COUNT CLODIO, Governor, and a dishonourable pursuer of ZENOCIA.

MANUEL DU Sosa, Governor of Lisbon, and Brother to GUIOMAR.

ARNOLDO, a Gentleman contracted to ZENOCIA.
RUTILIO, a merry Gentleman, Brother to ARNOLDO.
CHARINO, Father to Zenocia.

DUARTE, Son to GUIOMAR, a Gentleman well qualified, but vain-glorious.

ALONZO, a young Portugueze Gentleman, enemy to DUARTE.

LEOPOLD, a Sea Captain, enamoured of HIPPOLYTA.

SCENE,

ZABULON, a Jew, Servant to HIPPOLYTA. JAQUES, Servant to SULPITIA.

ZENOCIA, Mistress to ARNOLDO, and a chaste Wife. GUIOMAR, a virtuous Lady, Mother to DUARTE. HIPPOLYTA, a rich Lady, wantonly in love with An

NOLDO.

SULPITIA, a Bawd, Mistress of the Male-Stews.

Doctor, Chirurgeon, Officers, Guard, Page, Bravo, Knaves of the Male-Stews, Servants.

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 swell'd with malice, to apply
What is mirth here, there for an injury.
Nor lord, nor lady, we have tax'd; 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 ;
Fashion'd like those that are approved by you:
Only, 'twill crave attention in the most,
Because, one point unmark'd, the whole is lost.
Hear first then, and judge after, and be free;.
And, as our cause is, let our censure be.

And prettily esteem'd of; but take heed then, Take heed, dear brother, of a stranger fortune Than e'er you felt yet: Fortune my foe's 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, o' conscience! To love all these, would run me out o' my wits. Arn. Pr'ythee, give ear. I am to marry her, Rut. Dispatch it, then, and I'll go call the piper. Arn. But, oh, the wicked Custom of this Country!

The barbarous, most inhuman, damned Custom ! Rut. 'Tis true, to marry is [the most inhuman, Damn'd] custom in the world; for, look you, brother,

Would any man stand plucking for the ace of hearts,

With one pack of cards, all days on's life?

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 you:
Look on the count, look cheerfully and sweetly.
What though he have the power to possess you,
To pluck your maiden honour, and then slight you,
By Custom unresistable to enjoy you;

Yet, my sweet child, so much your youth and goodness,

The beauty of your soul, and saint-like modesty, Have won upon his wild mind, so much charm'd him,

That, all power laid aside, what law allows him,
Or sudden fires, kindled from those bright eyes,
He sues to be your servant, fairly, nobly;
For ever to be tied your faithful husband.
Consider, my best child.

Zen. I have consider'd.

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 an heritage,
Left him by lust, and lewd progenitors!
All virgins too shall bless your name, shall saint it,
And, like so many pilgrims, go to your shrine,
When time has turn'd your beauty into ashes,
Fill'd with your pious memory.

Zen. Good father,

Zen. And, 'till he fling me off, as undeserving, Which I confess I am of such a blessing,

But would be loth to find it so

Arn. Oh, never, [Coming forward. Never, my happy mistress, never, never! When your poor servant lives but in your favour, One foot i' th' grave, the other shall not linger. What sacrifice of thanks, what age of service, What danger of more dreadful look than death, What willing martyrdom to crown me constant, May merit such a goodness, such a sweetness? A love so nobly great no power can 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 recompence.

Zen. I ask but, you a pure maid to possess, And then they have crown'd my wishes: If I fall then,

Go seek some better love; mine will debase you. Rut. A pretty innocent fool! Well, governor, Though I think well of your Custom, and 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-[Laying his hand upon his sword.] I say no more: I'll tell you what, and if your honour's guts are not enchanted

Arn. Ishould now chide you, sir, for so declining The goodness and the grace you have ever shew'd And your own virtue too, in seeking rashly [me, To violate that love Heaven has appointed, To wrest your daughter's thoughts, part that affection

That both our hearts have tied, and seek to give it

Rut. To a wild fellow that would worry 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 cat o' mountain?
You'd better tear her between two oaks! A town-
bull

Is a meer stoick to this fellow, a grave philosopher;
And a Spanish jennet a most virtuous gentleman.
Arn. Does this seem handsome, sir?
Rut. Though I confess

[means,

Any man would desire to have her, and by any At any rate too, yet that this common hangman, That hath whipt off the heads of a thousand maids

already,

That he should glean the harvest, sticks in my

stomach !

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 fix'd her in the point of honour,
Who do you think you have tied her to? A surgeon!
I must confess, an excellent dissecter;

One that has cut up more young tender lamb-piesChar. What I spake, gentlemen, was mere compulsion,

No father's free-will; nor did I touch your person With any edge of spite, or strain your loves With any base or hired persuasions. Witness these tears, how well I wish'd your for tunes! [Exit. Rut. There's some grace in thee yet. -You are То marry this count, lady? [determined

Zen. Marry him, Rutilio?

Rut. Marry him, and lie with him, I mean.
Zen. You cannot mean that;

If you be a true gentleman, you dare not;
The brother to this man, and one that loves him.
I'll marry the devil first.

Rut. A better choice;

And, lay his horns by, a handsomer bed-fellow; A cooler, o' my conscience.

Arn. Pray let me ask you;

And my dear 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 win 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 laugh'd 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.
Zen. I'll die an atheist then.
Arn. My noblest mistress,

(Not that I wish it so, but say it were so,)
Say you did render up part of your honour,
(For, whilst your will is clear, all cannot perish)
Say, for one night you entertain'd this monster;
Should I esteem you worse, forced to this render?
Your mind I know is pure, and full as beauteous :
After this short eclipse, you would rise again,
And, shaking off that cloud, spread all your lustre.

Zen. Who made you witty, to undo yourself, sir?
Or, are you loaden 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'ye think, because a woman, I must err;
And therefore, rather wish that fall before-hand,
Coloured with Custom not to be resisted?
D'ye love as painters 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 season'd first- You understand the proverb.
Rut. I am afraid this thing will make me vir-
tuous.

--

And, make the case thus desp'rate,—she must die else;

D'ye 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 born 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 and handsome.
Arn. I never shall deserve you; not to thank
you!

You are so heav'nly good, no man can reach you.
I am sorry I spake so rashly; 'twas but to try you.
Rut. You might have tried a thousand women so,
And nine hundred fourscore and nineteen should
Have 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.
Rut. An't come to that once,

The devil pick his bones that dies a coward!

Enter CLODIO and Guard.

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 chaps! you ha' more handsome bits

Than a hundred honester men, and more deservHow the dog leers! [ing. Clod. [To ARNOLDO.] You need not now be jealous;

I speak at distance to your wife; but, when the priest has done,

We shall grow nearer then, and more familiar. Rut. [Aside.] I'll watch you for that trick, baboon; I'll smoke you.

The rogue sweats, as if he had eaten grains; he If I do come to the basting of you———— [broils!

Arn. 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 feign'd too;
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:

The modesty that maids are ever born with,
To use few words.

Clod. Do you see nothing in me?

Nothing to catch your eyes, nothing of wonder, The common mould of men come short, and want in ?

Do you read no future fortune for 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 offer'd 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 shew handsome;
Our sex is blushing, full of fear, unskill'd too
In these alarums.

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