 | The Custome of the Countrey |  |
Scæna prima.
Enter Manuell du sosa. and Guiomar.Man.
I heare, and see, too much of him, and that
Compells me Madam, though unwillingly,
To wish I had no uncles part in him,
And much I feare, the comfort of a Son
You will not long enjoy.
Gui.
'Tis not my fault,
And therefore from his guilt my innocence
Cannot be taynted, since his Fathers death
(Peace to his soule) a Mothers prayers and care,
Were never wanting, in his education.
His child-hood I passe, as being brought up
Under my wing; and growing ripe for study,
I overcame the tendernesse, and joye
I had to looke upon him, and provided
The choicest Masters, and of greatest name
Of Salamanca, in all liberall Arts.
Man.
To train his youth up.
I must witnesse that.
Guio.
How there he prospered, to the admiration,
Of all that knew him, for a generall scholler,
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 Sonne and there
Maintaind him, in such bravery and height,
As did become a courtier.
Man.
'Twas that spoild him, my Nephew had beene hapy
The court's a schoole indeed, in which some few
Learne vertuous principles, but most forget,
What ever they brought thither good and honest.
Trifling is there in practice, serious actions,
Are obsolete and out of use, my Nephew
Had beene a happy man, had he ne're knowne
What's there in grace, and fashion.
Guio.
I have heard yet,
That while he liv'd in court, the Emperour
Tooke notice of his carriage and good parts,
The grandees did not scorne his company,
And of the greatest Ladies he was held,
A compleate Gentleman.
Man.
He indeed daunc'd well,
A turne o'th toe, with a loftie tricke or two,
To argue nimblenesse, and a strong backe,
Will go farr with a Madam: 'tis most true,
That hee's an excellent scholler, and he knowes it;
An exact courtier, and he knowes that too;
He has fought thrice, and come off still with honour,
Which he forgets not
Guio.
Nor I have much reason.
To greive his fortune that way,
Man.
You are mistaken,
Prosperity does search a Gentlemans temper,
More then his adverse fortune: I have knowen
Many, and of rare parts from their successe
In private duells, rais'd up to such a pride,
And so transformed from what they were, that all
That lov'd them truely, wish'd they had fallen in them.
I need not write examples, in your sone,
'Tis too apparent; for ere Don Duarte,
Made tryall of his valour, he indeed was
Admired for civill courtesy, but now
Hee's swolne so high, out of his owne assurance,
Of what he dares do, that he seekes occasions,
6
Ever to be in quarrels, and this makes him
Shund of all faire societies.
Guio.
Would it were
In my weake power to help it: I will use
With my entreaties th'authority of a mother,
As you may of an Vncle, and enlarge it
With your command, as being a governor
To the great King in Lisborne.
Enter Duarte and his Page.
Man.
Here he comes.
We are unseene, observe him.
Dua.
Boye
Page.
My Lord.
Dua.
What saith the spanish captaine that I strooke,
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 seemes more willing
To sit downe with the wrongs, then to repaire
His honour by the sword; he knowes too well,
That from your Lordship nothing can be got
But more blowes, and disgraces.
Dua.
Hee's a wretch,
A miserable wretch, and all my furie
Is lost upon him; holds the masque, appointed
Ith' honour of Hippolita:
Page.
'Tis broke off.
Dua.
The reason?
Page.
This was one, they heard your Lordship
Was by the Ladies choise to lead the dance,
And therefore they, too well assur'd how farr
You would out shine e'm, gave it ore and saied
They would not serve for foiles to set you off.
Dua.
They at their best are such, and ever shall be
Where I appeare.
Man.
Doe you note his modestie?
Dua.
But was there nothing else pretended?
Page.
Yes,
Young Don Alonzo, the great Captaines Nephew,
Stood on comparisons.
Dua.
With whom?
Page.
With you,
And openly profess'd, that all precedence,
His birth and state considered, was due to him
Nor were your Lordship to contend with one
So farr above you.
