 | The Custome of the Countrey |  |
Actus Primus
Scæna Prima.
Enter Rutillio, and Arnoldo.Rut.
Why doe you grieve thus still?
Arn.
'Twold melt a Marble
And tame a savage man, to feele my fortune.
Rut.
What fortune? I have liv'd this 30. yeares
And run through all these follies you call fortunes
Yet never fixt on any good, and constant,
But what I made my selfe: 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 lov'd a thousand, not so few.
Arn.
You are dispos'd.
Rut.
You hope to marry her; 'tis a lawfull calling
And prettily esteem'd 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, vertuous, and most beauteous maid,
And am belov'd againe.
Rut.
That's too much a conscience
To love all these would run me out ô my wits.
Arn.
Prethee give eare, I am to marry her
Rut.
Dispatch it then, and I'le goe call the Piper.
Arn.
But ô the wicked Customes of this countrey
The barbarous, most inhumane, damned Custome
Rut.
'Tis true, to marry is a custome
In the world; for looke you brother,
Woo'd any man, stand plucking for the Ace of Harts,
With one packe of cards all dayes on's life?
Arn.
You doe not
Or else you purpose not to understand me
Rut.
Proceed, I will give eare.
Arn.
They have a Custome
In this most beastly countrey, out upon't.
Rut.
Lets heare it first.
Arn.
That when a maid is contracted
And ready for the tye o'th Church, the Governour,
He that commands in chiefe, must have her maiden-head
Or ransome it for mony at his pleasure.
Rut.
How might a man atchieve that place? a rare custome?
An admirable rare custome: 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 equall damnable.
Rut.
Me thinks both excellent
Would I were the next heire
Arn.
To this mad fortune
Am I now come, my marriage is proclaim'd.
And nothing can redeem me from this mischief,
Rut.
Shees very young;
Arn.
Yes.
Rut.
And faire I dare proclaime her
Else mine eyes faile,
Arn.
Faire as the bud unblasted.
Rut.
I cannot blame him then if 'twere mine own case.
I would not goe an ace lesse
Arn.
Fye Rutillio
Why do you make your brothers misery
Your sport and game?
Rut.
There is no pastime like it
Arn.
I look'd for your advice, your timely counsell,
How to avoid this blow, not to be mockt at,
And my afflictions jeer'd.
Rut.
I tell thee Arnoldo,
An thou wert my Father, as thou art but my brother,
My younger brother too, I must be merry
And where there is a wench it can, a young wench,
A handsome wench, and sooner a good turne too,
An I were to be hangd, thus must I handle it.
But you shall see Sir, I can change this habit
To doe you any service; advise what you please,
And see with what devotion I'le attend it?
But yet me thinks, I am taken with this custome.
Ent: Charino and Zenocia.
And could pretend to'th place.
Arn.
Draw off a little?
Here comes my Mistris and her Father.
Rut.
IA dainty wench;
Woo'd might farme his Custome
Char.
My deare daughter,
Now to bethink your selfe of new advice
Will be too late, later this timelesse sorrow,
No price, nor prayers, can infringe the fate
Your beauty hath cast on you, my best Zenocia,
Be rul'd by me, a Fathers care directs yee,
Looke on the Count, looke cheerfully and sweetly;
What though he have the power to possesse yee,
To plucke your maiden honour, and then slight yee
By custome, unresistable to enjoy you;
Yet my sweet childe, so much your youth and goodness
2
Have wonne upon his wilde minde, so much charm'd him
That all power laid aside, what Law allows him,
Or suddain fires, kindled from those bright eyes,
He sues to be your servant, fairly, nobly
For ever to be tyed your faithfull Husband:
Consider my best childe:
Zeno.
I have considered
Char.
The blessednesse that this breeds too, consider
Besides your Fathers Honour, your own peace,
The banishment for ever of this custome
This base and barbarous use, for after once
He has found the happinesse of holy marriage
And what it is to grow up with one beauty,
How he will scorne and kicke at such a heritage
Left him by lust and lewd progenitors.
All Virgins too, shall blesse your name, shall Saint it,
And like so many Pilgrims goe to your shrine,
When time has turn'd your beauty into ashes,
Filld with your pious memory.
Zeno.
Good Father
Hide not that bitter pill, I loth to swallow
In such sweet words:
Char.
The Count's a handsome Gentleman,
And having him, y'are certaine 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 ventur
All your owne sweets, and my long cares to nothing,
Nor are you certaine of his faith; why may not that
Wander as he does, every where?
