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 Nine-pins, But for his flesh.

Sulp. These are but easie labours Yet, for I know he must have rest.

Ja. He must—you'll beat him off his legs else presently.

Sul. Go in, and bid him please himself, I am pleas'd too: To morrow's a new day; but if he can I would have him take pity o' the old Lady. Alas 'tis charity.

Jaq. I'le tell him all this, And if he be not too fool-hardy.

Enter Zabulon.

Sulp. How now? What news with you?

Zab. You must presently Shew 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 perform'd, Pitch your reward at what you please, you have it.

Sul. I'le do my best, and suddenly: but hark ye, Will you never lye 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 farewel.

Sulp. I'le do it.

Zab. Within this hour I'le visit you again And give you greater lights.

Sulp. I shall observe ye; This brings a brave reward, bravely I'le do it, And all the hidden art I have, express in't. [Exeunt at both doors.

Enter Rutilio with a Night-cap.

Rut. Now do I look as if I were Crow-trodden, Fye, how my hams shrink under me! O me, I am broken-winded too; is this a life? Is this the recreation I have aim'd 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. Fye how I faint! women? keep me from women; Place me before a Cannon, 'tis a pleasure; Stretch me upon a Rack, 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 Gallies 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 ake! O the old Lady! I have a kind of waiting-woman lyes cross my back too, O how she stings! no treason to deliver me? Now what are you? do you mock me?

Enter 3. with Night-caps 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 parlous snuffing, but this same dampish air—

2 A dampish air indeed.

Rut. Blow your face tenderly, Your nose will ne're endure it: mercy o' me, What are men chang'd to here? is my nose fast yet? Me thinks it shakes i'th' hilts: pray tell me gentlemen, How long is't since you flourisht here?

3 Not long since.

Rut. Move your self 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. 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. [Ex. the 3.

Rut. Stay but a little, and I'le 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 Burs, 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.

Sul. 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 would not hold; Play me with some discretion; to day one course, And two dayes hence another.

Sulp. If you be so angry Pay back the mony I redeem'd you at And take your course, I can have men enough: You have cost me a hundred crowns since you came hither, In Broths and strength[n]ing Caudles; till you do pay me, If you will eat and live, you shall endeavour, I'le chain you to't else.

Rut. Make me a Dog-kennel, I'le keep your house and bark, and feed on bare bones, And be whipt out o' doors, Do you mark me Lady? whipt, I'le eat old shoes.

Enter Duarte.

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 couzen'd, I keep none here. [Exit.

Dua. Certain this is the Gentleman; The very same.

Rut. Death, if I had but mony, Or any friend to bring me from this bondage, I would Thresh, set up a Cobler's shop, keep Hogs, And feed with 'em, sell Tinder-boxes, And Knights of Ginger-bread, Thatch for three Half pence a day, and think it Lordly, From this base Stallion trade: why does he eye me, Eye me so narrowly?

Dua. It seems you are troubled Sir, I heard you speak of want.

Rut. 'Tis better hearing Far, than 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 call'd Duarte, A proud distemper'd 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 wisht the Gallows, now th'are 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 Duckets, 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 Knights adventures. I have a project, 'tis an honest one, And now I'le 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 sav'd 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 mony: 'Tis ready here, no threats, nor no orations, Nor prayers now.

Sulp. You do not mean to leave me.

Rut. I'le live in Hell sooner than here, and cooler. Come quickly come, dispatch, this air's unwho[l]som: Quickly good Lady, quickly to't.

Sulp. Well, since it must be, The next I'le fetter faster sure, and closer.

Rut. And pick his bones, as y'have done mine, pox take ye.

Dua. At my lodging for a while, you shall be quartered, And there take Physick for your health.

Rut. I thank ye, I have found my angel now too, if I can keep him. [Exeunt omnes.



Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Rutilio and Duarte.

_Rut. You like the Letter?

