THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY.
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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.
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.
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The Scene sometimes Lisbon, sometimes Italy.
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The principal Actors were Joseph Taylor. Robert Benfeild. John Lowin. William Eglestone. Nicholas Toolie. Richard Sharpe. John Underwood. Thomas Holcomb.
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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.
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.
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.
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,
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
1 Ser. Sure her heart is broke.
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,
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.
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.
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?
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? Must I endure this?
Zab. Where's the Gentleman?
Hip. Go presently, pursue the stranger, Zabulon. He has broke from me, Jewels I have given him: Charge him with theft: he has stoln my love, my freedome, Draw him before the Governour, imprison him, Why dost thou stay?
Zab. I'le teach him a new dance, For playing fast and loose with such a Lady. Come fellows, come: I'le execute your anger, And to the full.
Hip. His scorn shall feel my vengeance.— [Exeunt.
Enter Sulpicia and Jaques.
Sul. Shall I never see a lusty man again?
Ja. Faith Mistress You do so over-labour 'em when you have 'em, And so dry-founder 'em, they cannot last.
Sul. Where's the French-man?
Ja. Alas, he's all to fitters, and lyes, taking the height of his fortune with a Syringe. He's chin'd, he's chin'd good man, he is a mourner.
Sul. What's become of the Dane?
Ja. Who? goldy-locks? He's foul i'th' touch-hole; and recoils again, The main Spring's weaken'd that holds up his cock, He lies at the sign of the Sun, to be new breech'd.
Sul. The Rutter too, is gone.
Ja. O that was a brave Rascal, He would labour like a Thrasher: but alas What thing can ever last? he has been ill mew'd, And drawn too soon; I have seen him in the Hospital.
Sul. There was an English-man.
Ja. I there was an English-man; You'l scant find any now, to make that name good: There were those English that were men indeed, And would perform like men, but now they are vanisht: They are so taken up in their own Country, And so beaten of their speed by their own women, When they come here, they draw their legs like Hackneys: Drink, and their own devices have undone 'em.
Sul. I must have one that's strong, no life in Lisbon else, Perfect and young: my Custom with young Ladies, And high fed City dames, will fall, and break else. I want my self too, in mine age to nourish me: They are all sunk I mantain'd: now what's this business, What goodly fellow's that?
Enter Rutilio and Officers.
Rut. Why do you drag me? Pox o' your justice; let me loose.
1 Offi. Not so Sir.
Rut. Cannot a man fall into one of your drunken Cellars, And venture the breaking on's neck, your trap-doors open, But he must be us'd thus rascally?
1 Offi. What made you wandring So late i'th' night? you know that is imprisonment.
Rut. May be I walk in my sleep.
2 Offi. May be we'l walk ye. What made you wandring Sir, into that vault Where all the City store, and the Munition lay?
Rut. I fell into it by chance, I broke my shins for't: Your worships feel not that: I knockt my head Against a hundred posts, would you had had it. Cannot I break my neck in my own defence?
2 Offi. This will not serve: you cannot put it off so, Your coming thither was to play the villain, To fire the Powder, to blow up that part o'th' City.
Rut. Yes, with my nose: why were the trap-doors open? Might not you fall, or you, had you gone that way? I thought your City had sunk.
1 Offi. You did your best Sir, We must presume, to help it into th' Air, If you call that sinking: we have told you what's the law, He that is taken there, unless a Magistrate, And have command in that place, presently If there be nothing found apparent near him Worthy his torture, or his present death, Must either pay his fine for his presumption, (Which is six hundred Duckets) or for six years Tug at an Oar i'th' Gallies: will ye walk Sir, For we presume you cannot pay the penalty.
Rut. Row in the Gallies, after all this mischief?
2 Offi. May be you were drunk, they'l keep you sober there.
Rut. Tug at an Oar? you are not arrant rascals, To catch me in a pit-fall, and betray me?
Sul. A lusty minded man.
Ja. A wondrous able.
Sul. Pray Gentlemen, allow me but that liberty To speak a few words with your prisoner, And I shall thank you.
