouds, you are enter'd now
Into a house of joy and happiness,
I have prepar'd a blessing for ye.
_Zen._ Thank ye, my state would rather ask a curse.
_Leo._ You are peevish
And know not when ye are friended, I have us'd those means,
The Lady of this house, the noble Lady,
Will take ye as her own, and use ye graciously:
Make much of what you are, Mistris of that beautie,
And expose it not to such betraying sorrows,
When ye are old, and all those sweets hang wither'd,
_Enter_ Servant.
Then sit and sigh.
_Zen._ My _Autumn_ is not far off.
_Leo._ Have you told your Lady?
_Ser._ Yes Sir, I have told her
Both of your noble service, and your present,
Which she accepts.
_Leo._ I should be blest to see her.
_Ser._ That now you cannot doe: she keeps the Chamber
Not well dispos'd; and has denied all visits,
The maid I have in charge to receive from ye,
So please you render her.
_Leo._ With all my service,
But fain I would have seen.
_Ser._ 'Tis but your patience;
No doubt she cannot but remember nobly.
_Leo._ These three years I have lov'd this scornfull Lady,
And follow'd her with all the truth of service,
In all which time, but twice she has honour'd me
With sight of her blest beauty: when you please Sir,
You may receive your charge, and tell your Lady;
A Gentleman whose life is only dedicated
To her commands, kisses her beauteous hands;
And Faire-one, now your help, you may remember
The honest courtesies, since you are mine,
I ever did your modestie: you shall be near her,
And if sometimes you name my service to her,
And tell her with what nobleness I love her,
'Twill be a gratitude I shall remember.
_Zen._ What in my poor power lyes, so it be honest.
_Leo._ I ask no more.
_Ser._ You must along with me (Fair.)
_Leo._ And so I leave you two: but a fortune
Too happy for my fate: you shall enjoy her.
_Scena Secunda._
_Enter Zabulon and Servants._
_Zab._ Be quick, be quick, out with the banquet there,
These scents are dull; cast richer on, and fuller;
Scent every place, where have you plac'd the musick?
_Ser._ Here they stand ready Sir.
_Zab._ 'Tis well, be sure
The wines be lusty, high, and full of Spirit,
And Amber'd all.
_Ser._ They are.
_Zab._ Give fair attendance.
In the best trim, and state, make ready all.
I shall come presently again. [_Banquet set forth. Exit._
_2 Ser._ We shall Sir,
What preparation's this?
Some new device
My Lady has in hand.
_1 Ser._ O, prosper it
As long as it carries good wine in the mouth,
And good meat with it, where are all the rest?
_2 Ser._ They are ready to attend. [_Musick._
_1 Ser._ Sure some great person,
They would not make this hurry else.
_2 Ser._ Hark the Musick.
_Enter_ Zabulon, _and_ Arnoldo.
It will appear now certain, here it comes.
Now to our places.
_Arn._ Whither will he lead me?
What invitation's this? to what new end
Are these fair preparations? a rich Banquet,
Musick, and every place stuck with adornment,
Fit for a Princes welcome; what new game
Has Fortune now prepar'd to shew me happy?
And then again to sink me? 'tis no illusion,
Mine eyes are not deceiv'd, all these are reall;
What wealth and state!
_Zab._ Will you sit down and eat Sir?
These carry little wonder, they are usual;
But you shall see, if you be wise to observe it,
That that will strike dead, strike with amazement,
Then if you be a man: this fair health to you.
_Ar._ What shall I see? I pledge ye Sir, I was never
So buried in amazement--
_Zab._ You are so still:
Drink freely.
_Ar._ The very wines are admirable:
Good Sir, give me leave to ask this question,
For what great worthy man are these prepar'd?
And why do you bring me hither?
_Zab._ They are for you, Sir;
And under-value not the worth you carry,
You are that worthy man: think well of these,
They shall be more, and greater.
_Ar._ Well, blind fortune
Thou hast the prettiest changes when thou art pleas'd,
To play thy game out wantonly--
_Zab._ Come be lusty,
And awake your Spirits. [_Cease Musick._
_Ar._ Good Sir, do not wake me.