Dua.
I looke downe upon him
With such contempt and scorne, as on my slave,
Hee's a name onely, and all good in him,
He must derive, from his great grandures ashes,
For had not their victorious acts bequeath'd,
His titles to him, and wrot on his forehead,
This is a Lord, he had liv'd unobserv'd
By any man of marke, and died as one
Among the common route, compaire with me?
'Tis giant-like ambition; I know him,
And know my selfe, that man is truely noble,
And he may justly call that worth his owne,
Which his deserts have purchac'd, I could wish
My birth were more obscure, my freinds and kinsmen
Of lesser power, or that my provident Father,
Had been like to that riotous Emperour
That chose his belly for his onely heire;
For being of no family then, and poore
My vertues whereso'er I liv'd, should make
That kingedome my inheritance.
Guio.
Strange selfe love
Dua.
For if I studied the countries lawes,
I should so easily, sound all their depth,
And rise up such a wonder, that the pleaders,
That now are in most practice, and esteeme
Should starve for want of clients: If I traveld,
Like wise Vlysses to see men and manners,
I would returne in act, more knowing, then
Homer could fancie him; If a Physitian,
So oft I would restore death wounded men,
That where I liv'd, Gallen should not be nam'd,
And he that joyn'd againe the scatterd limbs
Of torne Hippolitus should be forgotten.
I could teach Ovid courtship, how to win,
A Julia, and enjoy her, though her dower
Were all the Sun gives light to: and for armes
Were the Persian host that drank up Rivers, added
To the Turkes present powers, I could direct,
Command, and marshall them.
Man.
And yet you know not
To rule your selfe, you would not to a boy else
Like Plautus Braggart boast thus.
Dua.
All I speake,
In act I can make good,
Guio.
Why then being Master,
Of such and so good parts doe you destroy them,
With selfe opinion or like a rich miser,
Hoard up the treasures you possess, imparting,
Nor to your selfe nor others, the use of them?
They are to you, but like inchanted viands,
On which you seeme to feed, yet pine with hunger;
And those so rare perfections in my son
Which would make others happy, renders me
A wretched Mother.
Man.
You are too insolent.
And those too many excellencies, that feed
Your pride, turne to a plurify, and kill
That which should nourish vertue; dare you think
All blessings are conferd on you alone.
Ya're grosly cousend; there's no good in you,
Which others have not: are you a Scholler? so
Are many, and as knowing: are you valiant?
Waste not that courage then in braules, but spend it
In the warres, in service of your King and Countrey.
Duarte.
Yes, so I might be generall, no man lives,
That's worthy to command me
Man.
Sir, in Lisborne
I am: and you shall know it; every hower
I am troubled with complaints of your behaviour
From men of all conditions, and all sexes.
And my authority, which you presume
Will beare you out, in that you are my Nephew,
No longer shall protect you, for I vowe
Though all that's past I pardon, I will punish
The next fault with as much severity
As if you were a stranger, rest assur'd on't.
Guio.
And by that love you should beare, or that duty
You owe a Mother, once more I command you
To cast this hautinesse off; which if you doe,
All that is mine, is yours, if not, expect
My prayers, and vowes, for your conversion onely,
But never meanes nor favour.
Exit. Manuell and Guiomar.
Dua.
I am tutord
As I if I were a child still, the base peasants
That feare, and envy my great worth, have done this;
But I will finde them out, I will aboord
Yet my disguise, I have too long been idle
Nor will I curbe my spirit, I was born free,
7
Exeunt.
Enter Leopold, Sailors, and Zenocia.
Leop.
Devide the spoile amongst you, this fair captive
I only challenge for my selfe.
Sail.
You have wonne her
And well deserve her: twenty yeares I have liv'd
A Burgesse of the Sea, and have been present
At many a desperate fight, but never saw
So small a barque with such incredible valour
So 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 the contempt of death wan more upon me
Then all they did, when they were free: me-thinkes
I see them yet when they were brought aboord us,
Disarm'd and ready to be put in fetters
How on the suddain, as if they had sworn,
Never to taste the bread of servitude,
Both snatching up their swords, and from this Virgin,
Taking a farewell only with their eyes,
They leapt into the Sea.