1 Offi. Take your pleasure Lady.
Sul. What would you give that woman should redeem ye, Redeem ye from this slavery?
Rut. Besides my service I would give her my whole self, I would be her vassal.
Sul. She has reason to expect as much, considering The great sum she pays for't, yet take comfort, What ye shall do to merit this, is easie, And I will be the woman shall befriend ye, 'Tis but to entertain some handsome Ladies, And young fair Gentlewomen: you guess the way: But giving of your mind—
Rut. I am excellent at it: You cannot pick out such another living. I understand ye: is't not thus?
Sul. Ye have it.
Rut. Bring me a hundred of 'em: I'le dispatch 'em. I will be none but yours: should another offer Another way to redeem me, I should scorn it. What women you shall please: I am monstrous lusty: Not to be taken down: would you have Children? I'le get you those as fast, and thick as flie-blows.
Sul. I admire him: wonder at him!
Rut. Hark ye Lady, You may require sometimes—
Sul. I by my faith.
Rut. And you shall have it by my faith, and handsomly: This old Cat will suck shrewdly: you have no Daughters? I flye at all: now am I in my Kingdom. Tug at an Oar? no, tug in a Feather-bed, With good warm Caudles; hang your bread and water, I'le make you young again, believe that Lady. I will so frubbish you.
Sul. Come, follow Officers, This Gentleman is free: I'le pay the Duckets.
Rut. And when you catch me in your City-powdring-tub Again, boil me with Cabbidge.
1 Offi. You are both warn'd and arm'd Sir. [Exeunt.
Enter Leopold, Hippolyta, Zenocia.
Zen. Will your Ladyship wear this Dressing?
Hip. Leave thy prating: I care not what I wear.
Zen. Yet 'tis my duty To know your pleasure, and my worst affliction To see you discontented.
Hip. Weeping too? Prethee forgive me: I am much distemper'd, And speak I know not what: to make thee amends The Gown that I wore yesterday, is thine; Let it alone awhile.
Leo. Now you perceive, And taste her bounty.
Zen. Much above my merit.
Leo. But have you not yet found a happy time To move for me.
Zen. I have watched all occasions, But hitherto, without success: yet doubt not But I'le embrace the first means.
Leo. Do, and prosper: Excellent creature, whose perfections make Even sorrow lovely, if your frowns thus take me, What would your smiles doe?
Hip. Pox o' this stale Courtship: If I have any power.
Leo. I am commanded, Obedience is the Lovers sacrifice Which I pay gladly.
Hip. To be forc'd to wooe, Being a woman, could not but torment me, But bringing for my advocates, youth and beauty, Set off with wealth, and then to be deni'd too Do's comprehend all tortures. They flatter'd me, That said my looks were charms, my touches fetters, My locks soft chains, to bind the arms of Princes, And make them in that wish'd for bondage, happy. I am like others of a coarser feature, As weak to allure, but in my dotage, stronger: I am no Circe; he, more than Ulysses, Scorns all my offer'd bounties, slights my favours, And, as I were some new Egyptian, flyes me, Leaving no pawn, but my own shame behind him. But he shall finde, that in my fell revenge, I am a woman: one that never pardons The rude contemner of her proffered sweetness.
Zab. Madam, 'tis done.
Hip. What's done?
Zab. The uncivill stranger Is at your suite arrested.
Hip. 'Tis well handled.
Zab. And under guard sent to the Governour, With whom my testimony, and the favour He bears your Ladiship, have so prevail'd That he is sentenc'd.
Zab. To lose his head.
Hip. Is that the means to quench the scorching heat Of my inrag'd desires? must innocence suffer, 'Cause I am faulty? or is my Love so fatall That of necessity it must destroy The object it most longs for? dull Hippolyta, To think that injuries could make way for love, When courtesies were despis'd: that by his death Thou shouldst gain that, which only thou canst hope for While he is living: My honour's at the stake now, And cannot be preserv'd, unless he perish, The enjoying of the thing I love, I ever Have priz'd above my fame: why doubt I now then? One only way is left me, to redeem all: Make ready my Caroch.