Dua. Yes, but I must tell you You tempt a desperate hazard, to sollicite The mother, (and the grieved one too, 'tis rumor'd) 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, than 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 cool'd me.

Dua. What is done Sir, I thought well done, and was in that rewarded, And therefore spare your thanks.

Rut. I'le no more Whoring: This fencing 'twixt a pair of sheets, more wears one Than all the exercise in the world besides. To be drunk with good Canary, a meer 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're 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 your self) for certain know, You kill'd her Son?

Rut. Give me a Book I'le swear't; Denyed me to the Officers, that pursued me, Brought me her self to th' door, then gave me gold To bear my charges, and shall I make doubt then But that she lov'd me? I am confident Time having ta'ne 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 mony, To ma[ke] you handsome; I'le about your business: You know where you must stay?

Rut. There you shall find me: Would I could meet my Brother now, to know, Whether the Jew, his Genius, or my Christian, Has prov'd the better friend. [Exit.

Dua. O who would trust Deceiving woman! or believe that one The best, and most Canoniz'd ever was More than a seeming goodness? I could rail now Against the sex, and curse it; but the theam 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 Mark'd out the great example, for all Matrons Both Wife and Widow; she that in my breeding Exprest the utmost of a Mothers 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 ow'd her Son; I fear her honour. That he was sav'd, much joyes me, and grieve only That she was his preserver. I'le try further, And by this Engine, find whether the tears, Of which she is so prodigal, are for me, Or us'd to cloak her base hypocrisie. [Exit.

Enter Hippolyta and Sulpitia.

Hip. Are you assur'd the charm prevails?

Sulp. Do I live? Or do you speak to me? Now this very instant Health takes its last leave of her; meager paleness Like winter, nips the Roses and the Lilies, The Spring that youth, and love adorn'd her face with. To force affection, is beyond our art, For I have prov'd all means that hell has taught me, Or the malice of a woman, which exceeds it, To change Arnoldo's love, but to no purpose: But for your bond-woman—

Hip. Let her pine and dye; She remov'd, which like a brighter Sun, Obscures my beams, I may shine out again, And as I have been, be admir'd 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 Governours Guard; her lovers tears; Her Fathers 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, stampt on her fore-head. 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 inchantment First seis'd upon her?

Zab. Taking the fresh air, In the company of the Governour, 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 Governour, And Clodio, for her unexpected freedom, As if she had been blasted, she sunk down, To their amazement.

Hip. 'Tis thy master-piece Which I will so reward, that thou shalt fix here, And with the hazard of thy life, no more Make tryal of thy powerful Art; which known Our Laws call death: off with this Magical Robe, And be thy self.

Enter Governour, Clodio, and Charino.

Sulp. Stand close, you shall hear more.

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 Saints place here, Than to endure, what now her sweetness suffers.

Char. Not for her fault, but mine Sir, Zenocia suffers: The sin I made, when I sought to rase down Arnoldo's love, built on a Rock of truth, Now to the height is punish'd. I profess, Had he no birth, nor parts, the present sorrow 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 vertuous Wives, be now no more remembred.

Char. The tales of Turtles, ever be forgotten, Or, for his sake believ'd.

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, and Char.

Sulp. Ten Colledges of Doctors shall not save her. Her fate is in your hand.

Hip. Can I restore her?

Sulp. If you command my Art.

Hip. I'le dye my self first. And yet I'le go visit her, and see This miracle of sorrow in Arnoldo: And 'twere for me, I should change places with her, And dye most happy, such a lovers tears Were a rich monument, but too good for her, Whose misery I glory in: come Sulpitia, You shall along with me, good Zabulon Be not far off.

Zab. I will attend you Madam. [Exeunt.

Enter Duarte, and a Servant.

Ser. I have serv'd you from my youth, and ever You have found me faithful: that you live's a treasure I'le 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 prepar'd.

