Beaumont & Fletchers Works (1 of 10) – the Custom of the Country

Zen. We are determined, Dye, before yield.

Arn. Honour, and a fair grave.

Zen. Before a lustful Bed, so for our fortunes.

Rut. Du cat awhee, good Count, cry, prethee cry, O what a wench hast thou lost! cry you great booby. [Exe.

Enter Charino.

Clod. And is she gone then, am I dishonoured thus,Cozened and baffl'd? my Guard there, no man answer?My Guard I say, sirrah you knew of this plot;Where are my Guard? I'le have your life you villain,You politick old Thief.

Char. Heaven send her far enough,

Enter Guard.

And let me pay the ransom.

Guard. Did your honour call us?

Clod. Post every way, and presently recover The two strange Gentlemen, and the fair Lady.

Guard. This day was Married Sir?

Clod. The same.

Guard. We saw 'em. Making with all main speed to th' Port.

Clod. Away villains. [Exit Guard. Recover her, or I shall dye; deal truly, Didst not thou know?

Char. By all that's good I did not. If your honour mean their flight, to say I grieve for that, Will be to lye; you may handle me as you please.

Clod. Be sure, with all the cruelty, with all the rigor, For thou hast rob'd me villain of a treasure.

Enter Guard.

How now?

Guard. They're all aboard, a Bark rode ready for 'em, And now are under Sail, and past recovery.

Clod. Rig me a Ship with all the speed that may be,I will not lose her: thou her most false Father,Shalt go along; and if I miss her, hear me,A whole day will I study to destroy thee.

Char. I shall be joyful of it; and so you'l find me.

[Exeunt omnes.

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima

Enter Manuel du Sosa, and Guiomar.

Man. I Hear and see too much of him, and thatCompels me Madam, though unwillingly,To wish I had no Uncles part in him,And much I fear, the comfort of a SonYou will not long enjoy.Gui. 'Tis not my fault,And therefore from his guilt my innocenceCannot be tainted, since his Fathers death,(Peace to his soul) a Mothers prayers and careWere never wanting, in his education.His Child-hood I pass o're, as being brought upUnder my wing; and growing ripe for study,I overcame the tenderness, and joyI had to look upon him, and providedThe choicest Masters, and of greatest nameOf Salamanca, in all liberal Arts.

Man. To train his youth up. I must witness that.

Gui. How there he prospered to the admirationOf all that knew him, for a general Scholar,Being one of note, before he was a man,Is still remembred in that Academy,From thence I sent him to the Emperours Court,Attended like his Fathers Son, and thereMaintain'd him, in such bravery and height,As did become a Courtier.Man. 'Twas that spoil'd him, my Nephew had been happy.The Court's a School indeed, in which some fewLearn vertuous principles, but most forgetWhat ever they brought thither good and honest.Trifling is there in practice, serious actionsAre obsolete and out of use, my NephewHad been a happy man, had he ne're knownWhat's there in grace and fashion.Gui. I have heard yet,That while he liv'd in Court, the EmperourTook notice of his carriage and good parts,The Grandees did not scorn his company,And of the greatest Ladies he was heldA compleat Gentleman.Man. He indeed Daunc'd well;A turn o'th' Toe, with a lofty trick or two,To argue nimbleness, and a strong back,Will go far with a Madam: 'tis most true,That he's an excellent Scholar, and he knows it;An exact Courtier, and he knows that too;He has fought thrice, and come off still with honour,Which he forgets not.

Gui. Nor have I much reason, To grieve his fortune that way.

Man. You are mistaken,Prosperity does search a Gentlemans temper,More than his adverse fortune: I have knownMany, and of rare parts from their successIn private Duels, rais'd up to such a pride,And so transform'd from what they were, that allThat lov'd them truly, wish'd they had fallen in them.I need not write examples, in your Son'Tis too apparent; for e're Don DuarteMade tryal of his valour, he indeed wasAdmired for civil courtesie, but nowHe's swoln so high, out of his own assurance,Of what he dares do, that he seeks occasions,Unjust occasions, grounded on blind passion,Ever to be in quarrels, and this makes himShunn'd of all fair Societies.Gui. Would it wereIn my weak power to help it: I will useWith my entreaties th' Authority of a Mother,As you may of an Uncle, and enlarge itWith your command, as being a GovernourTo the great King in _Lisbon.

Enter_ Duarte and his Page.

Man. Here he comes. We are unseen, observe him.

