The Custom of the Country.  

Actus Primus,  

Scaena Prima.  Enter Rutillio, and Arnoldo. 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 lived this 30. years  
And run through all these follies you call fortunes  
Yet never fixed on any good, and constant,  
But what I made myself: why should I grieve then,  
And that I may mould any way?  Arn. 
You are wide still.  Rut. 
You love a gentlewoman, a young handsome woman,  
I have loved a thousand, not so few.  Arn. 
You are disposed.  Rut. 
You hope to marry her; 'tis a lawful calling  
And prettily esteemed of, but take heed then,  
Take heed dear brother of a stranger fortune  
Then ere you felt yet; fortune my foe is a friend to it.  Arn. 
'Tis true I love, dearly, and truly love,  
A noble, virtuous, and most beauteous maid,  
And am beloved again.  Rut. 
That's too much a conscience  
To love all these would run me out o my wits.  Arn. 
Prithee give ear, I am to marry her  Rut. 
Dispatch it then, and I'll go call the Piper.  Arn. 
But o the wicked Customs of this country  
The barbarous, most inhuman, damned Custom  Rut. 
'Tis true, to marry is a custom  
In the world; for look you brother,  
Wooed any man, stand plucking for the Ace of Hearts,  
With one pack of cards all days on's life?  Arn. 
You do not  
Or else you purpose not to understand me  Rut. 
Proceed, I will give care.  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 tie o'th' Church, the Governor,  
He that commands in chief, must have her maidenhead  
Or ransom it for money at his pleasure.  Rut. 
How might a man achieve 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. 
methinks both excellent  
Would I were the next heir  Arn. 
To this mad fortune  
Am I now come, my marriage is proclaimed.  
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. 
Fie rutilio  
Why do you make your brother's misery  
Your sport and game?  Rut. 
There is no pastime like it  Arn. 
I looked for your advice, your timely counsel,  
How to avoid this blow, not to be mocked at,  
And my afflictions jeered.  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 it can, a young wench,  
A handsome wench, and sooner a good turn too,  
An I were to be hanged, 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'll attend it?  
But yet methinks, I am taken with this custom.  Ent: Charino and Zenocia. 
And could pretend toth' place.  Arn. 
Draw off a little?  
Here comes my Mistress and her Father.  Rut. 
JAM dainty wench;  
Wooed might farm his Custom  Char. 
My dear daughter,  
Now to bethink yourself of new advice  
Will be too late, later this timeless sorrow,  
No price, nor prayers, can infringe the fate  
Your beauty hath cast on you, my best Zenocia,  
Be ruled by me, a Father's care directs ye,  
Look on the Count, look cheerfully and sweetly;  
What though he have the power to possess ye,  
To pluck your maiden honour, and then slight ye  
By custom, unresistable to enjoy you;  
Yet my sweet child, so much your youth and goodness  
The beauty of your soul, and Saintlike modesty,  
Have won upon his wild mind, so much charmed  
That all power laid aside, what Law allows him,  
Or sudden in fires, kindled from those bright eyes,  
He sues to be your servant, fairly, nobly  
Forever to be tied your faithful Husband:  
Consider my best child:  Zeno. 
I have considered  Char. 
The blessedness that this breeds too, consider  
Besides your Father's 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 a 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 turned your beauty into ashes,  
Filled with your pious memory.  Zeno. 
Good Father  
Hide not that bitter pill, I loathe to swallow  
In such sweet words:  Char. 
The Count's a handsome Gentleman,  
And having him, you're 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, everywhere?  Zen. 
No more Sir;  
I must not hear, I dare not hear him wronged thus,  
Virtue is never wounded, but I suffer.  
'Tis an ill office in your age, a poor one,  
To judge thus weakly: and believe yourself too,  
A weaker to betray your innocent daughter,  
To his intemperate, rude, and wild embraces,  
She hates as Heaven hates falsehood.  Rut. 
A good wench,  
She sticks close to you Sir.  Zeno. 
His faith uncertain?  
The nobleness his virtue springs from, doubted?  
d'ye doubt 'tis day now? or when your body's perfect,  
Your stomachs well disposed, your pulses temperate,  
d'ye doubt you are in health? I tell you Father,  
One hour of this man's goodness, this man's 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 virtue: he has my first love,  
To him in sacred vow I have given this body,  
In him my mind inhabits.  Rut. 
Good wench still  Zen. 
And till he fling me off, as undeserving  
Which I confess I am, of such a blessing,  
But would be loath 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 then death,  
What willing martyrdom to crown me constant  
May merit such a goodness, such a sweetness?  
A love so Nobly great, no power can ruin;  
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 recompense;  Zen. 
I ask but you, a pure maid to possess,  
And then they have crowned my wishes: If I fall then  
Go seek some better love, mine will debase you.  Rut. 
A pretty innocent fool; well Governor,  
Though I think well of your custom, & could wish myself  
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'll tell you what & if your honour's guts are not enchanted  Arn. 
I should now chide you Sir, for so declining  
The goodness and the grace you have ever showed me,  
And your own virtue too, in seeking rashly  
To violate that love heaven has appointed,  
To wrest your daughter's thoughts, part that affection  
That both our hearts have tied & 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 claws of such a Catamountain?  
You had better tear her between Oaks, a Town bull  
Is a mere Stoic to this fellow, a grave Philosopher,  
And a Spanish Jennet, a most virtuous 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 whipped off the heads of a 1000. maids already  
That he should glean the harvest, sticks in my stomach:  
This rogue that 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 myself that have a reputation,  
And have studied the conclusions of these causes  
And know the perfect manage, I'll tell you old Sir,  
If I should call you wise Sir, I should belie you,  
This thing you study to betray your child to.  
This Maiden-monger. When you have done your best  
And think you have fixed her in the point of honour  
Who do you think you have tied her too? a Surgeon,  
I must confess an excellent dissector,  
One that has cut up more young tender Lamb-pies—  Char. 
What I speak Gentlemen, was mere compulsion  
No Father's freewill, nor did I touch your person,  
With any edge of spite; or strain your loves  
With any base, or hired persuasions; Exit.  
Witness these tears, how well I wished your fortunes.  Rut. 
There's some grace in thee yet, you are determined,  
To marry this Count Lady,  Zen. 
Marry him rutilio?  Rut. 
Marry him, and lie with him I mean,  Zeno. 
You cannot mean that,  
If you be a true Gentleman, you dare not,  
The brother to this man, and one that loves him;  
I'll marry the Devil first  Rut. 
A better choice  
And lay his horns by a handsomer bedfellow,  
A cooler o' my conscience  Arn. 
Pray let me ask you;  
And my dear Mistress, 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 laughed at,  
And modesty regarded as a may-game,  
What shall be here considered? power we have none,  
To make resistance, nor policy to cross it:  
'Tis held religion too, to pay this duty.  Zeno. 
I'll die an Atheist then.  Arn. 
My noblest Mistress  
Not that I with 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 entertained this monster  
Should I esteem you worse, forced to this render?  
Your mind I know is pure, and full as beauteous;  
After this short eclipse, you would rise again  
And shaking of that cloud, spread all your lustre  Zeno. 
Who made you witty, to undo yourself, Sir?  
Or are you laden, with the love I bring you,  
And fain would fling that burden on another?  
Am I grown common in your eyes Arnoldo?  
Old, or unworthy of your fellowship?  
d'ee think because a woman, I must err,  
And therefore rather wish that fall before hand  
Coloured with custom, not to be resisted?  
d'ee love as painters do, only some pieces  
Some certain handsome touches of your Mistress,  
And let the mind pass by you, unexamined?  
Be not abused; with what the maiden vessel  
Is seasoned first, you understand the proverb.  Rut. 
I am afraid, this thing will make me virtuous,  Zeno. 
Should you lay by the least part of that love  
Y'ave sworn is mine, your youth & faith has given me,  
To entertain another, nay a fairer,  
And make the case thus , she must die else;  
D''ee think I would give way, or count this honest?  
Be not deceived, these eyes should never see you more,  
This tongue forget to name you, and this heart  
Hate you, as if you were borne, my full Antipathy.  
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 & handsome.  Arnol. 
I never shall deserve you: not to thank you;  
You are so heavenly good, no man can reach you:  
I am sorry I spoke so rashly, 'twas but to try you.  Rut. 
You might have tried a thousand women so,  
And 900, fourscore & 19 should ha' followed your counsel  
Take heed o' clapping spurs to such free cattle,  Arn. 
We must bethink us suddenly and constantly,  
And wisely too, we expect no common danger.  Zen. 
Be most assured, I'll die first.  Enter Clodio and guard: Rut. 
An't come to that once,  
The Devil pick his bones, that dies a coward  
I'll 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 bits,  
Than a hundred honester men, and more deserving  
How the dog 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'll watch you for that trick, baboon, I'll  
Smoke you: the rogue sweats, as if he had eaten  
Grains, he broils, 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,  
however I will presently prepare  
To make her mine, and most undoubtedly;  
Believe you are abused, this custom feigned to,  
And what you now pretend, most fair and virtuous.  Clod. 
Go and believe, a good belief does well Sir;  
And you Sir, clear the place, but leave her here.  Arn. 
Your Lordship's pleasure  Clod. 
That anon Arnoldo,  
This is but talk  Rut 
Shall we go off?  Arn. 
By any means  
I know she has pious thoughts enough to guard her:  
Besides, here's nothing due to him till the tie be done  
Nor dare he offer.  Rut. 
Now do I long to worry him:  
Pray have a care to the main chance. Ex. Arn. and Rut.  Zen. 
Pray Sir fear not  Clod. 
Now, what say you to me?  Zen. 
Sir it becomes  
The modesty, that maids are ever borne 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 yourself 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 offered you  
I do not every day propound to women;  
You are a pretty one: and though each hour,  
I am glutted, with the sacrifice of beauty,  
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 joyful,  
I give you leave.  Zen. 
Faith Sir, 'twill not show handsome;  
Our sex his blushing, full of fear, unskilled too,  
In these alarms.  Clod. 
Learn then and be perfect  Zen. 
I do beseech your honour pardon me,  
And take some skilful one, can hold you play,  
I am a fool.  Clod. 
I tell thee maid I love thee,  
Let that word make thee happy, so far love thee,  
That though I may enjoy thee without ceremony,  
I will descend so low, to marry thee,  
methinks I see the race, that shall spring from us,  
Some Princes, some great Soldiers  Zen. 
I am afraid.  
Your honours cozened in this calculation;  
For certain, I shall ne'er 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'll sink to th' Centre first,  
Why would your Lordship marry, and confine that pleasure,  
You ever have had freely cast upon you?  
Take heed my Lord this marring is a mad matter,  
Lighter a pair of shackles will hang on you,  
And quieter a quartain fever 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 nursed in,  
Must be forgot, I shall forget my duty else,  
And how that will appear,  Clod. 
we'll talk of that more  Zen. 
Besides I tell ye, I am naturally,  
As all young women are, that show like handsome,  
Exceeding proud, being commended, monstrous. Boy ready for the Songs  
Of an unquiet temper, seldom pleased.  
Unless it be with infinite observance.  
Which you were never bred to; once well angered,  
As every cross in us, provokes that passion,  
And like a Sea, I roll, toss, and chase a week after.  
And then all mischief I can think upon,  
Abusing of your bed the least and poorest,  
I tell you what you'll find, and in these fits,  
This little beauty, you are pleased to honour,  
Will be so changed, so altered to an ugliness,  
To such a vizard, ten to one, I die too,  
Take't then upon my death you murdered me,  Clod. 
Away, away fool, why dost thou proclaim 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 counselled,  
Take money 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 virtuous and so fair.  Clod. 
You will not marry me:  Zen. 
I do beseech your honour, be not angry  
At what I say, I cannot love ye, dare not;  
But such a ransom, for the flower you covet  Clod. 
No money, nor no prayers, shall redeem that,  
Not all the art you have  Zen. 
Set your own price Sir.  Clod. 
Go 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 myself an empire's fortune Exit.  Zen. 
My mind shall not pay this custom, cruel man  Clod. 
Your body will content me: I'll 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 ravished of bud and beauty  
Thus round about her Bridebed hang those blacks there  
The emblems of her honour lost; all joy Bowl of wine ready.  
That leads a Virgin to receive her Lover,  
Keep from this place all fellow-maids that bless her,  
And blushing and unloose her Zone, keep from her:  
No merry noise nor lusty songs be heard here,  
Nor full cups crowned with wine, make the rooms giddy;  
This is no mask of mirth, but murdered honour.  
Sing mournfully that sad Epithalamion,  
I gave thee now: and prithee let thy Lute weep.  Song, Dance. Enter Rutillio. 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 loathed embraces that gapes for her.  
Make the Earls bed ready, is the marriage done Sir?  Rut. 
Yes they are knit; but must this slubberdegullion  
Have her maidenhead now?  Arn. 
There's no avoiding it?  Rut. 
And there's the scaffold where she must lose it.  Arn. 
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 remedy.  Char. 
I wish it, Exit Rut.  
And all my best devotions offer to it.  Enter Clodio and Guard. Clod. 
Now is this tie dispatched?  Char. 
I think it be Sir:  Clod. 
And my bed ready? wine  Char. 
There you may quickly find Sir,  
Such a loathed 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:  
Here's to the foolish maiden head you wot of,  
The toy I must take pains for  Char. 
I beseech your Lordship  
Load not a Father's love,  Clod. 
Pledge it Charino,  
Or by my life I'll make thee pledge thy last  
And be sure she be a maid, a perfect Virgin,  
(I will not have my expectation dulled)  
Or your old pate goes off. I am hot and fiery  
And my blood beats alarms through my body  
And fancy high. You of my guard retire,  
And let me hear no noise about the lodging  
But music and sweet airs, 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 Rutillio after her, armed. Zen. 
Come fearless on  Rut. 
Nay an I budge from thee  
Beat me with dirty sticks.  Clod. 
What Masque is this?  
What pretty fancy to provoke me high?  
The beauteous Huntress, fairer far, and sweeter;  
Diana shows an Aethiop to this beauty  
Protected by two Virgin Knights.  Rut. 
That's a lie,  
A loud one, if you knew as much as I do  
The guard's dispersed  Arn. 
Fortune I hope invites us  Clod. 
I can no longer hold, she pulls my heart from me  Zen. 
Stand, & stand fixed, move not a foot, nor speak not,  
For if thou dost '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 dost 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 you're Gentlemen tender my case,  
And I'll thrust my javelin down thy throat  
Thou Dog-whelp, thou, pox upon thee, what  
Should I call thee? Pompean,  
Thou kiss my Lady? thou scour her chamber pot:  
Thou have a maiden head? a motley coat,  
You great blind fool, farewell and be hanged to ye,  
Lose no time Lady.  Arn. 
Pray take your pleasure Sir,  
And so we'll take our leaves  Zen. 
We are determined,  
Die, before yield  Arn 
Honour, and a fair grave  Zen 
Before a lust full bed, so for our fortunes.  Rut. 
Du cat a whee, good count, cry, prithee cry,  
O what a wench hast thou lost? cry you great booby. Exeunt  Enter Charino. Clod. 
And is she gone then, am I dishonoured thus  
Cozened and baffled? my guard there no man answer?  
My guard I say, Sirrah you knew of this plot.  
Where are my guard? I'll ha' your life you villain.  Char. 
You politic old thief.  
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 toth' port.  Clod. 
Away villains. Ex. Guard:  
Recover her, or I shall die; 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 lie; you may handle me as you please.  Clod. 
Be sure, with all the cruelty, with all the rigor,  
For thou hast robbed 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,  
Whole day will I study to destroy thee.  Char. 
I shall be joyful of it; and so you'll find me.  Ex. omnes.   