Leo. What will you Madam?
Hip. And yet I am impatient of such stay: Bind up my hair: fye, fye, while that is doing The Law may seise his life: thus as I am then, Not like Hippolyta, but a Bacchanal My frantique Love transports me. [Exit.
Leo. Sure she's distracted.
Zab. Pray you follow her: I will along with you: I more than ghess the cause: women that love Are most uncertain, and one minute crave, What in another they refuse to have. [Exit.
Enter Clodio, Charino.
Clo. Assure thy self Charino, I am alter'd From what I was; the tempests we have met with In our uncertain voyage, were smooth gales Compar'd to those, the memory of my lusts Rais'd in my Conscience: and if ere again I live to see Zenocia, I will sue, And seek to her as a Lover, and a Servant, And not command affection, like a Tyrant.
Char. In hearing this, you make me young again, And Heaven, it seems, favouring this good change in you In setting of a period to our dangers Gives us fair hopes to find that here in Lisbon Which hitherto in vain we long have sought for. I have receiv'd assur'd intelligence, Such strangers have been seen here: and though yet I cannot learn their fortunes, nor the place Of their abode, I have a Soul presages A fortunate event here.
Clo. There have pass'd A mutual enterchange of courtesies Between me, and the Governour; therefore boldly We may presume of him, and of his power If we finde cause to use them, otherwise I would not be known here, and these disguises Will keep us from discovery.
Enter Manuel, Doctor, Arnoldo, Guard.
Char. What are these?
Clo. The Governour: with him my Rival, bound.
Char. For certain 'tis Arnoldo.
Clo. Let's attend What the success will be.
Mar. Is't possible There should be hope of his recovery, His wounds so many and so deadly?
Doct. So they appear'd at first, but the blood stop'd, His trance forsook him, and on better search We found they were not mortal.
Man. Use all care To perfect this unhop'd for cure: that done Propose your own rewards: and till you shall Hear farther from me, for some ends I have, Conceal it from his Mother.
Doct. Wee'l not fail Sir. [Exit.
Man. You still stand confident on your innocence.
Arn. It is my best and last guard, which I will not Leave, to relye on your uncertain mercy.
Enter Hippolyta, Zabulon, Leopold, Zenocia, 2 Servants.
Hip. Who bad you follow me! Goe home, and you Sir, As you respect me, goe with her.
Arn. Zenocia! And in her house a Servant!
Char. 'Tis my Daughter.
Clo. My love? Contain your joy, observe the sequel. [Zen. passes.
Man. Fye Madam, how undecent 'tis for you, So far unlike your self to bee seen thus In th' open streets? why do you kneel? pray you rise, I am acquainted with the wrong, and loss You have sustain'd, and the Delinquent now Stands ready for his punishment.
Hip. Let it fall, Sir, On the offender: he is innocent, And most unworthy of these bonds he wears, But I made up of guilt.
Man. What strange turn's this?
Leo. This was my prisoner once.
Hip. If chastity In a young man, and tempted to the height too Did ere deserve reward, or admiration, He justly may claim both. Love to his person (Or if you please give it a fouler name) Compel'd me first to train him to my house, All engines I rais'd there to shake his vertue, Which in the assault were useless; he unmov'd still As if he had no part of humane frailty. Against the nature of my Sex, almost I plaid the Ravisher. You might have seen In our contention, young Apollo fly And love-sick Daphne follow, all arts failing, By flight he wan the victory, breaking from My scorn'd embraces: the repulse (in women Unsufferable) invited me to practise A means to be reveng'd: and from this grew His Accusation, and the abuse Of your still equall justice: My rage ever Thanks heaven, though wanton, I found not my self So far engag'd to Hell, to prosecute To the death what I had plotted, for that love That made me first desire him, then accuse him, Commands me with the hazard of my self First to entreat his pardon, then acquit him.
Man. What ere you are, so much I love your vertue, That I desire your friendship: do you unloose him From those bonds, you are worthy of: your repentance Makes part of satisfaction; yet I must Severely reprehend you.