Dua. Boy.

Page. My Lord.

Dua. What saith the Spanish Captain that I struck, To my bold challenge?

Page. He refus'd to read it.

Dua. Why didst not leave it there?

Page. I did my Lord,But to no purpose, for he seems more willingTo sit down with the wrongs, than to repairHis honour by the sword; he knows too well,That from your Lordship nothing can be gotBut more blows, and disgraces.Dua. He's a wretch,A miserable wretch, and all my furyIs lost upon him; holds the Mask, appointedI'th' honour of Hippolyta?

Page. 'Tis broke off.

Dua. The reason?

Page. This was one, they heard your LordshipWas by the Ladies choice to lead the Dance,And therefore they, too well assur'd how farYou would outshine 'em, gave it o're and said,They would not serve for foiles to set you off.

Dua. They at their best are such, and ever shall be Where I appear.

Man. Do you note his modesty?

Dua. But was there nothing else pretended?

Page. Yes,Young Don Alonzo, the great Captains Nephew,Stood on comparisons.

Dua. With whom?

Page. With you,And openly profess'd that all precedence,His birth and state consider'd, was due to him,Nor were your Lordship to contend with oneSo far above you.Dua. I look down upon himWith such contempt and scorn, as on my slave,He's a name only, and all good in himHe must derive from his great grandsires Ashes,For had not their victorious acts bequeath'dHis titles to him, and wrote on his forehead,This is a Lord, he had liv'd unobserv'dBy any man of mark, and died as oneAmongst the common route. Compare with me?'Tis Gyant-like ambition; I know him,And know my self, that man is truly noble,And he may justly call that worth his own,Which his deserts have purchas'd, I could wishMy birth were more obscure, my friends and kinsmenOf lesser power, or that my provident FatherHad been like to that riotous EmperourThat chose his belly for his only heir;For being of no family then, and poorMy vertues wheresoe'r I liv'd, should makeThat kingdom my inheritance.

Gui. Strange self Love!

Dua. For if I studied the Countries Laws,I should so easily sound all their depth,And rise up such a wonder, that the pleaders,That now are in most practice and esteem,Should starve for want of Clients: if I travell'd,Like wise Ulysses to see men and manners,I would return in act, more knowing, thanHomer could fancy him; if a Physician,So oft I would restore death-wounded men,That where I liv'd, Galen should not be nam'd,And he that joyn'd again the scatter'd limbsOf torn Hippolytus should be forgotten.I could teach Ovid courtship, how to winA Julia, and enjoy her, though her DowerWere all the Sun gives light to: and for armsWere the Persian host that drank up Rivers, addedTo the Turks present powers, I could direct,Command, and Marshal them.

Man. And yet you know not To rule your self, you would not to a boy else Like Plautus Braggart boast thus.

Dua. All I speak, In act I can make good.

Gui. Why then being MasterOf such and so good parts do you destroy them,With self opinion, or like a rich miser,Hoard up the treasures you possess, impartingNor to your self nor others, the use of them?They are to you but like inchanted viands,On which you seem to feed, yet pine with hunger;And those so rare perfections in my SonWhich would make others happy, render meA wretched Mother.Man. You are too insolent.And those too many excellencies, that feedYour pride, turn to a Pleurisie, and killThat which should nourish vertue; dare you thinkAll blessings are confer'd on you alone?Y'are grosly cousen'd; there's no good in you,Which others have not: are you a Scholar? soAre many, and as knowing: are you valiant?Waste not that courage then in braules, but spend itIn the Wars, in service of your King and Country.

Dua. Yes, so I might be General, no man lives That's worthy to command me.

Man. Sir, in LisbonI am: and you shall know it; every hourI am troubled with complaints of your behaviourFrom men of all conditions, and all sexes.And my authority, which you presumeWill bear you out, in that you are my Nephew,No longer shall protect you, for I vowThough all that's past I pardon, I will punishThe next fault with as much severityAs if you were a stranger, rest assur'd on't.Gui. And by that love you should bear, or that dutyYou owe a Mother, once more I command youTo cast this haughtiness off; which if you do,All that is mine, is yours, if not, expectMy prayers, and vows, for your conversion only,But never means nor favour. [Ex. Manuel and Guiomar.Dua. I am Tutor'dAs if I were a child still, the base PeasantsThat fear, and envy my great worth, have done this;But I will find them out, I will o'boordGet my disguise; I have too long been idle,Nor will I curb my spirit, I was born free,And will pursue the course best liketh me. [Exeunt.