Actus Secundus.  

Scaena 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 uncle's 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 Father's death  
(Peace to his soul) a Mother's prayers and care,  
Were never wanting, in his education.  
His childhood I pass, 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.  Guio. 
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 remembered in that Academy,  
From thence I sent him to the emperor's court,  
Attended like his Father's Son and there  
Maintained him, in such bravery and height,  
As did become a courtier.  Man. 
'Twas that spoilt him, my Nephew had been happy  
The court's a school indeed, in which some few  
Learn virtuous principles, but most forget,  
whatever 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'er known  
What's there in grace, and fashion.  Guio. 
I have heard yet,  
That while he lived in court, the Emperor  
Took notice of his carriage and good parts,  
The grandees did not scorn his company,  
And of the greatest Ladies he was held,  
A complete Gentleman.  Man. 
He indeed danced 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  Guio. 
Nor I have much reason.  
To grieve his fortune that way,  Man. 
You are mistaken,  
Prosperity does search a Gentleman's temper,  
More than his adverse fortune: I have known  
Many, and of rare parts from their success  
In private duels, raised up to such a pride,  
And so transformed from what they were, that all  
That loved them truly, wished they had fallen in them.  
I need not write examples, in your soon,  
'Tis too apparent; for ere Don Duarte,  
Made trial of his valour, he indeed was  
Admired for civil courtesy, but now  
he's swollen 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  
Shunned of all fair societies.  Guio. 
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 governor  
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 refused 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 Hippolita:  Page. 
'Tis broke off.  Dua. 
The reason?  Page. 
This was one, they heard your Lordship  
Was by the Lady's choice to lead the dance,  
And therefore they, too well assured how far  
You would out shine 'em, gave it o'er and said  
They would not serve for foils 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 captain's Nephew,  
Stood on comparisons.  Dua. 
With whom?  Page. 
With you,  
And openly professed, that all precedence,  
His birth and state considered, 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 bequeathed,  
His titles to him, and wrote on his forehead,  
This is a Lord, he had lived unobserved  
By any man of mark, and died as one  
Among the common rout, compare with me?  
'Tis giantlike ambition; I know him,  
And know myself, that man is truly noble,  
And he may justly call that worth his own,  
Which his deserts have purchased, 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 Emperor  
That chose his belly for his only heir;  
For being of no family then, and poor  
My virtues wheresoever I lived, should make  
That kingdom my inheritance.  Guio. 
Strange self love  Dua. 
For if I studied the country's 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 travelled,  
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 lived, Galen should not be named,  
And he that joined again the scattered 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 yourself, you would not to a boy else  
Like Plautus' Braggart boast thus.  Dua. 
All I speak,  
In act I can make good,  Guio. 
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 yourself nor others, the use of them?  
They are to you, but like enchanted viands,  
On which you seem to feed, yet pine with hunger;  
And those so rare perfections in my son  
Which would make others happy, renders me  
A wretched Mother.  Man. 
You are too insolent.  
And those too many excellencies, that feed  
Your pride, turn to a pleurisy, and kill  
That which should nourish virtue; dare you think  
All blessings are conferred on you alone.  
You're grossly cozened; 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.  Duarte. 
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 assured on't.  Guio. 
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. Exit. Manuel and Guiomar.  Dua. 
I am tutored  
As I 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 aboard  
Yet 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, Sailors, and Zenocia. Leop. 
Divide the spoil amongst you, this fair captive  
I only challenge for myself.  Sail. 
You have won her  
And well deserve her: twenty years I have lived  
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 armed too.  Leop. 
'Twas a wonder.  
And yet the courage they expressed being taken  
And the contempt of death won more upon me  
Then all they did, when they were free: methinks  
I see them yet when they were brought aboard us,  
Disarmed and ready to be put in fetters  
How on the sudden, as if they had sworn,  
Never to taste the bread of servitude,  
Both snatching up their swords, and from this Virgin,  
Taking a farewell only with their eyes,  
They leapt into the Sea.  Sail. 
Indeed 'twas rare.  Leop. 
It wrought so much on me, that but I feared,  
The great ship that pursued us, our own safety  
Hindering 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 bloody swords advanced, threatening the Seagods  
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 persuade 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 inquire 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 preserved  
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 moved be denied,  
And therefore of a prisoner you must be  
The Victor's advocate  Zen. 
To whom?  Leop. 
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,  Leop. 
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 assured of.  Leop. 
At night I'll present you,  
Till when I am your guard  Zen. 
Ever your servant. Exeunt.  Enter Arnoldo and Rutillio. Arn. 
To what are we reserved?  Rut. 
Troth 'tis uncertain,  
Drowning we have scaped miraculously, and  
Stand fair for aught I know for hanging; money  
We have none, nor e'er are like to have; 'tis  
To be doubted: besides we are strangers,  
Wondrous hungry strangers; and charity  
Growing cold, and miracles ceasing,  
Without a conjurer's help, cannot find  
When we shall eat again.  Arn. 
These are no wants  
If put in balance, with zenocia's 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,  
Than I could curse myself, almost those powers  
That send me from the fury of the Ocean.  Rut. 
You have lost a wife indeed, a fair and chaste one,  
Two blessings, not found often in one woman;  
But she may be recovered, questionless  
The ship that took us was of Portugal  
And he 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 salad  
To dine and sup with, after a two days fast too,  
Have you no money 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.  
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. Exit Ser.  Zab. 
Be gone— let me alone to work him.  Rut. 
How he eyes you,  
Now he moves, towards us, in the devil's 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'll 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  
Then 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 amazed,  
'Tis current I assure you  Rut. 
Take it man.  
Sure thy good Angel is a Jew, and comes Tapers ready.  
In his own shape to help thee: I could wish now,  
Mine would appear so, 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 practice  
I must not take it.  Zab. 
This is but the earnest  
Of that 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 herself up to you; entertain her,  
And that which Princes have kneeled for in vain  
Presents itself to you.  Arn. 
'Tis above wonder  Rut. 
But far beneath the truth, in my relation  
Of what you shall possess, if you embrace it.  
There is an hour in each man's 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. We must like brother's share,  
There's for you; 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 appeared 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,  
Farewell, wish me good fortune, we shall meet  
Again I doubt not.  Rut. 
Or I'll ne'er trust Jew more. Exit Arnoldo.  
Nor Christian for his sake— plague o' my stars,  
How long might I have walked without a cloak,  
Before I should have met with such a fortune?  
We elder Brothers, though we are proper men,  
Syavedra not the luck. Ha' too much beard, that spoils us;  
The smooth chin carries all? what's here to do now?  Manet Rutillio. Enter Duart, Alonso, and a Page. Dua. 
I'll take you as I find you:  Alon. 
That were base— you see I am unarmed.  Dua. 
Out with your bodkin  
Your pocket dagger, your steletto, out with it,  
Or by this hand I'll 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 bribed to repeal banished swords.  Dua. 
I'll show you  
The difference now, between a Spanish rapier  
And your pure pisa.  Alon. 
Let me fetch a sword,  
Upon mine honour I'll return.  Dua. 
Not so Sir.  Alon. 
Or lend me yours I pray you, and take this,  Rut. 
To be disgraced as you are, no I thank you  
Spite of the fashion, while I live, I am Lights ready.  
Instructed to go armed: what folly 'tis  
For you that are a man, to put yourself  
Into your enemy's mercy.  Dua. 
Yield it quickly  
Or I'll 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'll 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 armed,  
Thus yet I durst attempt thee:  Rut. 
Then have at you,  
I scorn to take blows.  Dua. 
O I am slain.  Page. 
Help! murder, murder!  Alon. 
Shift for yourself you are dead else,  
You have killed the Governors Nephew.  Page. 
Raise the streets there.  Alon. 
If once you are beset you cannot scape,  
Will you betray yourself?  Rut. 
Undone for ever. Exit Rut. & Alonzo.  Enter Officers. Off. 
Who makes this outcry,  Page. 
O my Lord is murdered;  
This way he took, make after him,  
Help help there. Exit Page.  2. Off. 
'Tis DONE Duart.  1. Off. 
Pride has got a fall  
He was still in quarrels, scorned us Peacemakers,  
And all our bill-authority, now has paid for't.  
You ha' met with your match Sir now, bring off his body  
And bear it to the Governor. 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. Guio. 
he's not i'th' house,  Ser. 
No madam:  Guio. 
Haste and seek him,  
Go all and everywhere, I'll 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, Exit Serv.  Enter Rutillio. Rut. 
I am pursued; all the Ports are stopped too;  
Not any hope to escape, behind, before me,  
On either side I am beset, cursed fortune  
My enemy on the Sea, and on the Land too,  
Redeemed from one affliction to another:  
Would I had made the greedy waves my tomb  
And died obscure, and innocent, not as Nero  
Smeared o'er 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, glistering through  
The sable mask of night, says 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. 
Stephano, Jaspe, Julia,  
Who waits there?  Rut. 
'Tis the Lady of the house  
I'll fly to her protection.  Guio. 
Speak, what are you?  Rut. 
Of all that ever breathed, 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 called unto it by my enemy's 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 virtues,  
And by your innocence, that needs no forgiveness  
Take pity on me.  Guio. 
Are you a castilian:  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 bed's head there's a hollow place,  
Into which enter; so, but from this stir not  
If the Officers come, as you expect they will do,  
I know they owe such reverence to my lodgings  
That they will easily give credit to me  
And search no further.  Rut. 
The blessed 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 elsewhere may stand in need of?  Enter Officers and servants with the body of Duart— Page. 1 Ser. 
Now Madam, if your wisdom ever could  
Raise up defences against floods of sorrow  
That hast to overwhelm you, make true use of  
Your great discretion.  2 Ser. 
Your only son  
My Lord Duart's slain.  1 Off. 
His murderer, pursued by us  
Was by a boy discovered  
Entering your house, and that induced us  
To press into it for his apprehension.  Guio. 
o?  1 Ser. 
Sure her heart is broke.  Off. 
Madam.  Guio. 
Stand off,  
My sorrow is so dear and precious to me,  
That you must not partake it, suffer it Hold a purse ready.  
Like wounds that do breed inward to dispatch me.  
O my Duart, such an end as this  
Thy pride long since did prophesy; thou art dead,  
And to increase my misery, thy sad mother?  
Must make a wilful shipwreck of her vow  
Or thou fall unrevenged. 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 pleased to pardon.  Enter Manuel, Doctors, Surgeons. Man. 
'Tis too late  
he'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 murderer, and remove the body,  
And as you think fit, give it burial.  
Wretch that I am, uncapable of all comfort,  
And therefore I entreat my friends and kinsfolk,  
And you my Lord, for some spare 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. 
whate'er 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 covered,  
That I hereafter be not forced 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 swollen eyes, in his life that sustained 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, fly from me  
That I may never see you; and that want  
Of means may be no let unto your journey,  
There are a hundred Crowns: 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 joys I have bereft you,  
With full increase hereafter, living be  
The Goddess styled of Hospitality.    