For willingly I would dye in this dream, pray whose Servants
Are all these that attend here?
_Zab._ They are yours;
They wait on you.
_Ar._ I never yet remember
I kept such faces, nor that I was ever able
To maintain so many.
_Zab._ Now you are, and shall be.
_Ar._ You'l say this house is mine too?
_Zab._ Say it? swear it.
_Ar._ And all this wealth?
_Zab._ This is the least you see Sir.
_Ar._ Why, where has this been hid these thirtie years?
For certainly I never found I was wealthie
Till this hour, never dream'd of house, and Servants.
I had thought I had been a younger Brother, a poor Gent.
I may eat boldly then.
_Zab._ 'Tis prepar'd for ye.
_Ar._ The taste is perfect, and most delicate:
But why for me? give me some wine, I do drink;
I feel it sensibly, and I am here,
Here in this glorious place: I am bravely us'd too,
Good Gentle Sir, give me leave to think a little,
For either I am much abus'd--
_Zab._ Strike Musick
And sing that lusty Song. [_Musick. Song._
_Ar._ Bewitching harmony!
Sure I am turn'd into another Creature.
_Enter_ Hippolyta.
Happy and blest, _Arnoldo_ was unfortunate;
Ha! bless mine eyes; what pretious piece of nature
To pose the world?
_Zab._ I told you, you would see that
Would darken these poor preparations;
What think ye now? nay rise not, 'tis no vision.
_Ar._ 'Tis more: 'tis miracle.
_Hip._ You are welcom Sir.
_Ar._ It speaks, and entertains me still more glorious;
She is warm, and this is flesh here: how she stirs me!
Bless me what stars are there?
_Hip._ May I sit near ye?
_Ar._ No, you are too pure an object to behold,
Too excellent to look upon, and live;
I must remove.
_Zab._ She is a woman Sir,
Fy, what faint heart is this?
_Arn._ The house of wonder.
_Zab._ Do not you think your self now truly happy?
You have the abstract of all sweetness by ye,
The precious wealth youth labours to arrive at;
Nor is she less in honour, than in beauty,
_Ferrara's_ Royal Duke is proud to call her
His best, his Noblest, and most happy Sister,
Fortune has made her Mistress of herself,
Wealthy, and wise, without a power to sway her,
Wonder of _Italy_, of all hearts Mistress.
_Arn._ And all this is--
_Zab._ _Hippolyta_ the beauteous.
_Hip._ You are a poor relator of my fortunes,
Too weak a Chronicle to speak my blessings,
And leave out that essential part of story
I am most high and happy in, most fortunate,
The acquaintance, and the noble fellowship
Of this fair Gentleman: pray ye do not wonder,
Nor hold it strange to hear a handsome Lady
Speak freely to ye: with your fair leave and courtesie
I will sit by ye.
_Arn._ I know not what to answer,
Nor where I am, nor to what end consider;
Why do you use me thus?
_Hip._ Are ye angry Sir,
Because ye are entertain'd with all humanity?
Freely and nobly us'd?
_Arn._ No gentle Lady,
That were uncivil, but it much amazes me
A stranger, and a man of no desert
Should find such floods of courtesie.
_Hip._ I love ye,
I honour ye, the first and best of all men,
And where that fair opinion leads, 'tis usual
These trifles that but serve to set off, follow.
I would not have you proud now, nor disdainful
Because I say I love ye, though I swear it,
Nor think it a stale favour I fling on ye,
Though ye be handsome, and the only man
I must confess I ever fixt mine eye on,
And bring along all promises that please us,
Yet I should hate ye then, despise ye, scorn ye,
And with as much contempt pursue your person,
As now I do with love. But you are wiser,
At least I think, more master of your fortune,
And so I drink your health.
_Arn._ Hold fast good honesty,
I am a lost man else.
_Hip._ Now you may kiss me,
'Tis the first kiss, I ever askt, I swear to ye.
_Arn._ That I dare do sweet Lady.