Dua. Leave me, I'le stand the hazard. [Exit Servant. The silence that's observ'd, her close retirements, No visitants admitted, not the day; These sable colours, all signs of true sorrow, Or hers is deeply counterfeit. I'le look nearer, Manners give leave—she sits upon the ground; By heaven she weeps; my picture in her hand too; She kisses it and weeps again.

Enter Guiomar.

Gui. Who's there?

Dua. There is no starting back now Madam.

Gui. Ha, another murderer! I'le not protect thee, Though I have no more Sons.

Dua. Your pardon Lady, There's no such foul fact taints me.

Gui. 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.

Gui. 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 read this; You shall know better there, why I am sent, Than if I should deliver it.

Gui. From whom comes it?

Dua. That will instruct you. I suspect this stranger, Yet she spake 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 than mirth, These are strange changes; oh I understand it, She's full of serious thoughts.

Gui. You are just, you Heavens, And never do forget to hear their prayers, That truly pay their vows, the defer'd vengeance, For you, and my words sake so long defer'd, Under which as a mountain my heart groans yet When 'twas despair'd of, now is offer'd to me; And if I lose it, I am both wayes guilty. The womans mask, dissimulation help me. Come hither friend, I am sure you know the Gentleman, That sent these charms.

Dua. Charms Lady?

Gui. These charms; I well may call them so, they've won upon me, More than ere letter did; thou art his friend, (The confidence he has in thee, confirms it) And therefore I'le be open breasted to thee; To hear of him, though yet I never saw him, Was most desir'd of all men; let me blush, And then I'le say I love him.

Dua. All men see, In this a womans vertue.

Gui. I expected For the courtesie I did, long since to have seen him, And though I then forbad it, you men know, Between our hearts and tongues there's a large distance; But I'le excuse him, may be hitherto He has forborn it, in respect my Son Fell by his hand.

Dua. And reason Lady.

Gui. 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 tye 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 Manuel, Charino, Arnoldo, Zenocia, born in a chair. 2 Doctors, Clodio.

Doct. Give her more air, she dyes 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, cloth'd in this fair garment, That worthily deserves a better name Than flesh and bloud, now sue, and prevail for her. Or if those are denyed, 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 imploy it on.

Man. Wonders are ceas'd 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 stil'd 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 dye, robbing this age Of all that's good or gracefull, 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, than what art and experience Give us assurance of, we have us'd all means To find the cause of her disease, yet cannot; How should we then, promise the cure?

Arn. Away, I did bely you, when I charg'd you with The power of doing, ye are meer names only, And even your best perfection, accidental; What ever 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 th'art mercifull.

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 pleas'd, 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 easie As I to live without you; I am your husband, And long have been so, though our adverse fortune, Bandying us from one hazard to another, Would never grant me so much happiness, As to pay a husbands debt; despite of fortune, In death I'le follow you, and guard mine own; And there enjoy what here my fate forbids me.

Clod. So true a sorrow, and so feelingly Exprest, 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?

Hippolyta, 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 welcom Lady.

Hip. Sir, I come to do a charitable office, How does the patient?

Clod. You may enquire Of more than one; for two are sick, and deadly, He languishes in her, her health's despair'd of, And in hers, his.

Hip. 'Tis a strange spectacle, With what a patience they sit unmov'd! Are they not dead already?

Doct. By her pulse, She cannot last a day.

Arn. Oh by that summons, I know my time too!

Hip. Look to the man.

Clod. Apply Your Art, to save the Lady, preserve her, A town is your reward.

_Hip. I'le treble it, In ready gold, if you restore _Arnoldo_; For in his death I dye 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 reveng'd of, For now you may perceive, our thred 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.

Hip. I am much mov'd.

Clod. I am wholly overcome, all love to women Farewell for ever; ere you dye, 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 practis'd in my Country, Heaven witness, for your sake I here release it; So to your memory, chaste Wives and Virgins Shall ever pay their vowes. I give her to you; And wish, she were so now, as when my lust Forc'd you to quit the Country.

Hip. 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 recompence 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.