Actus Tertius.  

Scaena Prima.  Enter Leopold. and Zenocia. Leo. 
Fling off these sullen clouds, you are entered now  
Into a house of joy and happiness,  
I have prepared a blessing for ye.  Zen. 
Thank ye  Leo. 
You are peevish  
And know not when ye are friended, I have used those means  
My state would rather ask a curse,  
The Lady of this house, the noble Lady,  
Will take ye as her own, and use ye graciously:  
Make much of what you are, Mistress of that beauty,  
And expose it not to such betraying sorrows:  
When ye are old, and all those sweets hang withered,  Enter Servant. 
Then sit and sight  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 blessed to see her.  Ser. 
That now you cannot do: she keeps her Chamber  
Not well disposed; 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 loved this scornful Lady,  
And followed her with all the truth of service,  
In all which time, but twice she has honoured me  
With sight of her blessed 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 Fair-one, now your help, you may remember  
The honest courtesies, since you are mine  
I ever did your modesty: 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 lies, so it be honest.  Leo. 
I ask no more.  Ser. 
You must along with me (Fair)  Leo. 
And so I leave you two: but to a fortune  
Too happy for my fate: you shall enjoy her.  Exeunt.  

Scaena Secunda.  Enter Zabulon and Servants. Zab. 
Be quick, be quick, Out with the bucket there,  
These scents are dull; cast richer on, and fuller;  
Sent every place, where have you placed the music?  Ser. 
Here they stand ready Sir.  Zab. 
'Tis well, be sure  
The wines be lusty, high, and full of spirit,  
And ambered all.  Ser. 
They are  Zab. 
Give fair attendance.  
In the best trim, and state, make ready all. Banquet set forth Exit.  
I shall come presently again.  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.  Ser. 
Sure some great person, Music  
They would not make this hurry else.  2. Ser. 
Hark the Music.  Enter Zabulon and Arnoldo. 
It will appear now certain, here it comes.  
Now to our places.  Ar. 
Whether will he lead me?  
What invitations this? to what new end,  
Are these fair preparations? a rich Banquet,  
Music, and every place stuck with adornment,  
Fit for a PRINCE's welcome; what new game  
Has Fortune now prepared to show me happy?  
And then again to sink me? 'tis no illusion.  
Mine eyes are not deceived, all these are real;  
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 indeed: 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 prepared?  
And why do you bring me hither?  Zab. 
They are for you, Sir;  
And undervalue 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 pleased,  
To play thy game out wantonly—  Zab. 
Come be lusty  
And awake your Spirits. Cease Music  Ar. 
Good Sir, do not wake me.  
For willingly I would die in this dream, pray whose Servants  
Are all these that attend her?  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'll 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 thirty years?  
For certainly I never found I was wealthy  
Till this hour, never dreamed of house, and Servants,  
I had thought I had been a younger brother, a poor Gent.  
I may eat boldly then.  Zab. 
'Tis prepared 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 used too,  
Good Gentle Sir, give me leave to think a little  
For either I am much abused—  Zab. 
Strike Music  
And sing that lusty Song. Music Song.  Ar. 
Bewitching harmony!  
Sure I am turned into another Creature.  Enter Hyppolita. 
Happy and blessed, Arnoldo was unfortunate;  
Ha? bless mine eyes; what precious 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.  Hyp. 
You are welcome 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?  Hyp. 
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,  
Fie, what faint heart is this  Ar. 
The house of wonder.  Zab. 
Do not you think yourself 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, then 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 heart's Mistress.  Arn. 
And all this is—  Zab. 
Hyppolita the beauteous.  Hyp. 
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 & courtesy  
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?  Hyp. 
are ye angry Sir,  
Because ye are entertained with all humanity?  
Freely and nobly used?  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 courtesy.  Hyp. 
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 fixed 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.  Hyp. 
Now you may kiss me,  
'Tis the first kiss, I ever ask, I swear to ye.  Arn. 
That I dare do sweet Lady.  Hyp. 
You do it well too;  
You are a Master Sir, that makes you coy.  Arn. 
Would you would send your people off.  Hyp. 
Well thought on.  
Wait all without. Exit. Zab. and servants  Zab. 
I hope she is pleased throughly.  Hyp. 
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.  Ar. 
What would you have me do?  Hyp. 
O most unmanly question! have you do?  
Is't possible your years should want a Tutor?  
I'll teach ye: come, embrace me.  Ar. 
Fie stand off;  
And give me leave, more now, then ere, 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 bore 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?  Hyp. 
Yes,  Ar. 
Not for your beauty;  
Though I confess, it blows 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 ruins all, makes that his conquest;  
Be honest, and be virtuous, I'll admire ye,  
At least be wise, and where ye lay these nets,  
strew over 'em a little modesty,  
'Twill well become your cause, and catch more Fools.  Hyp. 
Could any one that loved this wholesome counsel  
But love the giver more? you make me fonder:  
You have a virtuous 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, parley 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 undiscerned too,  
I'll steal it thus: I'll 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 toys as these—  Ar. 
A new temptation—  Hyp. 
Thus like the lazy minutes will I drop 'em,  
Which passed once are forgotten.  Ar. 
Excellent vice!  Hyp. 
Will ye be won? look steadfastly upon me,  
Look manly, take a man's 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 youngmen's affections;  
How cold and dull you are?  Ar. 
How I stagger?  
She is wise, as fair; but 'tis a wicked wisdom;  
I'll choke before I yield.  Hyp. 
who waits within there Zabulon within.  
Make ready the green chamber,  Zab. 
It shall be Madam.  Ar. 
I am afraid she will enjoy me indeed,  Hyp. 
What Music do ye love?  Ar. 
A modest tongue.  Hyp. 
we'll have enough of that: fie, fie, how lumpish?  
In a young Ladies arms, thus dull?  Ar. 
For heaven sake  
Profess a little goodness.  Hyp. 
Of what Country?  Ar. 
I am of Rome.  Hyp. 
Nay then I know you mock me,  
The Italians are not frighted with such bugbears,  
Prithee go in.  Ar. 
I am not well;  Hyp. 
I'll make thee,  
I'll kiss thee well:  Ar. 
I am not sick of that sore.  Hyp. 
upon my conscience, I must ravish thee,  
I shall be famous for the first example:  
With this I'll tie ye first, then try your strength Sir,  Ar. 
My strength, away base woman? I abhor thee.  
I am not caught with stales, disease dwell with thee. Exit.  Hyp. 
Are ye so quick? and have I lost my wishes?  
Hoe, Zabulon; my Servants.  Enter Zabulon and Servants. 
Called ye Madam?  Hyp. 
Is all that beauty scorned, so many sued for?  
So many Princes? by a stranger too?  
Must I endure this?  Zab. 
where's the Gentleman?  Hyp. 
Go presently, pursue the stranger, Zabulon.  
He has broke from me, Jewels I have given him:  
Charge him with theft: he has stolen my love, my freedom,  
Draw him before the Governor, imprison him,  
Why dost thou stay?  Zab. 
I'll teach him a new dance,  
For playing fast and lose with such a Lady.  
Come fellows, come: I'll execute your anger,  
And to the full.  Hyp. 
His scorn shall feel my vengeance.— Exeunt.   