Zen.
No more Sir;
I must not heare, I dare not heare him wrongd thus,
Vertue is never wounded, but I suffer.
'Tis an ill office in your age, a poore one,
To judge thus weakly: and believe your selfe too,
A weaker to betray your innocent daughter,
To his intemp'rate, rude, and wilde embraces,
She hates as Heaven hates falshood.
Rut.
A good wench,
She sticks close to you Sir.
Zeno.
His faith uncertaine?
The noblenesse his vertue springs from, doubted?
De'e doubt tis day now? or when your body's perfect,
Your stomacks well dispos'd, your pulses temperate,
De'e doubt you are in health? I tell you Father,
One houre of this mans goodnesse, this mans Noblenesse
Put in the scale, against the Counts whole being,
Forgive his lusts too, which are halfe his life,
He could no more endure to hold weight with him;
Arnoldoes very looks, are faire examples;
His common and indifferent actions,
Rules and strong ties of vertue: he has my first love,
To him in sacred vow I have given this body,
In him my mind inhabits.
Rut.
Good wench still
Zen.
And till he fling me off, as undeserving
Which I confesse I am, of such a blessing,
But would be loth to finde it so—
Arn.
O never;
Never my happy Mistris, never, never,
When your poor servant lives but in your favour,
One foote it'h grave, the other shall not linger,
What sacrifice of thanks, what age of service,
What danger, of more dreadfull looke then death,
What willing martyrdome to crown me constant
May merit such a goodnesse, such a sweetnesse?
A love so Nobly great, no power can ruine;
Most blessed maid goe on, the gods that gave this,
This pure unspotted love, the child of Heaven,
In their own goodnesse, must preserve and save it
And raise you a reward, beyond our recompēce;
Zen.
I aske but you, a pure maid to possesse,
And then they have crownd my wishes: If I fall then
Goe seek some better love, mine will debase you.
Rut.
A pretty innocent foole; well Governour,
Though I think well of your custome, & could wish my selfe
For this night in your place, heartily wish it:
Yet if you play not faire play, and above boord too,
I have a foolish gin here, I say no more;
I'le tell you what & if your honours guts are not inchanted
Arn.
I should now chide you Sir, for so declining
The goodnesse and the grace you have ever shewed me,
And your own vertue too, in seeking rashly
To violate that love heaven has appointed,
To wrest your daughters thoughts, part that affection
That both our hearts have tyed & seek to give it,
Rut.
To a wild fellow, that would weary her;
A Canniball, that feedes on the heads of maides,
Then flings their bones and bodies to the Devil,
Would any man of discretion venture such a gristle,
To the rude clawes of such a Cat-a-mountain?
You had better teare her between 2 Oaks, a Town bull
Is a meer Stoick to this fellow, a grave Philosopher,
And a Spanish Jennet, a most vertuous Gentleman.
Arn.
Does this seem handsome Sir?
Rut.
Though I confesse
Any man would desire to have her, and by any meanes,
At any rate too, yet that this common hang-man,
That hath whipt off the heads of a 1000. maids already
That he should gleane the harvest, sticks in my stomack:
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 deale tenderly in the businesse;
Or for my selfe that have a reputation,
And have studied the conclusions of these causes
And know the perfect mannage, I'le tel you old Sir,
If I should call you wise Sir, I should bely you,
This thing you study to betray your child to.
This Maiden-monger. When you have done your best
And think you have fixt her in the point of honour
Who do you think you have tyed her too? a Surgeon,
I must confesse an excellent defector,
One that has cut up more young tender Lamb-pies—
Char.
What I speake Gentlemen, was meer compulsion
No Fathers free-will, nor did I touch your person,
With any edge of spight; or straine your loves
With any base, or hired perswasions;
Exit.
Witnesse thsee tears, how well I wisht your fortunes.
Rut.
Theres some grace in thee yet, you are determined,
To marry this Count Lady,
Zen.
Marry him Rutillio?
Rut.
Marry him, and lye with him I meane,
Zeno.
You cannot meane that,
If you be a true Gentleman, you dare not,
The brother to this man, and one that loves him;
I'le marry the Devill first
Rut.
A better choice
And lay his hornes by a hansomer bedfellow,
A cooler o' my conscience
Arn.
Pray let me aske you;
And my deare Mistris, be not angry with me
For what I shall propound, I am confident,
3
I meane in way of marriage, never stirr you,
Nor to forget my faith, no state can wound you.