Leo. I am made A stale on all parts: But this fellow shall Pay dearly for her favour.
Arn. My life's so full Of various changes, that I now despair Of any certain port; one trouble ending, A new, and worse succeeds it: what should Zenocia Do in this womans house? Can chastity And hot Lust dwell together without infection? I would not be or jealous, or secure, Yet something must be done, to sound the depth on't: That she lives is my bliss, but living there, A hell of torments; there's no way to her In whom I live, but by this door, through which To me 'tis death to enter, yet I must, And will make tryal.
Man. Let me hear no more Of these devices, Lady: this I pardon, And at your intercession I forgive Your instrument the Jew too: get you home. The hundred thousand crowns you lent the City Towards the setting forth of the last Navy Bound for the Islands, was a good then, which I ballance with your ill now.
Char. Now Sir, to him, You know my Daughter needs it.
Hip. Let me take A farewell with mine eye, Sir, though my lip Be barr'd the Ceremonie, courtesie And Custom too allows of.
Arn. Gentle Madam, I neither am so cold, nor so ill bred But that I dare receive it: you are unguarded, And let me tell you that I am asham'd Of my late rudeness, and would gladly therefore If you please to accept my ready service Wait on you to your house.
Hip. Above my hope: Sir, if an Angel were to be my convoy, He should not be more welcom.— [Ex. Arn. and Hip.
Clo. Now you know me.
Man. Yes Sir, and honour you: ever remembring Your many bounties, being ambitious only To give you cause to say by some one service That I am not ungratefull.
Clod. 'Tis now offer'd: I have a suit to you, and an easie one, Which e're long you shall know.
Man. When you think fit Sir, And then as a command I will receive it, Till when, most welcom: you are welcom too Sir, 'Tis spoken from the heart, and therefore needs not Much protestation: at your better leisure I will enquire the cause that brought you hither: In the mean time serve you.
Clod. You out-doe me Sir. [Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Duarte, Doctor.
Dua. You have bestow'd on me a second life, For which I live your creature, and have better'd What nature fram'd unperfect, my first being Insolent pride made monstrous; but this later In learning me to know my self, hath taught me Not to wrong others.
Doct. Then we live indeed, When we can goe to rest without alarm Given every minute to a guilt-sick conscience To keep us waking, and rise in the morning Secure in being innocent: but when In the remembrance of our worser actions We ever bear about us whips and furies, To make the day a night of sorrow to us, Even life's a burthen.
Dua. I have found and felt it; But will endeavour having first made peace With those intestine enemies my rude passions, To be so with man-kind: but worthy Doctor, Pray if you can resolve me; was the Gentleman That left me dead, ere brought unto his tryal?
Doct. Not known, nor apprehended.
Dua. That's my grief.
Doct. Why, do you wish he had been punished?
Dua. No, The stream of my swoln sorrow runs not that way: For could I find him, as I vow to Heaven It shall be my first care to seek him out, I would with thanks acknowledge that his sword, In opening my veins, which proud bloud poison'd, Gave the first symptoms of true health.
Doct. 'Tis in you A Christian resolution: that you live Is by the Governours, your Uncles charge As yet conceal'd. And though a sons loss never Was solemniz'd with more tears of true sorrow Than have been paid by your unequal'd Mother For your supposed death, she's not acquainted With your recovery.
Dua. For some few dayes Pray let her so continue: thus disguis'd I may abroad unknown.
Doct. Without suspicion Of being discovered.
Dua. I am confident No moisture sooner dies than womens tears, And therefore though I know my Mother vertuous, Yet being one of that frail sex I purpose Her farther tryal.
Doct. That as you think fit—I'le not betray you.
Dua. To find out this stranger This true Physician of my mind and manners Were such a blessing. He seem'd poor, and may Perhaps be now in want; would I could find him. The Innes I'le search first, then the publick Stewes; He was of Italy, and that Country breeds not Precisians that way, but hot Libertines; And such the most are: 'tis but a little travail: I am unfurnisht too, pray Mr. Doctor, Can you supply me?