Scaena Tertia.  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 Frenchman?  
Alas, he's all to fitters,  
And lies, taking the height of his fortune with a Syringe.  
he's chined, he's chined good man, he is a mourner.  Sul. 
What's become of the Dane?  Ja. 
Who? goldy-locks?  
he's foul i'th' touchhole; and recoils again,  
The main Spring's weakened that holds up his cock,  
He lies at the sign of the Sun, to be new breeched.  Sul. 
The Rutter too, is gone.  Ja. 
O that was a brave rascal,  
He would labour like a thresher: but alas  
What thing can ever last? he has been ill mewed,  
And drawn too soon; I have seen him in the Hospital.  Sul. 
There was an Englishman.  Ja. 
I there was an Englishman;  
You'll scant find any now, to make that name good.  
There was those English that were men indeed,  
And would perform like men, but now they are vanished:  
They are so taken up in their own Country,  
And so beaten off their speed, by their own women,  
When they come here, they draw their legs like hackneys:  
Drink, and their own devices has 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 myself too, in mine age to nourish me:  
They are are all sunk I maintained: now what's this business.  
What goodly fellow's that?  Enter Rutillio and Officers Rut. 
Why do you drag me?  
Pox o your Justice; let me lose.  1 Off. 
Not so Sir.  Rut. 
Cannot a man fall into one of your drunken Cellars,  
And venture the breaking on's neck, your trapdoors open  
But he must be used thus rascally?  1 Off. 
What made you wandering  
So late i'th' night? you know that is imprisonment.  Rut. 
May be I walk in my sleep.  2 Off. 
May be we'll walk ye.  
What made ye wandering Sir, into that vault  
Where all the City store, and the Munition lay?  Rut. 
I fell into't by chance, I broke my shins for't.  
Your Worships feel not that: I knocked my head  
Against a hundred posts, would you had had it.  
Cannot I break my neck in mine own defence?  2 Off. 
This will not serve: you cannot put it off so,  
Your coming thither was to play the villain,  
To fire the powder, to blow that part o'th' City.  Rut. 
Yes, with my nose: why were the trapdoors open?  
Might not you fall, or you? had you gone that way?  
I thought your City had sunk.  1 Off. 
You did your best Sir,  
We must presume to help it intoth' 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 Ducats) or for six years  
Tug at an Oar i'th' Galleys: will ye walk Sir,  
For we presume you cannot pay the penalty.  Rut. 
Row in the Galleys, after all this mischief?  2 Off. 
May be you were drunk, they'll keep you sober there.  Rut. 
Tug at an Oar? you are not arrant rascals,  
To catch me in a pitfall, 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 Off. 
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 easy  
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'll 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'll get you those as fast, and thick as fly-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, & handsomely:  
This old Cat will suck shrewdly: you have no daughters?  
I fly at all: now am I in my Kingdom,  
Tug at an Oar? no, tug in a featherbed,  
With good warm Candles; hang your bread and water,  
I'll make you young again, believe that Lady.  
I will so furbish you.  Sul. 
Come, follow Officers,  
This Gentleman is free: I'll pay the Ducats.  Rut. 
And when you catch me in your City-powdering-tub  
Again, boil me with cabbage.  1 Off. 
You are both warned and armed Sir. Exeunt.   

Scaena quarta,  Enter Leopold, Hypolita, Zenocia. Zen. 
Will your Ladyship wear this dressing?  Hyp. 
Leave thy prating:  
I care not what I wear.  Zen. 
Yet 'tis my duty  
To know your pleasure, and my worst affection  
To see you discontented.  Hyp. 
Weeping too?  
Prithee forgive me: I am much distempered,  
And speak I know not what: to make thee amends  
The gown that I wore yesterday, is thine;  
Let it alone a while.  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'll 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 do?  Hyp. 
Pox o this stale Courtship:  
If I have any power.  Leo. 
I am commanded,  
Obedience is the lover's sacrifice  
Which I pay gladly.  Hyp. 
To be forced to woo,  
Being a woman, could not but torment me,  
But bringing for my Advocates, youth and beauty,  
Set off with wealth: and then to be denied too  
does comprehend all tortures. They flattered 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 wished for bondage, happy,  
I am like others of a courser feature,  
As weak to allure, but in my dotage, stronger:  
I am no Circe; he, more than Ulysses,  
Scorns all my offered bounties, slights my favours,  
And, as I were some new Egyptian, flies me,  
Leaving no pawn, but my own shame behind him.  
But he shall find, that in my fell revenge,  
I am a woman: one that never pardons  
The rude contemner of her proffered sweetness.  Enter Zabulon. Zab. 
Madam, 'tis done;  Hyp. 
What's done?  Zab. 
The uncivil stranger  
Is at your suit arrested.  Hyp. 
'Tis well handled.  Zab. 
And under guard sent to the Governor,  
With whom my testimony, and the favour,  
He bears your Ladyship, have so prevailed  
That he is sentenced.  Hyp. 
How?  Zab. 
To lose his head.  Hyp. 
Is that the means to quench the scorching heat  
Of my enraged desires? must innocence suffer,  
'Cause I am faulty? or is my Love so fatal  
That of necessity it must destroy  
The object it most longs for? dull Hypollita,  
To think that injuries could make way for love,  
When courtesies were despised: that by his death  
Thou shouldst give that, which only thou canst hope for  
While he is living: My honours at the stake now,  
And cannot be preserved, unless he perish  
The enjoying of the thing I love, I ever  
Have prized above my fame: why doubt I now then?  
One only way is left me, to redeem all:  
Make ready my caroche.  Leo. 
What will you Madam.  Hyp. 
And yet I am impatient of such stay:  
Bind up my hair: fie, fie, while that is doing  
The Law may cease his life: thus, as I am then,  
Not like Hypollita, but a Bacchanal  
My frantic Love transports me. Exit.  Leo. 
Sure she's distracted.  Zab. 
Pray you follow her: I will along with you:  
I more than guess the cause: women that love  
Are most uncertain, and one minute crave,  
What, in another they refuse to have. Exit.   

Scaena 5a.  Enter Clodio, Charino. Clo. 
Assure thyself Charino, I am altered  
From what I was; the tempests we have met with  
In our uncertain voyage, were smooth gales  
Compared to those, the memory of my lusts  
Raised 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 received assured 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 passed  
A mutual interchange of courtesies  
Between me, and the Governor; therefore boldly  
We may presume of him, and of his power  
If we find 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 Governor: with him my Rival, bound.  Char. 
For certain 'tis Arnoldo.  Clo. 
Let's attend  
What the success will be.  Man. 
Is't possible  
There should be hope of his recovery,  
His wounds so many and so deadly?  Doct. 
So they appeared at first, but the blood stopped,  
His trance forsook him, and on better search  
We found they were not mortal;  Man. 
Use all care  
To perfect this unhoped for cure: that done  
Propose your own rewards; and till you shall  
Hear farther from me, for some ends I have,  
Concealed it from his Mother.  Doct. 
we'll 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 rely on your uncertain mercy.  Enter Hypolita, Zabulon, Leopold, Zenocia, 2 Servants. Hyp. 
Who bade you follow me! Go home, & you Sir,  
As you respect me, go with her.  Arn. 
Zenocia?  
And in her house a Servant?  Cha. 
'Tis my daughter.  Clo. 
My love? Contain your joy, observe the sequel. Zen. passes  Man. 
Fie Madam, how undecent 'tis for you.  
So far, unlike yourself to be seen thus  
In th'open streets? why do you kneel? pray you rise,  
I am acquainted with the wrong, and loss  
You have sustained, and the Delinquent now  
Stands ready for his punishment.  Hyp. 
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 mole's this?  Leo. 
This was my prisoner once.  Hyp. 
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)  
Compelled me first to train him to my house,  
All engines I raised there to shake his virtue,  
Which in the assault were useless; he unmoved still  
As if he had no part of humane frailty,  
Against the nature of my Sex, almost  
I played the Ravisher. You might have seen  
In our contention, young Apollo fly  
And love-sick Daphne follow, all arts failing,  
By flight he won the victory, breaking from  
My scorned embraces: the repulse (in women  
Unsufferable) invited me to practise  
A means to be revenged: and from this grew  
His Accusation, and the abuse  
Of your still equal justice: My rage ever  
Thanks heaven, though wanton, I found not myself  
So far engaged 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 myself  
First to entreat his pardon, then acquit him.  Man. 
whate'er you are, so much I love your virtue  
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 woman's 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 trial.  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 balance with your ill now.  Char. 
Now Sir, to him,  
You know my daughter needs it.  Hyp. 
Let me take  
A farewell with mine eye, Sir, though my lip,  
Be barred the Ceremony, courtesy  
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 ashamed  
Of my late rudeness, and would gladly therefore  
If you please to accept my ready service  
Wait on you to your house.  Hyp. 
Above my hope:  
Sir, if an Angel were to be my convoy  
He should not be more welcome.— Exit Arn. and Hyp.  Clo. 
Now you know me.  Man. 
Yes Sir, and honour you: ever remembering  
Your many bounties, being ambitious only  
To give you cause to say by some one service  
That I am not ungrateful.  Clo. 
'Tis now offered:  
I have a suit to you, and an easy one,  
Which ere long you shall know.  Man. 
When you think fit Sir,  
And then as a command; I will receive it,  
Till when, most welcome: you are welcome too Sir,  
'Tis spoken from the heart, and therefore needs not  
Much protestation: at your better leisure  
I will inquire the cause that brought you hither:  
In the mean time serve you.  Clo. 
You outdo me Sir. Exeunt.    

Actus quartus.  