But for this custome, 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 policie to crosse it:
'Tis held religion too, to pay this duty.
Zeno.
I'le dye an Atheist then.
Arn.
My noblest Mistris
Not that I wish it so, but say it were so,
Say you did render up, part of your honour,
For whilst your will is cleare, all cannot perish;
Say for one night, you entertained this monster
Should I esteeme you worse, forc'd to this render?
Your minde I know is pure, and full as beauteous;
After this short eclipse, you would rise againe
And shaking of that cloud, spred all your lustre
Zeno.
Who made you witty, to undoe your selfe, Sir?
Or are you loden, with the love I bring you,
And faine would fling that burthen on another?
Am I growne common in your eyes Arnoldo?
Old, or unworthy of your fellowship?
Dee thinke because a woman, I must err,
And therefore rather wish that fall before hand
Coloured with custome, not to be resisted?
Dee love as painters doe, onely some peices
Some certaine handsome touches of your Mistris,
And let the minde passe by you, unexamined?
Be not abusd; with what the maiden vessell
Is seasond first, you understand the proverbe.
Rut.
I am afraid, this thing will make me vertuous,
Zeno.
Should you lay by the least part of that love
Y'aue sworne is mine, your youth & faith has given me,
To entertaine another, nay a fairer,
And make the case thus desp'rate, she must dye else;
D'ee thinke I would give way, or count this honest?
Be not deceiv'd, these eyes should never see you more,
This tongue forget to name you, and this heart
Hate you, as if you were borne, my full Antipathie.
Empire and more imperious love, alone
Rule, and admit no rivalls, the purest springs
When they are courted by lascivious land-floods,
Their maiden purenesse, and their coolenesse perish.
And though they purge againe to their first beauty,
The sweetnesse of their taste, is cleane departed.
I must have all or none; and am not worthy
Longer the noble name of wife, Arnoldo,
Then I can bring a whole hart pure & handsom.
Arnol.
I never shall deserve you: not to thanke you;
You are so heavenly good, no man can reach you:
I am sorrie I spake so rashly, t'was but to try you.
Rut.
You might have tryed a thousnd women so,
And 900, fourscore & 19 should ha'followed your counsell
Take heed o' clapping spurrs to such free cattell,
Arn.
We must bethinke us suddenly and constantly,
And wisely too, we expect no common danger.
Zen.
Be most assur'd, I'le dye first.
Enter Clodio and guard:
Rut.
An't come to that once,
The Devill picke his bones, that dyes a coward
I'le jog along with you, here comes the Stallion
How smug he lookes upon the imagination
Of what he hopes to act? pox on your kidnes,
How they begin to melt? how big he beares
Sure he will leape before us all: what a sweete company
Of rogues and panders, wait upon his lewdnesse?
Plague of your chops, you ha' more handsome bitts,
Then a hundred honester men, and more deserving
How the dogg leeres.
Clod.
You need not now be jealous
I speake at distance to your wife, but when the Preist has done
We shall grow nearer, and more familiar.
Rut.
I'le watch you for that tricke, baboone, I'le
Smoke you: the rogue swets, as if he had eaten
Graines, hee broyles, if I doe come to the
Basting of you.
Arno.
Your Lordship.
May happily speake this, to fright a stranger,
But 'tis not in your honour, to performe it;
The custome of this place, if such there be,
At best most damnable, may vrge you to it,
But if you be an honest man you hate it,
How ever I will presently prepare
To make her mine, and most undovbtedlye;
Beleeve you are abus'd, this custome fain'd to,
And what you now pretend, most faire and vertuous.
Clod.
Goe and beleeve, a good beleife does well Sir;
And you Sir, cleare the place, but leave her here.
Arn.
Your Lordships pleasure
Clod.
That anon Arnoldo,
This is but talke
Rut.
Shall we goe off?
Arn.
By any meanes
I know she has pious thoughts enough to guard her
Besides, heres nothing due to him till the tye be done
Nor dare he offer.
Rut.
Now doe I long to worry him:
Pray have a care to the main chance.
Ex. Arn. and Rut.
Zen.
Pray Sir feare not
Clod.
Now, what say you to me?
Zen.
Sir it becomes
The modestie, that maides are ever borne with,
To use few words.
Clod.
Doe you see nothing in me
Nothing to catch your eyes nothing of wonder,
The common mould of men, come short, and want in?