Hip. It is believe it, Sulpitia.

Enter a Servant, and Sulpitia.

Sulp. Madam.

Hip. Quick, undoe 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 sayes Sir, And does desire your presence. [They are born off in chairs.

Man. And tell her I'le come.

Hip. 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 your self, will be expected from you; Look to them carefully; and till the tryal,—

Hip. Which shall not be above four hours.

Man. Let me Intreat 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 faithfull promise You have made me all.

All. We do and will perform it.

Guio. The Governour will not fail to be here presently; Retire a while, till you shall find occasion, And bring me word, when they arrive.

All. Wee shall Madam.

Guio. Only stay you to entertain.

1 Ser. I am ready.

Guio. I wonder at the bold, and practis'd malice, Men ever have o' foot against our honours, That nothing we can do, never so vertuous, No shape put on so pious, no not think What a good is, be that good ne're so noble, Never so laden with admir'd 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 sav'd at what dear price sticks 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 ruine he had wrought me) Though at that time, my pious pity found him, And my word fixt; I am troubled, strongly troubled.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. The Gentlemen are come.

Guio. Then bid 'em welcome—I must retire. [Exit.

Enter Rutilio, and Duarte.

Ser. You are welcom Gentlemen.

Rut. I thank you friend, I would speak with your Lady.

Ser. I'le let her understand.

Rut. It shall befit you. How do I look Sir, in this handsome trim? [Exit Servant. Me thinks 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'le lay my head on't, I'le 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 nooze, 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 hours work, I'le make a Nun forget her beads in two hours.

Dua. She being set in years, next none of those lusters Appearing in her eye, that warm the fancy; Nor nothing in her face, but handsom ruines.

Rut. I love old stories: those live believ'd, Authentique, When 20. of your modern faces are call'd in, For new opinion, paintings, and corruptions; Give me an old confirm'd face; besides she sav'd me, She sav'd 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 wooe her? I have tryed sufficient All your young Phillies, I think this back has try'd 'em, And smarted for it too: they run away with me, Take bitt 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 shew 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 look'd on.

Rut. Mark, mark her eyes 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 Mothers 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 unmatch'd delight: I shall be thankfull 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. and 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. Fye Gentle Lady, This is not noble dealing.

Guio. Be you satisfied, I[t] 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 womens persecutions? Must I needs fool into mine own destruction? Have I not had fair warnings, and enough too? Still pick the Devils teeth? you are not mad Lady; Do I come fairly, and like a Gentleman, To offer you that honour?

Guio. You are deceiv'd Sir, You come besotted, to your own destruction: I sent not for you; what honour can ye add to me, That brake that staff of honour, my age lean'd on? That rob'd me of that right, made me a Mother? Hear me thou wretched man, hear me with terrour, And let thine own bold folly shake thy Soul, Hear me pronounce thy death, that now hangs o're thee, Thou desperate fool; who bad thee seek this ruine? 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 bloudy sword, cryed out against thee, Hatcht in the life of him? yet I forgave thee. My hospitable word, even when I saw The goodliest branch of all my blood lopt from me, Did I not seal still to thee?

Rut. I am gone.

Guio. And when thou went'st, to Imp thy miserie, Did I not give thee means? but hark ungratefull, 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 wandredst, To call my vow back, and pursue with vengeance With all the miseries a Mother suffers?

Rut. I was born to be hang'd, 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 Governour's come in.

Guio. O let him enter.

Rut. I have fool'd my self a fair thred 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 Governour, Clodio, Charino.

Gov. Are these fit preparations for a wedding Lady? I came prepar'd a guest.

Guio. O give me justice; As ever you will leave a vertuous name, Do justice, justice, Sir.

Gove. You need not ask it, I am bound to it.

Guio. Justice upon this man That kill'd 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.

Gove. Take heed Sir what you say.