Scaena Prima.  Enter Duarte, Doctor. Duart. 
You have bestowed on me a second life  
For which I live your creature, and have bettered  
What nature framed unperfect, my first being  
Insolent pride made monstrous; but this later  
In learning me to know myself, hath taught me  
Not to wrong others.  Doct. 
Then we live indeed.  
When we can go to rest without a 'larum  
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 burden.  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 mankind: but worthy Doctor,  
Pray if you can resolve me; was the Gentleman  
That left me dead, ere brought unto his trial?  Doct. 
Nor known, nor apprehended.  Dua. 
That's my grief.  Doct. 
Why do you wish he had been punished?  Dua. 
No,  
The stream of my swollen 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 blood poisoned,  
Gave the first symptoms of true health.  Doct. 
'Tis in you  
A Christian resolution: that you live  
Is by the Governors, your Uncle's charge  
As yet concealed. And though a son's loss never  
Was solemnised with more tears of true sorrow  
Then have been paid by your unequalled Mother  
For your supposed death, she's not acquainted  
With your recovery.  Dua. 
For some few days  
Pray let her so continue: thus disguised  
I may abroad unknown.  Doct. 
Without suspicion  
Of being discovered  Dua. 
I am confident  
No moisture sooner dies than women's tears,  
And therefore though I know my Mother virtuous,  
Yet being one of that frail sex I purpose  
Her farther trial.  Doct. 
That as you think fit— I'll not betray you  Dua. 
To find out this stranger  
This true Physician of my mind and manners  
Were such a blessing. He seemed poor, and may  
Perhaps be now in want; would I could find him.  
The Inns I'll search first, than the public Stews  
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 unfurnished too, pray Mr. Doctor,  
Can you supply me?  Doct. 
With what sum 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 careful. 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 had a strange aspect  
And looks much like the figure of a hangman  
In a table of the Passion.  Zab. 
He transcends,  
All precedents believe it, a fleshed 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 Portugal, thrice seven years  
Rowed in the Galleys for three several murders,  
Though I presume that he has done a hundred,  
And scaped unpunished.  Leop. 
He is much indebt to you,  
You set him off so well. What will you take Sir  
To beat a fellow for me, that thus wronged me?  Bra. 
To beat him say you?  Leop. 
Yea, 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 pennyworth.  Zab. 
Five hundred!  
Why there are of your brotherhood in the City,  
I'll undertake shall kill a man for twenty.  Bra. 
Kill him? I think so; I'll kill any man  
For half the money.  Leop. 
And will you ask more  
For a sound beating then a murder?  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.  Leop. 
A good conclusion,  
The obduracy of this rascal makes me tender.  
I'll 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'll tell thee Zabulon, and make thee privy  
To my most near designs: this stranger, which  
Hyppolita so dotes on, was my prisoner  
When the last Virgin, I bestowed upon her,  
Was made my prize? how he escaped, hereafter  
I'll let thee know; and it may be the love  
He bears the servant, makes him scorn the Mistress.  Zab. 
'Tis not unlike; for the first time he saw her  
His looks expressed so much, and for more proof  
Since he came to my Lady's house, though yet  
He never knew her, he hath practiced with me  
To help him to a conference, without  
The knowledge of Hyppolita; which I promised.  Leop. 
And by all means perform it, for their meeting,  
But work it so, that my disdainful Mistress  
(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 lover's baseness  
To leave a Princess for her bondwoman,  
The sight make her scorn, what now she dotes on,  
I'll 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'll place you where you shall see all, and yet be unobserved.  Leop. 
Tat I desire too. Exit.  Enter Arnoldo. Arn. 
I cannot see her yet, how it afflicts me:  
The poison of this place, should mix itself  
With her pure thoughts? 'Twas she that was commanded  
Or my eyes failed me grossly; that youth, that face  
And all that noble sweetness. May she not live here,  
And yet be honest still?  Enter Zenocia. 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 virtuous; how I shake to think now?  
And how that joy I had, cools, and forsakes me?  Enter above Hyppolita 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  Hyp. 
Peace let 'em parley.  Arn. 
That you are well Zenocia; and once more,  
Bless my despairing eyes, with your wished presence,  
I thank the gods; but that I meet you here—  Hip. 
They are acquainted,  Zab. 
I found that secret Madam,  
When you commanded her go home: pray hear 'em.  Zen. 
That you meet me here, ne'er 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 virtue why do you approach it?  
Will you confess the doubt and yet pursue it?  
Where have your eyes been wandering 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, Leopold places himself unseen below.  
And able to betray a strong man's liberty,  
But you that have a love, a wife— you do well  
To deal thus wisely with me: yet Arnoldo,  
Since you are pleased 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 confirmed 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 ways 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 myself I will obey you.  
But when that's done, and I have showed 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  
Abused us both.  Zab. 
Where are your favours now?  
The courtesies you showed 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 welcomed.  Zen. 
Seemed to love you?  Arn. 
Most infinitely, at first sight, most dotingly.  Zen. 
she is a goodly Lady;  Arn. 
Wondrous handsome:  
At first view, being taken unprepared,  
Your memory, not present then to assist me,  
She seemed so glorious sweet, and so far stirred me,  
Nay be not jealous, there's no harm done.  Zen. 
Prithee— 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 lain first in my grave, believe that.  
Why will you ask those things you would not hear?  
she is too untemperate to betray my virtues  
Too openly lascivious: had she dealt  
But with that seeming modesty she might,  
And flung a little Art upon her ardour,  
But 'twas forgot, and I forgot to like her,  
And glad I was deceived. No my Zenocia,  
My first love here begun, rests here unreaped yet,  
And here for ever.  Zen. 
You have made me happy,  
Even in the midst of bondage blessed.  Zab. 
You see now  
What rubs are in your way.  Hipo. 
And quickly Zabulon  
I'll root 'em out.— Be sure you do this presently.  Zab. 
Do not you alter then.  Hipo. 
I am resolute. Exit Zab.  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 saved me so much vengeance  
And so much fear  
From this hour, fair befall 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.  Hyp. 
Shut all the doors;  Arn. 
Who's that?  Zen. 
We are betrayed,  
The Lady of the house has heard our parley,  
Seen us, and seen our Loves.  Hyp. 
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'll pray, no more,  
Nor woo no more; thou shalt see foolish man,  
And to thy bitter pain and anguish, look on  
The vengeance I shall take, provoked 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.  Hyp. 
I have none. You taught me,  
When I even hung about your neck, you scorned me.  Zab. 
Shall we pluck yet?  Hyp. 
No, hold a little Zabulon,  
I'll pluck his heartstrings first: now am I worthy  
A little of your love?  Arn. 
I'll be your servant,  
Command me through what danger you shall aim at,  
Let it be death.  Hyp. 
Be sure Sir, I shall fit you.  Arn. 
But spare this Virgin;  Hyp. 
I would spare that villain first,  
Had cut my Father's throat.  Arn. 
Bounteous Lady,  
If in your sex there be that noble softness,  
That tenderness of heart, women are crowned for—  Zen. 
Kneel not Arnoldo, do 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 fettered 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.  Hyp. 
Am I fair now? now am I worth your liking?  Zen. 
Not fair, not to be liked, thou glorious Devil,  
Thou varnished piece of lust, thou painted fury.  Arn. 
Speak gently sweet, speak gently;  Zen. 
I'll 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 angers.  
Life is no longer mine, nor dear unto me,  
Then useful to his honour, I preserve it  
If thou hadst studied all the courtesies  
Humanity and noble blood, are linked too,  
Thou couldst not have propounded such a benefit,  
Nor heaped upon me such unlooked for honour  
As dying for his sake, to be his Martyr,  
'Tis such a grace.  Hyp. 
You shall not want that favour,  
Let your bones work miracles.  Arn. 
Dear Lady  
By those fair eyes—  Hyp. 
There is but this way left ye  
To save her life.—  Arn. 
Speak it, and I embrace it.  Hyp. 
Come to my private chamber presently  
And there, what love and I command—  Arn. 
I'll do it,  
Be comforted Zenocia.  Zen. 
Do not do this,  
To save me, do not lose yourself I charge you,  
I charge you by your love, that love you bear me;  
That love, that constant love you have twined to me,  
By all your promises, take heed you keep 'em,  
Now is your constant trial. If thou dost this,  
Or movest one foot, to guide thee to her lust,  
My curses and eternal hate pursue thee.  
Redeem me at the base price of disloyalty?  
Must my undoubted honesty be thy bawd too?  
Go and intwine thyself about that body?  
Tell her, for my life thou hast lost thine honour,  
Pulled all thy vows from heaven, basely, most basely  
To add an hour to me that hate thee for it,  
Stooped to the servile flames of that foul woman  
Know thee again, nor name thee for a husband.  Arn. 
What shall I do to save her?  Hyp. 
How now, what haste there?  Enter a Servant. Ser. 
The Governor, attended with some Gentlemen,  
Are newly entered, to speak with your Ladyship.  Hyp. 
Pox o their business, reprieve her for this hour,  
I shall have other time.  Arn. 
Now fortune help us.  Hyp. 
I'll meet 'em presently: retire a while all. Exit.  Zab. 
You rise today 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 Counsellor I never cared for.  Enter the Governor, Clodio, Leopold, Charino and Attendants at one door, Hyppolita at the other. Hyp. 
Your Lordship does me honour.  Gover. 
Fair Hyppolita,  
I am come to ease you of a charge.  Hyp. 
I keep none,  
I count a burden Sir: and yet I lie 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 governed.  Gover. 
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!  Hyp. 
Why does your Lordship use me so unnobly?  
Against my will, to take away my bondwoman?  Gov. 
She was no lawful prize, therefore no bondwoman:  
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 pleased 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.  Gover. 
There, take the maid, she is at her own dispose now,  
And if there be aught 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 displeased; so farewell 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 hopes. Lords again.  Exeunt all but Hyp. & Zab. Hyp. 
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 lazy time.  Hyp. 
No means yet left me?  
For now I burst with anger: none to satisfy me?  
No comfort? no revenge?  Zab. 
You speak too late;  
You might have had all these, your useful servants  
Had you been wise, and sudden; 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.  Hyp. 
Either my love or anger must be satisfied,  
Or I must die.  Zab. 
I have a way would do it,  
Wooed do it yet, protect me from the Law.  Hyp. 
From any thing; thou knowest what power I have  
What money, and what friends.  Zab 
'Tis a devilish one:  
But such must now be used: walk in, I'll tell you;  
And if you like it, if the Devil can do any thing.  Hyp. 
Devil, or what thou wilt, so I be satisfied. Exeunt.  Enter Sulpitia, Jaques. Sulp. 
This is the rarest, and the lustiest fellow,  
And so bestirs himself—  Jaq. 
Give him breath Mistress  
You'll 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 today; 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,  
You're very welcome.  1 Gen. 
We hear you have a lusty & well-complexioned fellow  
That does rare tricks, my sister and myself here,  
Would trifle out an hour or two so, please you.  Sulp. 
Jaques, conduct 'em in.  Both. 
There's for your courtesy. Exeunt Jaqu. 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'll so pap him up— nothing too dear for him;  
What a sweet scent he has?— Now what news Jaques?  Jaq. 
He cannot last, I pity the poor man  
I suffer for him; two coaches of young City dames,  
And they drive as the Devil were in the wheels,  
Are ready now to enter: and behind these  
An old dead-palsied Lady in a litter,  
And she makes all the haste she can: the man's lost,  
You may gather up his dry bones to make ninepins,  
But for his flesh.  Sulp. 
These are but easy labours,  
Yet, for I know he must have rest.  Jaq. 
He must:— you'll beat him off his legs else presently.  Sulp. 
Go in, and bid him please himself, I am pleased too:  
tomorrow's a new day; but if he can  
I would have him take pity o the old Lady.  
Alas 'tis charity.  Jaq. 
I'll tell him all this  
And if he be not too foolhardy.  Enter Zabulon. Sulp. 
How now?  
What news with you?  Zab. 
You must presently  
Show all the art you have, and for my Lady.  Sulp. 
She may command.  Zab. 
You must not dream nor trifle.  Sulp. 
Which way?  Zab. 
A spell you must prepare, a powerful one,  
Peruse but these directions, you shall find all;  
There is the picture too, be quick, and Faithful,  
And do it with that strength— When 'tis performed  
Pitch your reward at what you please, you have it.  Sulp. 
I'll do my best, and suddenly: but hark ye,  
Will you never lie at home again?  Zab. 
Excuse me,  
I have too much business yet.  Sulp. 
I am right glad on't.  Zab. 
Think on your business, so farewell.  Sulp. 
I'll do it.  Zab. 
Within this hour I'll visit you again  
And give you greater lights.  Sulp. 
I shall observe ye;  
This brings a brave reward, bravely I'll do it  
And all the hidden art I have, express in't. Ex. at both doors.  Enter Rutillio with a nightcap. Rut. 
Now do I look as if I were Crow-trodden,  
Fie how my hams shrink under me; o me,  
I am broken-winded too; Is this a life?  
Is this the recreation I have aimed at,  
I had a body once, a handsome body,  
And wholesome too. Now I appear like a rascal  
That had been hung a year or two in gibbets.  
Fie how I faint; Women? keep me from women;  
Place me before a Cannon, 'tis a pleasure;  
Stretch me upon a rac it, a recreation;  
But women? women? o the Devil! women?  
Curtius' gulf was never half so dangerous.  
Is there no way to find the trap-door again,  
And fall into the Cellar, and be taken?  
No lucky fortune to direct me that way?  
No galleys to be got, nor yet no gallows?  
For I fear nothing now, no earthly thing  
But these unsatisfied Men-leeches, women.  
How devilishly my bones ache: o the old Lady!  
I have a kind of waiting-woman, lies cross my back too,  
O how she stings! no treason to deliver me?  
Now what are you? do you mock me?  Enter 3. with nightcaps very faintly. 1. 
No Sir, no,  
We were your Predecessors in this place,  2. 
And come to see you bear up.  Rut. 
Good Gentlemen;  
You seem to have a snuffing in your head Sir,  
A perilous snuffing, but this same dampish air—  2. 
A dampish air indeed.  Rut. 
Blow your face tenderly,  
Your nose will ne'er endure it: mercy o me,  
What are men changed to here? is my nose fast yet?  
methinks it shakes i'th' hilts: pray tell me Gentlemen,  
How long is't since you flourished here?  3. 
Not long since.  Rut. 
Move yourself easily, I see you are tender,  
Nor long endured.  2. 
The labour was so much Sir  
And so few to perform it.—  Rut. 
Must I come to this?  
And draw my legs after me like a lame dog?  
I cannot run away, I am too feeble:  
Will you sue for this place again Gentlemen?  1. 
No truly sir, the place has been too warm for our complexions.  2. 
We have enough on't, rest you merry sir,  
We came but to congratulate your fortune,  
You have abundance.  3. 
Bear your fortune soberly,  
And so we leave you to the next fair Lady. Exit the 3.  Rut. 
Stay but a little, and I'll meet you Gentlemen,  
At the next Hospital: there's no living thus,  
Nor am I able to endure it longer,  
With all the helps and heats that can be given me,  
I am at my trot already; they are fair and young  
Most of the women that repair unto me,  
But they stick on like burrs, shake me like feathers.  Enter Sulpitia. 
More women yet?  
Would I were honestly married,  
To any thing that had but half a face,  
And not a groat to keep her, nor a smock,  
That I might be civilly merry when I pleased,  
Rather than labouring in these fulling mills.  Sulp. 
By this the spell begins to work: you are lusty,  
I see you bear up bravely yet.  Rut. 
Do you hear Lady,  
Do not make a game-bear of me, to play me hourly,  
And fling on all your whelps; it will not hold;  
Play me with some discretion; today one course,  
And two days hence another.  Sulp. 
If you be so angry  
Pay back the money I redeemed you at  
And take your course; I can have men enough:  
You have lost me an hundred crowns since you came hither,  
In broths and strengthening caudles; till you do pay me  
If you will eat and live, you shall endeavour,  
I'll chain you to't else.  Rut. 
Make me a dog-ken 〈…〉  
I'll keep your house and bark, 〈◊〉 feed on bare bones,  
And be whipped out a door's,  
Do you mark me Lady? whipped,  
I'll eat old shoes. Enter Duart.  Dua. 
In this house, I am told  
There is a stranger, of a goodly person,  
And such a one there was; if I could see him,  
I yet remember him.  Sulp. 
Your business Sir,  
If it be for a woman, ye are cozened,  
I keep none here. Exit.  Dua. 
Certain this is the Gentleman,  
The very same.  Rut. 
Death, if I had but money,  
Or any friend to bring me from this bondage,  
I would thrash, set up a cobbler's shop, keep hogs,  
And feed with 'em, sell tinder boxes,  
And Knights of Gingerbread, thatch for three  
Half pence a day, and think it Lordly,  
From this base stallion trade: Why does he cy me,  
Eye me so narrowly?  Dua. 
It seems you are troubled Sir,  
I heard you speak of want;  Rut. 
'Tis better hearing  
Far, then relieving Sir?  Dua. 
I do not think so, you know me not.  Rut. 
Not yet that I remember.  Dua. 
You shall, and for your friend: I am beholding to ye  
Greatly beholding Sir, If you remember,  
You fought with such a man, they called Duart,  
A proud distempered man: he was my enemy,  
My mortal foe, you slew him fairly, nobly.  Rut. 
Speak softly Sir, you do not mean to betray me  
I wished the Gallows, now theyare coming fairly.  Dua. 
Be confident, for as I live, I love you,  
And now you shall perceive it: for that service  
Me, and my purse command: there, take it to ye,  
'Tis gold, and no small sum, a thousand ducats,  
Supply your want.  Rut. 
But do you do this faithfully?  Dua. 
If I mean ill, spit in my face and kick me,  
In what else I may serve you, Sir—  Rut. 
I thank you,  
This is as strange to me as knight's adventure.  
I have a project, 'tis an honest one,  
And now I'll tempt my fortune.  Dua. 
Trust me with it.  Rut. 
You are so good and honest I must trust ye,  
'Tis but to carry a letter to a Lady  
That saved my life once.  Dua. 
That will be most thankful,  
I will do't with all care.  Rut. 
Where are you, white-broth?  
Now lusty blood,  
Come in, and tell your money:  
'Tis ready here, no threats, nor no orations,  
Nor prayers now.  Sulp. 
You do not mean to leave me—  Rut. 
I'll live in hell sooner than here, and cooler.  
Come quickly come, dispatch, this airs unwholesome:  
Quickly good Lady, quickly to't.  Sulp. 
Well, since it must be,  
The next, I'll fetter faster sure, and closer.  Rut. 
And pick his bones, as you're done mine, pox take ye.  Dua. 
At my lodging for a while, you shall be quartered,  
And there take physic for your health.  But. 
I thank ye  
I have found my Angel now too, if I can keep him.  Exeunt omnes.   