Doe you read no future fortune for your selfe here?
And what a happinesse, it may be to you,
To have him honour you, all women aime at?
To have him love you Lady, that man love you,
The best, and the most beauteous, have run mad for?
Looke and be wise, you have a favour offerd you
I doe not euery day propound to women;
You are a prettie one: and though each hower,
I am glutted, with the sacrifice of beautie,
I may be brought, as you may handle it,
To cast so good a grace and likeing on you,
You understand, come kisse me, and be joyfull,
I giue you leave.
Zen.
Faith Sir, twill not shew handsome;
Our sex his blushing, full of feare, unskild too,
In these alarums.
Clod.
Learne then and be perfect
Zen.
I doe beseech your honour pardon me,
And take some skilfull one, can hold you play,
I am a foole.
Clod.
I tell thee maide I love thee,
Let that word make thee happie, so farr love thee,
That though I may enjoy thee without ceremony,
I will descend so lowe, to marry thee,
Me thinkes I see the race, that shall spring from us,
Some Princes, some great Souldiers
Zen.
I am afraid.
4
For certaine, I shall nere haue a child by you.
Clod.
Why?
Zen.
Because I must not thinke to marry you,
I dare not Sir, the step betwixt your honour,
And my poore humble State.
Clod.
I will descend to thee,
And buoye thee up.
Zen.
I'le sinke to th'Center first,
Why would your Lordship marry, and confine that pleasure,
You ever have had freely cast upon you?
Take heed my Lord this marring is a mad matter,
Lighter a paire of sheckles will hang on you,
And quieter a quartaine feaver finde you
If you wed me I must enjoy you onely,
Your eyes must be cald home, your thoughs in cages,
To sing to no eares then but mine; your hart bound
The custome, that your youth was euer nurst in,
Must be forgot, I shall forget my duty else,
And how that will appeare,
Clod.
Wee'le talke of that more
Zen.
Besides I tell yee, I am naturally,
As all young women are, that shew like handsome,
Exceeding proud, being cōmended, monstrous.
Boy ready for the Songs
Of an unquiet temper, seldome pleas'd.
Unlesse it be with infinite observance.
Which you were never bred to; once well angerd,
As every crosse in us, provokes that passion,
And like a Sea, I roule, tosse, and chafe a weeke after.
And then all mischeife I can think upon,
Abusing of your bed the least and poorest,
I tell you what you'le finde, and in these fitts,
This little beauty, you are pleased to honour,
Will be so chang'd, so alterd to an uglinesse,
To such a vizard, ten to one, I dye too,
Take't then upon my death you murderd me,
Clod.
Away, away fool, why dost thou proclaime 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 counseld,
Take mony for my ransome, and forget me,
Twill be both safe, and noble for your honour,
And wheresoever my fortunes shall conduct me,
So worthy mentions I shall render of you
So vertuous and so faire.
Clod.
You will not marry me:
Zen.
I doe beseech your honour, be not angry
At what I say, I cannot love yee, dare not;
But such a ransome, for the flowre you covet
Clod.
No money, nor no prayers, shall redeeme that,
Not all the art you have
Zen.
Set your owne price Sir.
Clod.
Goe to your wedding, neuer kneel to me
When that's done, you are mine, I will enjoy you:
Your teares do nothing, I will not loose my custome
To cast upon my selfe an Empires fortune
Zen.
My minde shall not pay this custome, cruel man
Exit.
Clod.
Your body wil content me: I'le look for you,
Ex.
Enter Charino and servants in blackes. Covering the place with blackes.
Char.
Strew all your withered flowers, your Autumn sweets
By the hot Sun ravisht of bud and beauty
Thus round about her Bride-bed hang those blacks ther
The emblemes of her honour lost; all joy
Bowle of wine ready.
That leades a Virgin to receive her Lover,
Keepe from this place all fellow-maides that blesse her,
And blushing and unloose her Zone, keep from her:
No merry noise nor lusty songs be heard here,
Nor ful cups crownd with wine, make the rooms giddy;
This is no masque of mirth, but murdered honour.
Sing mournfully that sad Epithalamion,
I gave thee now: and prethee let thy Lute weepe.
Song, Dance. Enter Rutillio.
Rut.
How now, what livery's this? doe you call this a wedding?
This is more like a funerall.
Char.
It is one,
And my poor Daughter going to her grave,
To his most loth'd embraces that gapes for her.