Rut. I have weigh'd it well, I am the man, nor is it life I start at; Only I am unhappy I am poor, Poor in expence 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 rejoyce again, For though I cannot think, y'are pleas'd in blood, Nor with that greedy thirst pursue your vengeance; The tenderness, even in those tears denies that; Yet let the world believe, you lov'd Duarte; The unmatcht 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?

Gover. Yes.

Rut. I'le ask it for ye, I'le follow it my self, against my self. Sir, 'Tis most fit I dye; dispatch it quickly, The monstrous burthen of that grief she labours with Will kill her else, then blood on blood lyes on me; Had I a thousand lives, I'd give 'em all, Before I would draw one tear more from that vertue.

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 Son's 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?

Gover. 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.

Hip. 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 your self, 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.

Dua. You shall not, Yet turn and see good Madam.

Gove. Do not wonder. 'Tis he, restor'd again, thank the good Doctor, Pray do not stand amaz'd, 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 urg'd against you.

Rut. Madam, it was but justice.

Dua. 'Tis [t]rue, the Doctor heal'd this body again, But this man heal'd my soul, made my minde perfect, The good sharp lessons his sword read to me, sav'd me; For which, if you lov'd me, dear Mother, Honour and love this man.

Guio. You sent this letter?

Rut. My boldness makes me blush now.

Guio. I'le wipe off that, And with this kiss, I take you for my husband, Your wooing's done Sir; I believe you love me, And that's the wealth I look for now.

Rut. You have it.

Dua. You have ended my desire to all my wishes.

Gov. Now 'tis a wedding again. And if Hippolyta Make good, what with the hazard of her life, She undertook, the evening will set clear

Enter Hippolyta, 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 Restor'd unto her.

Zen. The gift of her goodness.

Rut. Let us embrace, I am of your order too, And though I once despair'd 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. Wee'l defer Our story, and at time more fit, relate it. Now all that reverence vertue, and in that Zenocias constancy, and perfect love, Or for her sake Arnoldo, join with us In th' honour of this Lady.

Char. She deserves it.

Hip. Hippolytas life shall make that good hereafter, Nor will I alone better my self but others: For these whose wants perhaps have made their actions Not altogether innocent, shall from me Be so supplied, that need shall not compel them, To any course of life, but what the law Shall give allowance to.

Zab. Sulpitia, Your Ladiships creatures.

Rut. Be so, and no more you man-huckster.

Hip. And worthy Leopold, you that with such fervour, So long have sought me, and in that deserv'd 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 unchast 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 crackt gold ever will weigh down Silver that's whole.

Gov. You shall be all my guests, I must not be denyed.

Arn. 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 swell'd with malice, to apply What is mirth here, there for an injurie. 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 finde One touch that may be wrested to her minde. 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 approv'd by you. Only 'twill crave attention, in the most; Because one point unmarked, the whole is lost. Hear first then, 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 usuall 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 alter'd, what so e're 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.

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 work-men in their Trade, At a time too, when they as I divine, Were truly merrie, 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 lawfull birth To passionate Scenes mixt 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 palats, and then judge their bill of fare. It were injustice to decry this now For being like'd before, you may allow (Your candor safe) what's taught in the old schools, All such as liv'd before you, were not fools.



The Epilogue.

I spake 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 weak-hearted. 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, Shew it with any sign, and from this place, Or send me off exploded, or with grace.



THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY.

A = The First Folio.

p. 302, l. 2. A omits Lists of Persons Represented in the Play and of principal Actors. l. 49. Second Folio misprints] Arnolda.

p. 303, l. 5. A] And that. l. 17. A] a conscience. l. 21. A] Customes. l. 24. A] In the world.

p. 304, l. 25. A] it can. l. 36. A] I A dainty wench. l. 37. A omits] I.

p. 305, l. 3. Second Folio misprints] yon. l. 11. A] wilde minde. l. 24. A] a heritage.

p. 306, l. 14. A] De'e doubt tis day now. l. 15. A] pulses.

p. 307, l. 32. A] This rogue that breaks.