Actus quinti,  

Scaena Prima.  Enter Rutillio and Duart. Rut. 
You like the Letter.  Dua. 
Yes, but I must tell you,  
You tempt a desperate hazard, to solicit  
The mother, (and the grieved one too, 'tis rumoured)  
Of him you slew so lately.  Rut. 
I have told you  
Some proofs of her affection, and I know not  
A nearer way to make her satisfaction  
For a lost Son, then speedily to help her  
To a good husband; one that will beget  
Both sons and daughters, if she be not barren.  
I have had a breathing now, and have recovered  
What I lost in my late service, 'twas a hot one:  
It fired and fired me; but all thanks to you Sir,  
You have both freed and cooled me.  Dua. 
What is done Sir  
I thought well done, and was in that rewarded,  
And therefore spare your thanks.  Rut. 
I'll no more whoring:  
This fencing twixt a pair of sheets, more wears one  
Then all the exercise in the world besides.  
To be drunk with good Canary, a mere Julip  
Or like gourd-water to 't; twenty surfeits  
Come short of one nights work there. If I get this Lady  
As ten to one I shall; I was ne'er denied yet,  
I will live wondrous honestly; walk before her  
Gravely, and demurely  
And then instruct my family; you are sad,  
What do you muse on Sir?  Dua. 
Truth I was thinking  
What course to take for the delivery of your letter,  
And now I have it: but faith did this Lady  
(For do not gull yourself) for certain know,  
You killed her son?  Rut. 
Give me a book, I'll swear't;  
Denied me to the Officers, that pursued me,  
Brought me herself toth' door, then gave me gold  
To bear my charges, and shall I make doubt then  
But that she loved me? I am confident  
Time having ta'en her grief off, that I shall be  
Most welcome to her: for then to have wooed her  
Had been unseasonable.  Dua. 
well Sir, there's more money,  
To make you handsome; I'll about your business:  
You know where you must stay.  Rut. 
There you shall find me:  
Would I could meet my brother now, to know,  
Whither the Jew, his Genius, or my Christian,  
Has proved the better friend. Exit.  Dua. 
O who would trust  
Deceiving woman! or believe that one  
The best, and most canonised ever was  
More than a seeming goodness! I could rail now  
Against the sex, and curse it; but the theme  
And way's too common: yet that Guiomar  
My mother; (nor let that forbid her to be  
The wonder of our nation) she that was  
Marked out the great example, for all Matrons  
Both wife and Widow; she that in my breeding  
Expressed the utmost of a mother's care,  
And tenderness to a son; she that yet feigns  
Such sorrow for me; good God, that this mother,  
After all this, should give up to a stranger,  
The wreak she owed her son; I fear her honour.  
That he was saved, much joys me, and grieve only  
That she was his preserver. I'll try further,  
And by this Engine, find whether the tears,  
Of which, she is so prodigal, are for me,  
Or used to cloak her base hypocrisy. Exit.  Enter Hypolita and Sulpitia. Hyp. 
Are you assured the charm prevails?  Sulp. 
Do I live?  
Or you speak to me? Now, this very instant  
Health takes its last leave of her; maugre paleness  
Like winter, nips the Roses and the lilies,  
The Spring that youth, and love adorned her face with.  
To force affection, is beyond our art,  
For I have proved all means that hell has taught me,  
Or the malice of a woman, which exceeds it,  
To change Arnoldoe's love, but to no purpose:  
But for your bondwoman.  Hyp. 
Let her pine and die;  
She removed; which like a brighter sun,  
Obscures my beams, I may shine out again,  
And as I have been, be admired and sought to:  
How long has she to live?  Sulp. 
Lady, before  
The Sun twice rise and set, be confident,  
She is but dead; I know my Charm hath found her  
Nor can the Governors guard; her lovers tears;  
Her Father's sorrow, or his power that freed her,  
Defend her from it.  Enter Zabulon. Zab. 
All things have succeeded,  
As you could wish; I saw her brought sick home;  
The image of pale death, stamped on her forehead.  
Let me adore this second Hecate,  
This great Commandress, of the fatal sisters,  
That as she pleases, can cut short, or lengthen  
The thread of life.  Hip. 
Where was she, when the enchantment  
First ceased upon her.  Zab. 
Taking the fresh air,  
In the company of the Governor, and Count Clodio  
Arnoldo too, was present with her Father,  
When, in a moment (so the servants told me)  
As she was giving thanks to the Governor,  
And Clodio, for her unexpected freedom,  
As if she had been blasted, she sunk down,  
To their amazement.  Hyp. 
'Tis thy masterpiece  
Which I will so reward, that thou shalt fix here,  
And with the hazard of thy life, no more  
Make trial of thy powerful Art; which known  
Our Laws call death: off with this Magical robe,  
And be thyself.  Enter Governor, Clodio, and Charino. Sulp. 
Stand close, you shall hear more.  Go: Man. 
You must have patience; all rage is vain now,  
And piety forbids, that we should question  
What is decreed above, or ask a reason  
Why heaven determines this or that way of us.  Clod. 
Heaven has no hand in't; 'tis a work of hell.  
Her life hath been so innocent, all her actions  
So free from the suspicion of crime,  
As rather she deserves a saint's place here,  
Then to endure, what now her sweetness suffers.  Charin. 
Not for her fault, but mine Sir; Zenocia suffers,  
The sin I made, when I sought to raze down  
Arnoldo's love, built, on a Rock of truth,  
Now to the height is punished. I profess,  
Had he no birth, nor parts, the present sorrows  
He now expresses for her, does deserve her  
Above all Kings, though such had been his rivals.  Clod. 
All Ancient stories, of the love of husbands  
To virtuous wives, be now no more remembered.  Char. 
The tales of Turtles, ever be forgotten,  
Or, for his sake believed.  Man. 
I have heard, there has been  
Between some married pairs, such sympathy,  
That th' husband, has felt really, the throws  
His wife then teeming suffers, this true grief,  
Confirms, 'tis not impossible.  Clod. 
we shall find  
Fit time for this hereafter; let's 'use now  
All possible means to help her.  Man. 
Care, nor cost,  
Nor what Physicians can do, shall be wanting;  
Make use of any means, or men.  Char. 
You are noble. Exeunt. Man. Clod. Charino.  Sulp. 
Ten Colleges of Doctors shall not save her.  
Her fate is in your hand.  Hipo. 
Can I restore her?  Sulp. 
If you command my Art.  Hip. 
I'll die myself first.  
And yet I'll go visit her, and see  
This miracle of sorrow in Arnoldo:  
And 'twere for me, I should change places with her,  
And die most happy, such a lover's tears,  
Were a rich monument, but too good for her;  
Whose misery I glory in: come Sulpitia,  
You shall a long with me, good Zabulon  
Be not far off.  Zab. 
I will attend you Madam. Exeunt  Enter Duarte. and a Servant Ser. 
I have served you, from my youth, and ever  
You have found me faithful: that you lives a treasure  
I'll lock up here; nor shall it be let forth,  
But when you give me warrant.  Dua. 
I rely,  
Upon thy faith; nay, no more protestations,  
Too many of them, will call that in question,  
Which now I doubt not, she is there.  Ser. 
Alone too  
But take it on my life your entertainment,  
Appearing as you are, will be but course  
For the displeasure, I shall undergo;  
I am prepared.  Dua. 
Leave me, I'll stand the hazard. Exit Servant.  
The silence that's observed, her close retirements  
No visitance admitted, not the day;  
These sable colours, all signs of true sorrow,  
Or hers is deeply counterfeit. I'll look nearer,  
Manners give leave— she fits upon the ground;  
By heaven she weeps; my picture in her hand too;  
She kisses it and weeps again.  Enter Guiomart. Guio. 
whose's there?  Dua. 
There is no starting back now Madam.  Guio. 
Ha, another murderer, I'll not protect thee,  
Though I have no more Sons.  Dua. 
Your pardon Lady,  
there's no such foul fact taints me  Guio. 
What makes thou here then?  
Where are my Servants, do none but my sorrows  
Attend upon me? speak, what brought thee hither?  Dua. 
A will, to give you comfort.  Guio. 
Thou art but a man.  
And 'tis beyond a humane reach to do it  
If thou could raise the dead out of their graves.  
Bid time run back, make me now what I was,  
A happy Mother: gladly I would hear thee,  
But that's impossible.  Dua. 
Please you but to read this;  
You shall know better there, why I am sent  
Then if I should deliver it  Guio. 
From whom comes it?  Dua. 
That will instruct you; I suspect this stranger,  
Yet she spoke something, that holds such alliance,  
With his reports I know not what to think on't;  
What a frown was there? she looks me through, & through,  
Now reads again, now pauses, and now smiles;  
And yet there's more of anger in't then mirth,  
These are strange changes; oh I understand it  
She's full of serious thoughts.  Guio. 
You are just you Heavens,  
And never do forget to hear their prayers,  
That truly pay their vows, the deferred vengeance,  
For you, and my words sake so long deferred,  
Under which as a mountain, my heart groans yet  
When 'twas despaired of, now is offered to me;  
And if I lose it, I am both ways guilty,  
The woman's mask, dissimulation help me;  
Come hither friend, I am sure you know the Gentleman,  
That sent these charms.  Duar. 
Charms Lady?  Guio. 
These charms.  
I well may call them so, th'ave won upon me,  
More than ere letter did; thou art his friend,  
(The confidence he has in thee, confirms it)  
And therefore I'll be open breasted to thee,  
To hear of him, though yet, I never saw him,  
Was most desired of all men; let me blush,  
And then I'll say I love him.  Dua. 
All men see,  
In this a woman's virtue.  Guio. 
I expected  
For the courtesy I did, long since to have seen him,  
And though I then forbade it, you men know,  
Between our hearts and tongues, there's a large distance;  
But I'll excuse him, may be hitherto,  
He has forborn it, in respect my Son  
Fell by his hand.  Dua. 
And reason Lady.  Guio. 
No, he did me a pleasure in't, a riotous fellow,  
And with that insolent, not worth the owning▪  
I have indeed kept a long solemn sorrow,  
For my friends sake partly; but especially  
For his long absence.  Dua. 
O the Devil!  Guio. 
Therefore,  
Bid him be speedy; a Priest shall be ready  
To tie the holy knot; this kiss I send him,  
Deliver that and bring him.  Dua. 
I am dumb:  
A good cause I have now, and a good sword,  
And something I shall do, I wait upon you. Exeunt.  Enter Mannuel. Charino. Arnoldo. Zenocia, borne in a chair. 2. Doctors. Clodio. Doct. 
Give her more air she dies else.  Arn. 
O thou dread power,  
That mad'st this all, and of thy workmanship,  
This virgin wife, the Master piece, look down on her;  
Let her minds virtues, clothed in this fair garment,  
That worthily deserves, a better name  
Than flesh and blood, now sue, and prevail for her.  
Or if those are denied, let innocence,  
To which, all passages in heaven stand open,  
Appear in her white robe, before thy throne;  
And mediate for her: or if this age of sin,  
Be worthy of a miracle, the Sun  
In his diurnal progress never saw,  
So sweet a subject to employ it on.  Man. 
Wonders are ceased Sir, we must work by means,  Arno. 
'Tis true and such reverend Physicians are;  
To you— thus low I fall then; so may you ever  
Be styled the hands of heaven, natures restorers;  
Get wealth and honours; and by your success,  
In all your undertakings, propagate  
Your great opinion in the world, as now  
You use your saving Art; for know good Gentlemen.  
Besides the fame, and all that I possess,  
For a reward, posterity shall stand  
Indebted to you, for (as heaven forbid it)  
Should my Zenocia die, robbing this age,  
Of all that's good or graceful, times succeeding,  
The story of her pure life not yet perfect,  
Will suffer in the want of her example.  Doct. 
Were all the world to perish with her, we  
Can do no more; then what art and experience  
Gives us assurance of, we have used all means  
To find the cause of her disease, yet cannot;  
How should we then, promise the cure?  Arn. 
Away,  
I did belie you, when I charged you with  
The power of doing; ye are mere names only,  
And even your best perfection, accidental;  
whatever malady thou art, or spirit,  
As some hold, all diseases that afflict us,  
As love, already makes me sensible  
Of half her sufferings, ease her of her part,  
And let me stand the butt, of thy fell malice,  
And I will swear thouart merciful.  Doct. 
Your hand Lady;  
What a strange heat is here? bring some warm water.  Arn. 
She shall use nothing that is yours; my sorrow,  
Provides her of a better bath, my tears,  
Shall do that office.  Zeno. 
O my best Arnoldo!  
The truest of all lovers! I would live  
Were heaven so pleased, but to reward your sorrow,  
With my true service; but since that's denied me,  
May you live long and happy: do not suffer,  
(By your affection to me I conjure you)  
My sickness to infect you; though much love  
Makes you too subject to it.  Arn. 
In this only  
Zenocia Wrongs her servant; can the body  
Subsist, the soul departed? 'tis as easy  
As I to live without you; I am your husband,  
And long have been so, though our adverse fortune,  
Banding us, from one hazard to another,  
Would never grant me so much happiness,  
As to pay a husband's debt; despite of fortune,  
In death I'll follow you, and guard mine own;  
And there enjoy what here my fate forbids me.  Clod. 
So true a sorrow, and so feelingly  
Expressed, I never read of.  Man. 
I am struck  
With wonder to behold it, as with pity  Char. 
If you that are a stranger, suffer for them,  
Being tied no further than humanity  
Leads you to soft compassion; think great Sir,  
What of necessity I must endure,  
That am a Father?  Hypolita. Zabulon and Sulpitia at the door. Zab. 
Wait me there, I hold it  
Unfit to have you seen; as I find cause,  
You shall proceed,  Man. 
You are welcome Lady.  Hypo. 
Sir, I come to do a charitable office,  
How does the patient?  Clod. 
You may inquire  
Of more than one; for two are sick, and deadly,  
He languishes in her, her healths, despaired of,  
And in hers, his.  Hypo. 
'Tis a strange spectacle,  
With what a patience, they sit unmoved?  
Are they not dead already?  Doct. 
By her pulse,  
She cannot last a day.  Arn. 
Oh by that summons,  
I know my time too!  Hypo. 
Look to the man.  Clod. 
Apply  
Your Art, to save the Lady, preserve her,  
A town is your reward.  Hypo. 
I'll treble it,  
In ready gold, if you restore Arnoldo;  
For in his death I die too.  Clod. 
without her,  
I am no more.  Arn. 
Are you there Madam? now  