Doct. With what summ you please.
Dua. I will not be long absent.
Doct. That I wish too; For till you have more strength, I would not have you To be too bold.
Dua. Fear not, I will be carefull. [Exeunt.
Enter Leopold, Zabulon, Bravo.
Zab. I have brought him Sir, a fellow that will do it Though Hell stood in his way, ever provided You pay him for't.
Leop. He has a strange aspect, And looks much like the figure of a hang-man In a table of the Passion.
Zab. He transcends All precedents, believe it, a flesh'd ruffian, That hath so often taken the Strappado, That 'tis to him but as a lofty trick Is to a tumbler: he hath perused too All Dungeons in Portu[g]al, thrice seven years Rowed in the Galleys for three several murthers, Though I presume that he has done a hundred, And scap't unpunisht.
Leop. He is much in debt to you, You set him off so well. What will you take Sir To beat a fellow for me, that thus wrong'd me?
Bra. To beat him say you?
Leop. Yes, beat him to lameness, To cut his lips or nose off; any thing, That may disfigure him.
Bra. Let me consider? Five hundred pistolets for such a service I think were no dear penniworth.
Zab. Five hundred! Why there are of your Brother-hood in the City, I'le undertake, shall kill a man for twenty.
Bra. Kill him? I think so; I'le kill any man For half the mony.
Leop. And will you ask more For a sound beating than a murther?
Bra. I Sir, And with good reason, for a dog that's dead, The Spanish proverb says, will never bite: But should I beat or hurt him only, he may Recover, and kill me.
Leo. A good conclusion, The obduracie of this rascal makes me tender. I'le run some other course, there's your reward Without the employment.
Bra. For that as you please Sir; When you have need to kill a man, pray use me, But I am out at beating. [Exit.
Zab. What's to be done then?
Leop. I'le tell thee Zabulon, and make thee privy To my most near designs: this stranger, which Hippolyta so dotes on, was my prisoner When the last Virgin, I bestowed upon her, Was made my prize; how he escaped, hereafter I'le let thee know; and it may be the love He bears the servant, makes him scorn the Mistris.
Zab. 'Tis not unlike; for the first time he saw her His looks exprest so much, and for more proof Since he came to my Ladys house, though yet He never knew her, he hath practis'd with me To help him to a conference, without The knowledge of Hippolyta; which I promis'd.
Leop. And by all means perform it for their meeting, But work it so, that my disdainful Mistris (Whom, notwithstanding all her injuries, 'Tis my hard fate to love) may see and hear them.
Zab. To what end Sir?
Leop. This Zabulon: when she sees Who is her rival, and her Lovers baseness To leave a Princess for her bondwoman, The sight will make her scorn, what now she dotes on, I'le double thy reward.
Zab. You are like to speed then: For I confess what you will soon believe, We serve them best that are most apt to give, For you, I'le place you where you shall see all, and yet be unobserv'd.
Leop. That I desire too. [Exeunt.
Arn. I cannot see her yet, how it afflicts me The poyson of this place should mix it self With her pure thoughts? 'Twas she that was commanded, Or my eyes failed me grosly; that youth, that face And all that noble sweetness. May she not live here, And yet be honest still?
Zen. It is Arnoldo, From all his dangers free; fortune I bless thee. My noble husband! how my joy swells in me, But why in this place? what business hath he here? He cannot hear of me, I am not known here. I left him vertuous; how I shake to think now! And how that joy I had, cools, and forsakes me!
Enter above Hippolyta and Zabulon.
This Lady is but fair, I have been thought so Without compare admired; She has bewitched him And he forgot—
Arn. 'Tis she again, the same—the same Zenocia.
Zab. There they are together.—Now you may mark.
Hip. Peace, let 'em parly.
Arn. That you are well Zenocia, and once more Bless my despairing eyes, with your wisht presence, I thank the gods; but that I meet you here—
Hip. They are acquainted.
Zab. I found that secret Madam, When you co[m]manded her go home: pray hear 'em.