p. 308, l. 7. A] speake.

p. 311, l. 31. A] alarums.

p. 312, l. 14. A] this marring. l. 15. A] sheckles. ll. 26-28. A adds in the margin] Boy ready for the songs.

p. 313, l. 13. A] But such a ransome. ll. 28 and 29. A adds marginal stage-direction] Bowle of wine ready. l. 31. A] And blushing and unloose.

p. 314, l. 39. A] alarums. ll. 7 and 9. Second Folio] Arn.

p. 316, l. 2. A] Pompean. l. 19. A] Ile ha' your life. l. 20. A prints this line as part of Charino's speech.

p. 317, l. 8. A omits] A. l. 23. A omits] o're.

p. 319, l. 8. A] Lisborne.

p. 321, l. 21. A] renders. l. 35. A] Lisborne.

p. 322, l. 14. A] aboord. l. 15. A] Yet my disguise. l. 30. A] the contempt.

p. 325, l. 10. A] And he in Lisbon. ll. 22-26. This speech is printed in A as a continuation of Arnoldo's.

p. 326, ll. 18 and 19. A adds in the margin] Tapers ready. l. 20. A] so, like a Turke. l. 26. Second Folio misprints] Of what. l. 34. Second Folio misprints] embace.

p. 327, ll. 2-10. A gives all these lines to Rutilio.

p. 328, ll. 5 and 6. A adds in margin] Lights ready. l. 33. A omits] Fight. l. 35. A omits] Falls. l. 38. Second Folio misprints] Governous.

p. 329, l. 4. A omits] 1.

p. 331, l. 30. A prints marginal direction] Hold a purse ready.

p. 333, l. 14. In A the words 'my state would rather ask a curse' are printed by mistake between ll. 16 and 17. l. 23. A] sight. l. 30. A] her Chamber.

p. 334. l. 17. A] but to a fortune. l. 21. A] bucket. l. 39. A prints the marginal direction (Musicke) at the end of the following line.

p. 335, l. 1. A omits] 1. l. 19. A] strike indeed.

p. 336, l. 1. A] attend her.

p. 341, ll. 14-16. A by mistake gives these lines as a continuation of Sulpicia's speech. l. 33. A] beaten off.

p. 342, l. 23. A] blow that part.

p. 344, l. 12. A] affection.

p. 345, l. 33. A] give that.

p. 346, l. 4. A] may cease.

p. 350, l. 18. A] a larum.

p. 352, l. 5. A] had. l. 13. Second Folio misprints] Portual.

p. 353, l. 29. A omits] will.

p. 354, l. 25. Second Folio] comanded.

p. 358, l. 31. A] angers.

p. 359, l. 13. Second Folio] you. l. 25 and 26. A transposes these lines. l. 26. A omits] not.

p. 361, l. 10. A] hopes. Lords againe. l. 38. A omits] and.

p. 365, l. 27. A] it will not hold. l. 33. A] lost me an. l. 34. Second Folio misprints] strengthing. l. 39. A] a dores.

p. 367, l. 4. A] adventure. 1. 20. Second Folio misprints] unwhosom.

p. 368, l. 38. Second Folio misprints] To may you.

p. 369, l. 27. A omits] do. l. 28. A] maugre.

p. 371, l. 9. A] sorrowes. l. 27. A omits] and.

p. 372, l. 18. A] visitance.

p. 373, l. 3. A] but to read.

p. 375, l. 11. A] Gives.

p. 376, l. 2. A] banding.

p. 379, l. 1. A] a foote. l. 9. A] stick. l. 23. A] welcome home, Gentlemen.

p. 380, l. 36. A] eye.

p. 381, l. 19. Second Folio] If.

p. 383, l. 13. A] Doore in.

p. 384, l. 25. Second Folio misprints] rrue.

P. 387, l. 13. A adds] For my Soune Clarke.

END OF VOL. I.

CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY JOHN CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.