You may feast on my miseries; my coldness  
In answering your affections; or hardness,  
Give it what name you please, you are revenged of;  
For now you may perceive, our thread of life  
Was spun together, and the poor Arnoldo,  
Made only to enjoy the best Zenocia,  
And not to serve the use of any other;  
And in that she may equal, my Lord Clodio,  
Had long since else enjoyed her, nor could I  
Have been so blind, as not to see your great  
And many excellencies far, far beyond  
Or my deservings, or my hopes; we are now  
Going our latest journey, and together,  
Our only comfort we desire, pray give it  
Your charity to our ashes, such we must be,  
And not to curse our memories.  Hypo. 
I am much moved.  Clod. 
I am wholly overcome, all love to women,  
Farewell for ever, ere you die, your pardon;  
And yours Sir; had she many years to live,  
Perhaps I might look on her, as a Brother,  
But as a lover never; and since all  
Your sad misfortunes, had original  
From the barbarous custom practised in my Country,  
Heaven witness, for your sake I here release it;  
So to your memory, chaste Wives and Virgins  
Shall ever pay their vows. I give her to you;  
And wish, she were so now, as when my lust  
Forced you; to quite the Country.  Hypo. 
It is in vain,  
To strive with destiny, here my dotage ends,  
Look up Zenocia, health in me speaks to you;  
She gives him to you, that by divers ways,  
So long has kept him from you: and repent not,  
That you were once my servant, for which health  
In recompense of what I made you suffer,  
The hundred thousand Crowns, the City owes me,  
Shall be your dower.  Man. 
'Tis a magnificent gift,  
Had it been timely given.  Hypo. 
It is believe it; Sulpitia?  Enter. a Servant, and Sulpitia. Sulp. 
Madam  Hyp. 
Quick, undo the charm;  
Ask not a reason why; let it suffice,  
It is my will.  Sulp. 
Which I obey and gladly. Exit.  Man. 
Is to be married sayest thou?  Ser. 
So she says sir,  
And does desire your presence. They are borne off in chairs  Man. 
And tell her I'll come.  Hyp. 
Pray carry them to their rest; for though already,  
They do appear as dead, let my life pay for't,  
If they recover not.  Man. 
What you have warranted,  
Assure yourself, will be expected from you;  
Look to them carefully; and till the trial,  Hypo. 
Which shall not be above four hours.  Man. 
Let me  
Entreat your companies: there is something  
Of weight, invites me hence.  All. 
we'll wait upon you. Exeunt.  Enter. Guiomar. and Servants. Guio. 
You understand what my directions are,  
And what they guide you to; the faithful promise,  
You have made me all.  All. 
We do and will perform it.  Guio. 
The Governor will not fail to be here presently  
Retire a while, till you shall find occasion,  
And bring me word, when they arrive.  All. 
we shall Madam.  Guio. 
Only stay you to entertain;  1. Ser 
I am ready  Guio. 
I wonder at the bold, and practised malice,  
Men ever have a foot, against our honours,  
That nothing we can do, never so virtuous,  
No shape put on so pious, no not think  
What a good is, be that good ne'er so noble,  
Never so Laden with admired example,  
But still we end in lust; our aims our actions,  
Nay, even our charities, with lust are branded;  
Why should this stranger else, this wretched stranger,  
Whose life I saved at what dear price, stick here yet?  
Why should he hope, he was not here an hour,  
And certainly in that time, I may swear it  
I gave him no loose look, I had no reason;  
Unless my tears were flames, my curses courtships;  
The killing of my Son, a kindness to me,  
Why should he send to me, or with what safety  
(Examining the ruin he had wrought me)  
Though at that time, my pious pity found him,  
And my word fixed; I am troubled, strongly troubled.  Enter. a Servant. Ser. 
The Gentlemen are come,  Guio. 
Then bid 'em welcome— I must retire. Exit.  Enter. Rutillio. and Duarte. 
You are welcome home Gentlemen.  Rut. 
I thank you friend, I would speak with your Lady.  Ser. 
I'll let her understand. Exit.  Rut. 
It shall befit you,  
How do I look Sir, in this handsome trim? Exit. Servant.  
methinks I am wondrous brave.  Duar. 
You are very decent.  Rut. 
These by themselves, without more helps of nature,  
Would set a woman hard; I know 'em all,  
And where their first aims light; I'll lay my head on't,  
I'll take her eye, as soon as she looks on me,  
And if I come to speak once, woe be to her,  
I have her in a noose, she cannot scape me;  
I have their several lasts.  Dua. 
You are throughly studied,  
But tell me Sir, being unacquainted with her,  
As you confess you are—  Rut. 
That's not an hour's work,  
I'll make a nun forget her beads in two hours.  Dua. 
She being set in years next, none of those lustres  
Appearing in her eye, that warm the fancy;  
Nor nothing in her face, but handsome ruins.  Rut. 
I love old stories; those live believed, Authentic,  
When 20. of your modern faces, are called in,  
For new opinion paintings, and corruptions,  
Give me an old confirmed face; besides she saved me,  
She saved my life, have I not cause to love her?  
she's rich and of a constant state, a fair one  
Have I not cause to woo her? I have tried sufficient,  
All your young Fillies, I think this back has tried 'em,  
And smarted for it too: they run away with me,  
Take bit between the teeth, and play the Devils;  
'a staied pace now becomes my years; a sure one,  
Where I may sit and crack no girths.  Dua. 
How miserable,  
If my Mother should confirm, what I suspect now,  
Beyond all humane cure were my condition?  
Then I shall wish, this body had been so too,  
Here comes the Lady Sir.  Enter. Guiomar. Rut. 
Excellent Lady,  
To show I am a creature, bound to your service,  
And only yours—  Guio. 
Keep at that distance Sir;  
For if you stir—  Rut. 
I am obedient,  
She has found already, I am for her turn;  
With what a greedy hawks eye she beholds me?  
Mark how she musters all my parts.  Guio. 
A goodly Gentleman,  
Of a more manly set, I never looked on.  Rut. 
Mark, mark her eye still; mark but the carriage of 'em  Guio. 
How happy am I now; since my Son fell,  
He fell not, by a base unnoble hand?  
As that still troubled me; how far more happy  
Shall my revenge be, since the sacrifice,  
I offer to his grave, shall be both worthy,  
A Sons untimely loss, and a Mother's sorrow?  Rut. 
Sir, I am made believe it; she is mine own,  
I told you what a spell I carried with me,  
All this time does she spend, in contemplation,  
Of that unmatched delight: I shall be thankful to ye;  
And if you please to know my house, to use it;  
To take it for your own.  Guio. 
Who waits without there?  Enter. Guard. and Servants. they seize upon Rut. & bind him. Rut. 
How now? what means this, Lady?  Guio. 
Bind him fast.  Rut. 
Are these the bride-laces you prepare for me?  
The colours that you give?  Dua. 
Fie gentle Lady,  
This is not noble dealing.  Guio. 
Be you satisfied,  
It seems you are a stranger to this meaning,  
You shall not be so long  Rut. 
Do you call this wooing— Is there no end of women's persecutions?  
Must I needs fool into mine own destruction?  
Have I not had fair warnings, and enough too?  
Still pick the devil's teeth? you are not mad Lady;  
Do I come fairly, and like a Gentleman,  
To offer you that honour?  Guio. 
You are deceived Sir  
You come besotted, to your own destruction:  
I sent not for you; what honour can ye add to me,  
That broke that staff of honour, my age leaned on?  
That robbed me of that right, made me a Mother?  
Hear me thou wretched man, hear me with terror,  
And let thine own bold folly shake thy soul,  
Hear me pronounce thy death, that now hangs o'er thee,  
Thou desperate fool; who bade thee seek this ruin?  
What mad unmanly fate, made thee discover  
Thy cursed face to me again? was't not enough  
To have the fair protection of my house,  
When misery and justice, close pursued thee?  
When thine own bloody sword, cried out against thee,  
Hatched in the life of him? yet I forgave thee;  
My hospitable word, even when I saw  
The goodliest branch of all my blood, lopped from me,  
Did I not Seal still to thee?  Rut. 
I am gone.  Guio. 
And when thou went'st to Imp thy misery,  
Did I not give thee means? but hark ungrateful,  
Was it not thus? to hide thy face and fly me?  
To keep thy name for ever from my memory?  
Thy cursed blood and kindred; did I not swear then  
If ever, (in this wretched life thou hast left me,  
Short and unfortunate,) I saw thee again,  
Or came but to the knowledge, where thou wanderdst,  
To call my vow back, and pursue with vengeance  
With all the miseries a Mother suffers?  Rut. 
I was borne to be hanged, there's no avoiding it.  Guio. 
And dar'st thou with this impudence appear here?  
walk like the winding sheet my Son was put in,  
Stand with those wounds?  Dua. 
I am happy now again;  
Happy the hour I fell, to find a Mother,  
So pious good, and excellent in sorrows.  Enter. a Servant. Ser. 
The Governors come in.  Guio. 
O let him enter.  Rut. 
I have fooled myself a fair thread of all my fortunes,  
This strikes me most; not that I fear to perish,  
But that this unmannerly boldness, has brought me to it.  Enter. Governor. Clodio. Charino. Gov. 
Are these fit preparations for a wedding Lady?  
I came prepared a guest.  Guio. 
O give me justice;  
As ever you will leave a virtuous name,  
Do justice, justice, Sir.  Gou. 
You need not ask it,  
I am bound to it.  Guio. 
justice upon this man  
That killed my Son.  Gove. 
Do you confess the act?  Rut. 
Yes Sir.  Clod. 
rutilio?  Char. 
'Tis the same.  Clod. 
How fell he thus?  
Here will be sorrow for the good Arnoldo.  Gover. 
Take heed Sir what you say.  Rut. 
I have weighed it well,  
I am the man, nor is it life I start at;  
Only I am unhappy I am poor,  
Door in expense of lives, there I am wretched,  
That I have not two lives lent me for his sacrifice;  
One for her Son, another for her sorrows.  
Excellent Lady, now rejoice again,  
For though I cannot think, you're pleased in blood,  
Nor with that greedy thirst pursue your vengeance;  
The tenderness, even in those tears denies that;  
Yet let the world believe, you loved Duarte;  
The unmatched courtesies you have done my miseries,  
Without this forfeit to the law, would charge me  
To tender you this life, and proud 'twould please you.  Guio. 
Shall I have justice?  Gou. 
Yes.  Rut. 
I'll ask it for ye,  
I'll follow it myself, against myself.  
Sir, 'Tis most fit I die; dispatch it quickly,  
The monstrous burden of that grief she labours with  
Will kill her else, than blood on blood lies on me;  
Had I a thousand lives, I'd give 'em all,  
Before I would draw one tear more from that virtue.  Guio. 
Be not too cruel Sir, and yet his bold sword—  
But his life cannot restore that he's a man too—  
Of a fair promise, but alas my Sons dead;  
If I have justice, must it kill him?  Gov. 
Yes.  Guio. 
If I have not, it kills me, strong and goodly!  
Why should he perish too?  Gou. 
It lies in your power,  
You only may accuse him, or may quit him.  Clod. 
Be there no other witnesses?  Guio. 
Not any.  
And if I save him, will not the world proclaim,  
I have forgot a Son, to save a murderer?  
And yet he looks not like one, he looks manly.  Hyp. 
Pity so brave a Gentleman should perish.  
She cannot be so hard, so cruel hearted.  Guio. 
Will you pronounce? yet stay a little Sir.  Rut. 
Rid yourself Lady, of this misery;  
And let me go, I do but breed more tempests,  
With which you are already, too much shaken.  Guio. 
Do now, pronounce; I will not hear.  Duar. 
You shall not,  
Yet turn and see good Madam.  Gov. 
Do not wonder.  
'Tis he, restored again, thank the good Doctor,  
Pray do not stand amazed, it is Duarte;  
Is well, is safe again.  Guio. 
O my sweet Son.  
I will not press my wonder now with questions—  
Sir, I am sorry for that cruelty,  
I urged against you.  Rut. 
Madam it was but justice.  Duar. 
'Tis true, the Doctor healed this body again,  
But this man healed my soul, made my mind perfect,  
The good sharp lessons his sword read to me, saved me;  
For which, if you loved me dear Mother,  
Honour and love this man.  Guio. 
You sent this letter,  Rut. 
My boldness makes me blush now.  Guio. 
I'll wipe of that,  
And with this kiss, I take you for my husband,  
Your wooings done Sir; I believe you love me,  
And that's the wealth I look for now.  Rut. 
You have it.  Duar. 
You have ended my desire to all my wishes.  Gover. 
Now 'tis a wedding again. And if Hypollita,  
Make good, what with the hazard of her life,  
She undertook, the evening will set clear.  Enter. Hypollita. leading Leopold. Arnoldo. Zenocia. in either hand. Zabulon. Sulpitia. 
After a stormy day.  Char. 
Here comes the Lady.  Clod. 
With fair Zenocia,  
Health with life again,  
Restored unto her.  Zen. 
The gift of her goodness.  Rut. 
Let us embrace, I am of your order too,  
And though I once despaired of women, now,  
I find they relish much of Scorpions,  
For both have stings, and both can hurt, and cure too;  
But what have been your fortunes?  Arn. 
we'll defer  
Our story, and at time more fit, relate it.  
Now all that reverence virtue, and in that  
zenocia's constancy, and perfect love,  
Or for her sake Arnoldo, join with us  
In th' honour of this Lady.  Char. 
She deserves it.  Hypo. 
hippolyta's life, shall make that good hereafter,  
Nor will I alone, better myself but others:  
For these whose wants perhaps, have made their actions  
Not altogether innocent, shall from me  
Be so supplied; that need should not compel them,  
To any course of life, but what the law  
Shall give allowance to.  Zab. 
Sulp. Your Ladyships creatures.  Rut. 
Be so and no more, you man-huckster.  Hypo. 
And worthy Leopold, you that with such fervour,  
So long have sought me, and in that deserved me,  
Shall now find full reward, for all your travels,  
Which you have made more dear, by patient sufferance.  
And though my violent dotage did transport me,  
Beyond those bounds, my modesty should have kept in,  
Though my desires were loose, from unchaste art,  
Heaven knows I am free.  Leop. 
The thought of that's dead to me;  
I gladly take your offer.  Rut. 
Do so Sir,  
A piece of cracked gold, ever will weigh down  
Silver that's whole.  Gov. 
You shall be all my guests,  
I must not be denied.  Arno. 
Come my Zenocia.  
Our bark at length has found a quiet harbour;  
And the unspotted progress of our loves  
Ends not alone in safety but reward,  
To instruct others, by our fair example;  
That though good purposes, are long withstood,  
The hand of Heaven still guides such as are good.  Ex. omnes.    