Zen. That you meet me here, ne're blush at that Arnoldo. Your coming comes too late: I am a woman, And one woman with another may be trusted; Do you fear the house?
Arn. More than a fear, I know it, Know it not good, not honest.
Zen. What do you here then? I'th' name of vertue why do you approach it? Will you confess the doubt and yet pursue it? Where have your eyes been wandring, my Arnoldo? What constancy, what faith do you call this? Fie, Aim at one wanton mark, and wound another? I do confess, the Lady fair, most beauteous, And able to betray a strong mans liberty, [Leopold places himself unseen below. But you that have a love, a wife—you do well To deal thus wisely with me: yet Arnoldo, Since you are pleas'd to study a new beauty, And think this old and ill, beaten with misery, Study a nobler way for shame to love me, Wrong not her honesty.
Arn. You have confirm'd me.
Zen. Who though she be your wife, will never hinder you, So much I rest a servant to your wishes, And love your Loves, though they be my destructions, No man shall know me, nor the share I have in thee, No eye suspect I am able to prevent you, For since I am a slave to this great Lady, Whom I perceive you follow,
Arn. Be not blinded.
Zen. Fortune shall make me useful to your service, I will speak for you.
Arn. Speak for me? you wrong me.
Zen. I will endeavour all the wayes I am able To make her think well of you; will that please? To make her dote upon you, dote to madness, So far against my self I will obey you. But when that's done, and I have shewed this duty, This great obedience, few will buy it at my price, Thus will I shake hands with you, wish you well, But never see you more, nor receive comfort From any thing, Arnoldo.
Arn. You are too tender; I neither doubt you, nor desire longer To be a man, and live, than I am honest And only yours; our infinite affections Abus'd us both.
Zab. Where are your favours now? The courtesies you shew'd this stranger, Madam?
Hip. Have I now found the cause?
Zab. Attend it further.
Zen. Did she invite you, do you say?
Arn. Most cunningly, And with a preparation of that state I was brought in and welcom'd.
Zen. Seem'd to love you?
Arn. Most infinitely, at first sight, most dotingly.
Zen. She is a goodly Lady.
Arn. Wondrous handsom: At first view, being taken unprepar'd, Your memory not present then to assist me, She seem'd so glorious sweet, and so far stir'd me, Nay be not jealous, there's no harm done.
Zen. Prethee—didst thou not kiss, Arnoldo?
Arn. Yes faith did I.
Zen. And then—
Arn. I durst not, did not—
Zen. I forgive you, Come tell the truth.
Arn. May be I lay with her.
Hip. He mocks me too, most basely.
Zen. Did ye faith? did ye forget so far?
Arn. Come, come, no weeping; I would have lyen first in my grave, believe that. Why will you ask those things you would not hear? She is too untemperate to betray my vertues, Too openly lascivious: had she dealt But with that seeming modesty she might, And flung a little Art upon her ardor, But 'twas forgot, and I forgot to like her, And glad I was deceiv'd. No my Zenocia, My first love here begun, rests here unreapt yet, And here for ever.
Zen. You have made me happy, Even in the midst of bondage blest.
Zab. You see now What rubs are in your way.
Hip. And quickly Zabulon I'le root 'em out.—Be sure you do this presently.
Zab. Do not you alter then.
Hip. I am resolute. [Exit Zabulon.
Arn. To see you only I came hither last, Drawn by no love of hers, nor base allurements, For by this holy light I hate her heartily.
Leop. I am glad of that, you have sav'd me so much vengeance And so much fear, From this hour fair befal you.
Arn. Some means I shall make shortly to redeem you, Till when, observe her well, and fit her temper, Only her lust contemn.
Zen. When shall I see you?
Arn. I will live hereabouts, and bear her fair still, Till I can find a fit hour to redeem you.
Hip. Shut all the doors.
Arn. Who's that?
Zen. We are betray'd, The Lady of the house has heard our parly, Seen us, and seen our Loves.