_Hip._ You do it well too;
You are a Master Sir, that makes you coy.
_Arn._ Would you would send your people off.
_Hip._ Well thought on.
Wait all without. [_Exit_ Zab. _and Servants._
_Zab._ I hope she is pleas'd throughly.
_Hip._ Why stand ye still? here's no man to detect ye,
My people are gone off: come, come, leave conjuring,
The Spirit you would raise, is here already,
Look boldly on me.
_Arn._ What would you have me do?
_Hip._ O most unmanly question! have you do?
Is't possible your years should want a Tutor?
I'le teach ye: come, embrace me.
_Arn._ Fye stand off;
And give me leave, more now than e're, to wonder,
A building of so goodly a proportion,
Outwardly all exact, the frame of Heaven,
Should hide within so base inhabitants?
You are as fair, as if the morning bare ye,
Imagination never made a sweeter;
Can it be possible this frame should suffer,
And built on slight affections, fright the viewer?
Be excellent in all, as you are outward,
The worthy Mistress of those many blessings
Heaven has bestowed, make 'em appear still nobler,
Because they are trusted to a weaker keeper.
Would ye have me love ye?
_Hip._ Yes.
_Arn._ Not for your beauty;
Though I confess, it blowes the first fire in us,
Time as he passes by, puts out that sparkle;
Nor for your wealth, although the world kneel to it,
And make it all addition to a woman,
Fortune that ruines all, makes that his conquest;
Be honest, and be vertuous, I'le admire ye,
At least be wise, and where ye lay these nets,
Strow over 'em a little modesty,
'Twill well become your cause, and catch more Fools.
_Hip._ Could any one that lov'd this wholesome counsel
But love the giver more? you make me fonder:
You have a vertuous mind, I want that ornament;
Is it a sin I covet to enjoy ye?
If ye imagine I am too free a Lover,
And act that part belongs to you, I am silent:
Mine eyes shall speak my blushes, parly with ye;
I will not touch your hand, but with a tremble
Fitting a Vestal Nun; not long to kiss ye,
But gently as the Air, and undiscern'd too,
I'le steal it thus: I'le walk your shadow by ye,
So still and silent that it shall be equal,
To put me off, as that, and when I covet,
To give such toyes as these--
_Arn._ A new temptation--
_Hip._ Thus like the lazie minutes will I drop 'em,
Which past once are forgotten.
_Arn._ Excellent vice!
_Hip._ Will ye be won? look stedfastly upon me,
Look manly, take a mans affections to you;
Young women, in the old world were not wont, Sir,
To hang out gaudy bushes for their beauties,
To talk themselves into young mens affections;
How cold and dull you are!
_Arn._ How I stagger!
She is wise, as fair; but 'tis a wicked wisdom;
I'le choak before I yield.
_Hip._ Who waits within there? [Zabulon _within._
Make ready the green Chamber.
_Zab._ It shall be Madam.
_Arn._ I am afraid she will injoy me indeed.
_Hip._ What Musick do ye love?
_Arn._ A modest tongue.
_Hip._ We'l have enough of that: fye, fye, how lumpish!
In a young Ladyes arms thus dull?
_Arn._ For Heaven sake
Profess a little goodness.
_Hip._ Of what Country?
_Arn._ I am of _Rome_.
_Hip._ Nay then I know you mock me,
The _Italians_ are not frighted with such bug-bears,
Prethee go in.
_Arn._ I am not well.
_Hip._ I'le make thee,
I'le kiss thee well.
_Arn._ I am not sick of that sore.
_Hip._ Upon my Conscience, I must ravish thee,
I shall be famous for the first example:
With this I'le tye ye first, then try your strength Sir.
_Arn._ My strength? away base woman, I abhor thee.
I am not caught with stales, disease dwell with thee. [_Exit._
_Hip._ Are ye so quick? and have I lost my wishes?
Hoe, _Zabulon_; my servants.
_Enter_ Zabulon _and_ Servants.
_Zab._ Call'd ye Madam?
_Hip._ Is all that beauty scorned, so many su'd for;
So many Princes? by a stranger too?
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