The Prologue.  
SO free this work is, Gentlemen, from offence,  
That we are confident, it needs no defence  
From us, or from the Poets— we dare look.  
On any man, that brings his Table-book  
To write down, what again he may repeat  
At some great Table, to deserve his meat.  
Let such come swollen with malice, to apply  
What it mirth here, there for an injury.  
Nor Lord, nor Lady we have taxed; nor State,  
Nor any private person, their poor hate  
Will be starved here, for envy shall not find,  
One touch that may be wrested to her mind.  
And yet despair not Gentlemen, The play  
Is quick and witty; so the Poets say,  
And we believe them; the plot neat, and new,  
Fashioned like those, that are approved by you.  
Only 'twill crave attention, in the most;  
Because one point unmarked, the whole is lost  
Hear first than, and judge after, and be free,  
And as our cause is, let our censure be.   

Epilogue.  
WHy there should be an Epilogue to a Play.  
I know no cause, the old and usual way,  
For which they were made, was to entreat the grace  
Of such as were spectators in this place,  
And time, 'tis to no purpose; for I know  
What you resolve already to bestow,  
Will not be altered, whatsoe'er I say,  
In the behalf of us, and of the Play:  
Only to quit our doubts, if you think fit,  
You may, or cry it up; or silence it.    


Another Prologue for the Custom of the Country. For my Son clerk.  
we wish, if it were possible, you knew  
What we would give for this nights look, if new?  
It being our ambition to delight  
Our kind spectators with what's good, and right.  
Yet so far know, and credit me, 'twas made  
By such, as were held workmen in their Trade,  
At a time too, when they as I divine,  
Were truly merry, and drank lusty wine.  
The nectar of the Muses; Some are here  
I dare presume, to whom it did appear.  
A well-drawn piece, which gave a lawful birth  
To passionate scenes mixed with no vulgar mirth.  
But unto such to whom 'tis known by fame  
From others, perhaps only by the name.  
I am a suitor, that they would prepare  
Sound palates, and then judge their bill of fare.  
It were injustice to decry this now  
For being liked before, you may allow  
(Your candour safe) what's taught in the old schools,  
All such as lived before you, were not fools.   

The Epilogue.  
I Spoke much in the Prologue for the Play,  
To its desert I hope, yet you might say  
Should I change now from that, which then was meant,  
Or in a syllable grow less confident.  
I were weakhearted. I am still the same  
In my opinion, and forbear to frame  
Qualification, or excuse: If you  
Concur with me, and hold my judgement true.  
Show it with any sign, and from this place,  
Or send me off exploded, or with grace.