Enter Leopold, Sailers, and Zenocia.

Leop. Divide the spoil amongst you, this fair Captive I only challenge for my self.

Sail. You have won herAnd well deserve her: twenty years I have liv'dA Burgess of the Sea, and have been presentAt many a desperate fight, but never sawSo small a Bark with such incredible valourSo long defended, and against such odds,And by two men scarce arm'd too.Leop. 'Twas a wonder.And yet the courage they exprest being taken,And their contempt of death wan more upon meThan all they did, when they were free: me thinksI see them yet when they were brought aboard us,Disarm'd and ready to be put in fettersHow on the suddain, as if they had swornNever to taste the bread of servitude,Both snatching up their swords, and from this Virgin,Taking a farewel only with their eyes,They leapt into the Sea.

Sail. Indeed 'twas rare.

Leop. It wrought so much on me, that but I fear'dThe great ship that pursued us, our own safetyHindring my charitable purpose to 'em,I would have took 'em up, and with their livesThey 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 withinA League o'th' shore, and with such strength and cunningThey swimming, did delude the rising Billows,With one hand making way, and with the other,Their bloudy swords advanced, threatning the Sea-godsWith war, unless they brought them safely off,That I am almost confident they live,And you again may see them.Zen. In that hopeI brook a wretched being, till I amMade certain of their fortunes; but they dead,Death hath so many doors to let out life,I will not long survive them.Leop. Hope the best,And let the courteous usage you have found,Not usual in men of War perswade youTo tell me your condition.Zen. You know it,A Captive, my fate and your power have made me,Such I am now, but what I was it skills not:For they being dead, in whom I only live,I dare not challenge Family, or Country,And therefore Sir enquire not, let it suffice,I am your servant, and a thankful servant(If you will call that so, which is but duty)I ever will be, and my honour safe,Which nobly hitherto ye have preserv'd,No slavery can appear in such a form,Which with a masculine constancy I will notBoldly look on and suffer.Leop. You mistake me:That you are made my prisoner, may proveThe birth of your good fortune. I do findA winning language in your tongue and looks;Nor can a suit by you mov'd be deni'd,And therefore of a prisoner you must beThe Victors advocate.

Zen. To whom?

Leap. A Lady:In whom all graces that can perfect beautyAre friendly met. I grant that you are fair:And had I not seen her before, perhapsI might have sought to you.

Zen. This I hear gladly.

Leap. To this incomparable Lady I will give you,(Yet being mine, you are already hers)And to serve her is more than to be free,At least I think so; and when you live with her,If you will please to think on him that brought youTo such a happiness, for so her bountyWill make you think her service, you shall everMake me at your devotion.

Zen. All I can do, Rest you assur'd of.

Leap. At night I'le present you, Till when I am your Guard.

Zen. Ever your servant. [Exeunt.

Enter Arnoldo and Rutilio.

Arn. To what are we reserv'd?

Rut. Troth 'tis uncertain,Drowning we have scap'd miraculously, andStand fair for ought I know for hanging; monyWe have none, nor e're are like to have,'Tis to be doubted: besides we are strangers,Wondrous hungry strangers; and charityGrowing cold, and miracles ceasing,Without a Conjurers help, cannot findWhen we shall eat again.Arn. These are no wantsIf put in ballance with Zenocias loss;In that alone all miseries are spoken:O my Rutilio, when I think on her,And that which she may suffer, being a Captive,Then I could curse my self, almost those powersThat send me from the fury of the Ocean.Rut. You have lost a wife indeed, a fair and chast one,Two blessings, not found often in one woman;But she may be recovered, questionlessThe ship that took us was of Portugal,And here in Lisbon, by some means or otherWe may hear of her.Arn. In that hope I live.

Rut. And so do I, but hope is a poor Sallad To dine and sup with, after a two dayes fast too, Have you no mony left?

Arn. Not a Denier.

Rut. Nor any thing to pawn? 'tis now in fashion, Having a Mistress, sure you should not be Without a neat Historical shirt.

Arn. For shame Talk not so poorly.

Rut. I must talk of thatNecessity prompts us to, for beg I cannot,Nor am I made to creep in at a window,To filch to feed me, something must be done,And suddenly resolve on't.

Enter Zabulon and a Servant.

Arn. What are these?

Rut. One by his habit is a Jew.

Zab. No more: Thou art sure that's he.