Hip. You courteous Gallant, You that scorn all I can bestow, that laugh at The afflictions, and the groans I suffer for you, That slight and jeer my love, contemn the fortune My favours can fling on you, have I caught you? Have I now found the cause? ye fool my wishes; Is mine own slave, my bane? I nourish that That sucks up my content. I'le pray no more, Nor wooe no more; thou shalt see foolish man, And to thy bitter pain and anguish, look on The vengeance I shall take, provok'd and slighted; Redeem her then, and steal her hence: ho Zabulon Now to your work.
Enter Zabulon, and Servants, some holding Arnoldo, some ready with a cord to strangle Zenocia.
Arn. Lady, but hear me speak first, As you have pity.
Hip. I have none. You taught me, When I even hung about your neck, you scorn'd me.
Zab. Shall we pluck yet?
Hip. No, hold a little Zabulon, I'le pluck his heart-strings first: now am I worthy A little of your love?
Arn. I'le be your Servant, Command me through what danger you shall aime at, Let it be death.
Hip. Be sure Sir, I shall fit you.
Arn. But spare this Virgin.
Hip. I would spare that villain first, Had cut my Fathers throat.
Arn. Bounteous Lady, If in your sex there be that noble softness, That tenderness of heart, women are crown'd for—
Zen. Kneel not Arnoldo, doe her not that honour, She is not worthy such submission, I scorn a life depends upon her pity. Proud woman do thy worst, and arm thy anger With thoughts as black as Hell, as hot and bloody, I bring a patience here, shall make 'em blush, An innocence, shall outlook thee, and death too.
Arn. Make me your slave, I give my freedom to ye, For ever to be fetter'd to your service; 'Twas I offended, be not so unjust then, To strike the innocent, this gentle maid Never intended fear and doubt against you: She is your Servant, pay not her observance With cruel looks, her duteous faith with death.
Hip. Am I fair now? now am I worth your liking?
Zen. Not fair, not to be liked, thou glorious Devil, Thou vernisht piece of lust, thou painted fury.
Arn. Speak gently sweet, speak gently.
Zen. I'le speak nobly. 'Tis not the saving of a life I aim at, Mark me lascivious woman, mark me truly, And then consider, how I weigh thy anger. Life is no longer mine, nor dear unto me, Than usefull to his honour I preserve it. If thou hadst studied all the courtesies Humanity and noble blood are linkt to, Thou couldst not have propounded such a benefit, Nor heapt upon me such unlookt for honour As dying for his sake, to be his Martyr, 'Tis such a grace.
Hip. You shall not want that favour, Let your bones work miracles.
Arn. Dear Lady By those fair eyes—
Hip. There is but this way left ye To save her life.—
Arn. Speak it, and I embrace it.
Hip. Come to my private chamber presently, And there, what love and I command—
Arn. I'le doe it, Be comforted Zenocia.
Zen. Do not do this To save me, do not lose your self I charge you, I charge you by your love, that love [you] bear me; That love, that constant love you have twin'd to me, By all your promises, take heed you keep 'em, Now is your constant tryal. If thou dost this, Or mov'st one foot, to guide thee to her lust, My curses and eternal hate pursue thee. Redeem me at the base price of dis-loyalty? Must my undoubted honesty be thy Bawd too? Go and intwine thy self about that body; Tell her, for my life thou hast lost thine honour, Pull'd all thy vows from heaven, basely, most basely Stoop'd to the servile flames of that foul woman, To add an hour to me that hate thee for it, Know thee not again, nor name thee for a Husband.
Arn. What shall I do to save her?
Hip. How now, what hast there?
Enter a Servant.
Ser. The Governour, attended with some Gentlemen, Are newly entred, to speak with your Ladiship.
Hip. Pox o' their business, reprieve her for this hour, I shall have other time.
Arn. Now fortune help us.
Hip. I'le meet 'em presently: retire awhile all. [Exeunt.
Zab. You rise to day upon your right side Lady; You know the danger too, and may prevent it, And if you suffer her to perish thus, As she must do, and suddenly, believe it, Unless you stand her friend; you know the way on't, I guess you poorly love her, less your fortune. Let her know nothing, and perform this matter, There are hours ordained for several businesses, You understand.