Make the Earles bed ready, is the marriage done Sir?
Rut.
Yes they are knit; but must this slubberdegullion
Have her maiden-head now?
Arn.
Theres no avoyding it?
Rut.
And there's the scaffold where she must loose it.
Arn.
The bed sir?
Rut.
No way to wipe his mouldy chaps?
Char.
Thee we know
Rut.
To any honest wel-deserving fellow,
And 'twere but to a merry Cobler, I could sit still now,
I love the game so well, but that this puckfist,
This universall 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 tye dispathc'd?
Char.
I thinke it be Sir:
Clod.
And my bed ready?
wine
Char.
There you may quickly find Sir,
Such a loth'd preparation.
Clod.
Never grumble,
Nor fling a discontent upon my pleasure
It must and shall be done: give me some wine,
And fill it till it leape upon my lips:
Here's to the foolish maidenhead you wot of,
The toy I must take paines for
Char.
I beseech your Lord-ship
Load not a Fathers love,
Clod.
Pledge it Charino,
Or by my life I'le make thee pledge thy last
And be sure she be a maid, a perfect Virgin,
(I will not have my expectation dul'd)
Or your old pate goes off. I am hot and fiery
And my bloud beates alarums through my body
And fancie high. You of my guard retire,
And let me heare no noyse about the lodging
But musick and sweet ayres, now fetch your daughter,
And bid the coy wench put on all her beauties,
All her enticements, out-blush damask roses,
And dim the breaking East with her bright Christalls.
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, arm'd.
Zen.
Come fearelesse on
Rut.
Nay an I budge from thee
Beate me with durty sticks.
Clod.
What Masque is this?
What pretty fancy to provoke me high?
The beauteous Huntresse, fairer far, and sweeter;
Diana shewes an Ethiop to this beauty
Protected by two Virgin Knights.
Rut.
That's a lye,
A loud one, if you knew as much as I doe
5
Arn.
Fortune I hope invites us
Clod.
I can no longer hold, she puls my heart from me
Zen.
Stand, & stand sixt, move not a foote, nor speak not,
For if thou doest, upon this point thy death sits.
Thou miserable, base, and sordid lecher,
Thou scum of noble blood, repent and speedily,
Repent thy thousand thefts, from helplesse virgins,
Their innocence betrayed to thy embraces.
Arn.
The base dishonour, that thou doest to strangers,
In glorying to abuse the lawes of marriage,
Thy Infamy thou hast flung upon thy countrey,
In nourishing this black and barbarous custome
Clod.
My guard.
Arn.
One word more, and thou diest.
Rut.
One sillable
That tends to any thing, but I beseech you,
And as y'are Gentlemen tender my case,
And I'le thrust my javeling downe thy throate
Thou Dogg-whelpe, thou, pox upon thee, what
Should I call the? Pompean,
Thou kisse my Lady? thou scowr her chamber pot:
Thou have a mayden head? a mottly coate,
You great blinde foole, farewell and be hanged to yee,
Loose no time Lady.
Arn.
Pray take your pleasure Sir,
And so wee'l take our leaves
Zen.
We are determined,
Dye, before yield
Arn.
Honour, and a faire grave
Zen.
Before a lustfull bed, so for our fortunes.
Rut.
Du cat a whee, good count, cry, preethe 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
Cozend and baffuld? my guard there no man answer?
My guard I say, Sirra you knew of this plott.
Where are my guard? Ile ha' your life you villaine.
Char.
You politique oldth iefe.
Heaven send her far enough
Enter Guard.
And let me paye the ransome.
Guard.
Did your honour call us?
Clod.
Post every way, and presently recover,
The two strange Gentlemen, and the faire Lady,
Guard.
This day was married Sir.
Clod.
The same.
Guard.
We saw e'm
Making with all maine speed to'th port.
Clod.
Away villains.
Ex. Gard:
Recover her, or I shall dye; deale truely,
Didst not thou know,
Char.
By all thats good I did not
If your honour meane 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 robd mee villaine of a treasure.
Enter Guard.
How now?
Guard.
They'r all aboord, a bark rode ready for 'em,
And now are under sayle and past recovery
Clod.
Rig me a ship with all the speed that may be,
I will not loose her: thou her most false Father,
Shalt go along; and if I misse her, heare me,
Whole day will I studie to destroy thee.
Char.
I shall be joyfull of it; and so you'll finde me.
Ex. omnes.
| The Custome of the Countrey | |