Ser. Most certain.

Zab. How long is it Since first she saw him?

Ser. Some two hours.

Zab. Be gone—let me alone to work him. [Exit Ser.

Rut. How he eyes you! Now he moves towards us, in the Devils name What would he with us?

Arn. Innocence is bold: Nor can I fear.

Zab. That you are poor and strangers, I easily perceive.

Rut. But that you'l help us, Or any of your tribe, we dare not hope Sir.

Zab. Why think you so?

Rut. Because you are a Jew Sir, And courtesies come sooner from the Devil Than any of your Nation.

Zab. We are men,And have like you, compassion when we findFit subjects for our bounty, and for proofThat we dare give, and freely, not to you Sir,Pray spare your pains, there's gold, stand not amaz'd,'Tis current I assure you.Rut. Take it man,Sure thy good Angel is a Jew, and comesIn his own shape to help thee: I could wish nowMine would appear too like a Turk.Arn. I thank you,But yet must tell you, if this be the PrologueTo any bad act, you would have me practise,I must not take it.Zab. This is but the earnestOf [t]hat which is to follow, and the bondWhich you must seal to for't, is your advancement,Fortune with all that's in her power to give,Offers her self up to you: entertain her,And that which Princes have kneel'd for in vainPresents it self to you.

Arn. 'Tis above wonder.

Zab. But far beneath the truth, in my relationOf what you shall possess, if you emb[r]ace it.There is an hour in each mans life appointedTo 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, hereafterExpect not the like offer. [Exit.

Arn. 'Tis no vision.

Rut. 'Tis gold I'm sure.

Arn. We must like brothers share; There's for you.

Rut. By this light I'm glad I have it:There are few Gallants, (for men may be suchAnd yet want gold, yea and sometimes silver)But would receive such favours from the Devil,Though he appear'd like a Broker, and demandedSixty i'th' hundred.Arn. Wherefore should I fearSome plot upon my life? 'tis now to meNot worth the keeping. I will follow him,Farewel, wish me good fortune, we shall meetAgain I doubt not.

Rut. Or I'le ne're trust Jew more, [Exit Arnoldo. Nor Christian for his sake—plague o' my stars, How long might I have walkt without a Cloak, Before I should have met with such a fortune? We elder Brothers, though we are proper men, Ha' not the luck, ha' too much beard, that spoils us; The smooth Chin carries all: what's here to do now? [Manet Rutilio.

Enter Duarte, Alonzo, and a Page.

Dua. I'le take you as I find you.

Alon. That were base—you see I am unarm'd.

Dua. Out with your BodkinYour Pocket-dagger, your Steletto, out with it,Or by this hand I'le kill you: such as you areHave studied the undoing of poor Cutlers,And made all manly weapons out of fashion:You carry Poniards to murder men,Yet dare not wear a sword to guard your Honour.

Rut. That's true indeed: upon my life this gallant Is brib'd to repeal banisht swords.

Dua. I'le shew you The difference now between a Spanish Rapier And your pure Pisa.

Alon. Let me fetch a sword, Upon mine honour I'le return.

Dua. Not so Sir.

Alon. Or lend me yours I pray you, and take this.

Rut. To be disgrac'd as you are, no I thank youSpight of the fashion, while I live, I amInstructed to go arm'd: what folly 'tisFor you that are a man, to put your selfInto your enemies mercy.Dua. Yield it quicklyOr I'le cut off your hand, and now disgrace you,Thus kick and baffle you: as you like this,You may again prefer complaints against meTo my Uncle and my Mother, and then thinkTo make it good with a Poniard.

Alon. I am paid For being of the fashion.

Dua. Get a sword,Then if you dare redeem your reputation:You know I am easily found: I'le add this to itTo put you in mind.Rut. You are too insolent,And do insult too much on the advantageOf that which your unequal weapon gave you,More than your valour.Dua. This to me, you Peasant?Thou art not worthy of my foot poor fellow,'Tis scorn, not pity, makes me give thee life:Kneel down and thank me for't: how, do you stare?

Rut. I have a sword Sir, you shall find, a good one; This is no stabbing guard.

Dua. Wert thou thrice arm'd, Thus yet I durst attempt thee.

Rut. Then have at you, [Fight. I scorn to take blows.

Dua. O I am slain. [Falls.

Page. Help! murther, murther!

Alon. Shift for your self you are dead else, You have kill'd the Governou[r]s Nephew.

Page. Raise the streets there.