Arn. I understand you Bawd Sir, And such a Counsellour I never car'd for.
Enter the Governour, Clodio, Leopold, Charino and Attendants at one door, Hippolyta at the other.
Hip. Your Lordship does me honour.
Gover. Fair Hippolyta, I am come to ease you of a charge.
Hip. I keep none I count a burthen Sir: and yet I lye too.
Gover. Which is the Maid; is she here?
Clod. Yes Sir, This is she, this is Zenocia, The very same I sued to your Lordship for.
Zen. Clodio again? more misery? more ruin? Under what angry star is my life govern'd?
Gov. Come hither Maid, you are once more a free woman, Here I discharge your bonds.
Arn. Another smile, Another trick of fortune to betray us!
Hip. Why does your Lordship use me so unnobly? Against my will to take away my bond-woman?
Gov. She was no lawful prize, therefore no bond-woman: She's of that Country we hold friendship with, And ever did, and therefore to be used With entertainment, fair and courteous. The breach of League in us gives foul example, Therefore you must be pleas'd to think this honest; Did you know what she was?
Leop. Not till this instant; For had I known her, she had been no prisoner.
Gov. There, take the Maid, she is at her own dispose now, And if there be ought else to do your honour Any poor service in—
Clod. I am vowed your servant.
Arn. Your Father's here too, that's our only comfort, And in a Country now, we stand free people, Where Clodio has no power, be comforted.
Zen. I fear some trick yet.
Arn. Be not so dejected.
Gover. You must not be displeas'd; so farewel Lady. Come Gentlemen; Captain, you must with me too, I have a little business.
Leop. I attend your Lordship: Now my way's free, and my hope's Lord again. [Exeunt all but Hip. and Zab.
Hip. D'ye jeer me now ye are going? I may live yet—to make you howl both.
Zab. You might have done; you had power then, But now the chains are off, the command lost, And such a story they will make of this To laugh out lazie time.
Hip. No means yet left me? For now I burst with anger: none to satisfie me? No comfort? no revenge?
Zab. You speak too late; You might have had all these, your useful servants, Had you been wise, and suddain: what power, or will Over her beauty, have you now? by violence To constrain his love; she is as free as you are, And no law can impeach her liberty, And whilst she is so, Arnoldo will despise you.
Hip. Either my love or anger must be satisfied, Or I must dye.
Zab. I have a way wou'd do it, Wou'd do it yet, protect me from the Law.
Hip. From any thing; thou knowest what power I have, What mony, and what friends.
Zab. 'Tis a devilish one: But such must now be us'd: walk in, I'le tell you; And if you like it, if the Devil can do any thing—
Hip. Devil, or what thou wilt, so I be satisfied. [Ex.
Enter Sulpitia, and Jaques.
Sulp. This is the rarest and the lustiest fellow, And so bestirs himself—
Jaq. Give him breath Mistress, You'l melt him else.
Sulp. He does perform such wonders— The women are mad on him.
Jaq. Give him breath I say; The man is but a man, he must have breath.
Sulp. How many had he yesterday? And they paid bravely too.
Jaq. About fourteen, But still I cry give breath, spare him and have him.
Sulp. Five Dames to day; this was a small stage, He may endure five more.
Jaq. Breath, breath I cry still; Body o' me give breath, the man's a lost man else. Feed him and give him breath.
Enter 2 Gentlewomen.
Sulp. Welcome Gentlewomen, Y'are very welcome.
1 Gen. We hear you have a lusty and well complexion'd fellow That does rare tricks; my Sister and my self here, Would trifle out an hour or two, so please you.
Sulp. Jaques, conduct 'em in.
Both. There's for your courtesie. [Ex. Jaq. and Gent.
Sulp. Good pay still, good round pay, this happy fellow Will set me up again; he brings in gold Faster than I have leisure to receive it. O that his body were not flesh and fading; But I'le so pap him up—nothing too dear for him; What a sweet scent he has?—Now what news Jaques?