Alon. If once you are beset you cannot scape, Will you betray your self?

Rut. Undone for ever. [Exit Rut. and Alonzo.

Enter Officers.

1 Off. Who makes this out-cry?

Page. O my Lord is murdered; This way he took, make after him, Help help there. [Exit Page.

2 Offi. 'Tis Don Duarte.

1 Offi. Pride has got a fall,He was still in quarrels, scorn'd us Peace-makers,And all our Bill-authority, now h'as paid for't.You ha' met with your match Sir now, bring off his bodyAnd bear it to the Governour. Some pursueThe 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 MotherI truly grieve indeed, she's a good Lady. [Exeunt.

Enter Guiomar and Servants.

Gui. He's not i'th' house?_Ser. No Madam.Gui. Haste and seek him,Go all and every where, Pie not to bedTill you return him, take away the lights too,The Moon lends me too much, to find my fearsAnd those devotions I am to payAre written in my heart, not in this book, [Kneel.And I shall read them there without a Taper. [Ex. Ser.

Enter Rutilio.

Rut. I am pursued; all the Ports are stopt too;Not any hope to escape, behind, before me,On either side I am beset, cursed fortuneMy enemie on the Sea, and on the Land too,Redeem'd from one affliction to another:Would I had made the greedy waves my tombAnd dyed obscure, and innocent, not as NeroSmear'd o're with blood. Whither have my fears brought me?I am got into a house, the doors all open,This, by the largeness of the room, the hangings,And other rich adornments, glistring throughThe sable masque of night, sayes it belongsTo one of means and rank: no servant stirring?Murmur nor whisper?

Guio. Who's that?

Rut. By the voice, This is a woman.

Guio. Stephana, Jaspe, Julia, Who waits there?

Rut. 'Tis the Lady of the house, I'le flie to her protection.

Guio. Speak, what are you?

Rut. Of all that ever breath'd, a man most wretched.

Guio. I am sure you are a man of most ill manners,You could not with so little reverence elsePress 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 answerAll your demands, a most unfortunate stranger,That call'd unto it by my enemies pride,Have left him dead i'th' streets, Justice pursues me,And for that life I took unwillingly,And in a fair defence, I must lose mine,Unless you in your charity protect me.Your house is now my sanctuary, and the Altar,I gladly would take hold of your sweet mercy.By all that's dear unto you, by your vertues,And by your innocence, that needs no forgiveness,Take pity on me.

Guio. Are you a Castillian?

Rut. No Madam, Italy claims my birth.

Guio. I ask notWith purpose to betray you, if you wereTen thousand times a Spaniard, the nationWe Portugals most hate, I yet would save youIf it lay in my power: lift up these hangings;Behind my Beds head there's a hollow place,Into which enter; so, but from this stir notIf the Officers come, as you expect they will doe,I know they owe such reverence to my lodgings,That they will easily give credit to meAnd search no further.

Rut. The blest Saints pay for me The infinite debt I owe you.

Guio. How he quakes!Thus far I feel his heart beat, be of comfort,Once more I give my promise for your safety,All men are subject to such accidents,Especially the valiant; and who knows not,But that the charity I afford this strangerMy only Son else where may stand in need of?

Enter Officers, and Servants, with the body of Duarte—Page.

1 Ser. Now Madam, if your wisedom ever couldRaise up defences against floods of sorrowThat haste to overwhelm you, make true use ofYour great discretion.

2 Ser. Your only son My Lord Duart's slain.

1 Off. His murtherer, pursued by usWas by a boy discoveredEntring your house, and that induced usTo press into it for his apprehension.

Guio. Oh!

1 Ser. Sure her heart is broke.

Off. Madam.

Guio. Stand off.My sorrow is so dear and pretious to me,That you must not partake it, suffer itLike wounds that do breed inward to dispatch me.O my Duart, such an end as thisThy pride long since did prophesie; thou art dead,And to encrease my misery, thy sad MotherMust make a wilfull shipwrack of her vowOr thou fall unreveng'd. My Soul's divided,And piety to a son, and true performanceOf hospitable duties to my guest,That are to others Angels, are my furies.Vengeance knocks at my heart, but my word givenDenies the entrance, is no Medium left,But that I must protect the murderer,Or suffer in that faith he made his altar?Motherly love give place, the fault made this way,To keep a vow, to which high Heaven is witness,Heaven may be pleas'd to pardon.

Enter Manuel, Doctors, Surgeons.