Sail.
Indeed 'twas rare.
Leop.
It wrought so much on me, that but I feard,
The great ship that pursued us, our own safety
Hindring my charitable purpose to 'em,
I would have took 'em up, and with their lives
They should have had their liberties.
Zen.
O too late
For they are lost, for ever lost
Leop.
Take comfort
'Tis not impossible, but that they live yet,
For when they left the ships they were within
A league o'th shore, and with such strength and cunning
They swimming, did delude the rising billows,
With one hand making way, and with the other,
Their bloudy swords advancst, threatning the Sea-gods
With war, unlesse they brought them safely off,
That I am almost confident they live
And you again may see them.
Zen.
In that hope
I brook a wretched being, till I am
Made certaine of their fortunes, but they dead
Death hath so many doores to let out life,
I will not long survive them.
Leop.
Hope the best,
And let the courteous usage you have found,
Not usuall in men of Warre perswade you
To tell me your condition.
Zen.
You know it,
A Captive, my fate and your power have made me,
Such I am now, but what I was it skills not:
For they being dead, in whom I only live
I dare not challenge family, or country
And therefore Sir enquire not, let it suffice,
I am your servant, and a thankfull 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 forme,
Which with a masculine constancy, I will not
Boldly looke on and suffer.
Leop.
You mistake me:
That you are made my prisoner, may prove
The birth of your good fortune. I doe finde
A winning language in your tongue and looks;
Nor can a suite by you mov'd be deni'd,
And therefore of a prisoner you must be
The Victors advocate
Zen.
To whom?
Leop.
A Lady.
In whom all graces that can perfect beauty
Are friendly met, I grant that you are faire:
And had I not seen her before, perhaps
I might have sought to you
Zen.
This I heare gladly,
Leop.
To this incomparable Lady I will give you,
(Yet being mine, you are already hers)
And to serve her is more then to be free,
At least I think so: and when you live with her,
If you will please to think on him that brought you
To such a happinesse, for so her bountie
Will make you think her seruice, you shall euer
Make me at your devotion
Zen.
All I can doe,
Rest you assur'd of.
Leop.
At night I'le present you,
Till when I am your guard
Zen.
Ever your servant.
Exeunt.
Enter Arnoldo and Rutillio.
Arn.
To what are we reserv'd?
Rut.
Troth tis uncertaine,
Drowning we have scap'd miraculously, and
Stand faire for ought I know for hanging; money
We have none, nor ere are like to have; 'tis
To be doubted: besides we are strangers,
Wondrous hungry strangers; and charity
Growing cold, and miracles ceasing,
Without a Conjurers help, cannot finde
When we shall eate agen.
Arn.
These are no wants
If put in ballance, with Zenocias losse;
In that alone, all miseries are spoken:
O my Rutillio, when I think on her,
And that which she may suffer, being a captive,
Then I could curse my selfe, almost those powers
That send me from the fury of the Ocean.
Rut.
You have lost a wife indeed, a faire and chast one,
Two blessings, not found often in one woman;
But she may be recovered, questionlesse
The ship that took us was of Portugall
And he in Lisbon, by some meanes or other
We may heare 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 money left?
Arn.
Not a Denier,
Rut.
Nor any thing to pawn? 'tis now in fashion,
Having a Mistris, sure you should not be
Without a neate historicall shirt.
Arn.
For shame
Talke not so poorly.
I must talke of that
Necessity prompts us to, for beg I cannot,
Nor am I made to creep in at a window,
To filch to feed me, something must be done,
And suddenly resolve on't.
Enter Zabulon and a servant.
Arn.
What are these?
Rut.
One by his habite is a Jew
Zab.
No more:
Thou art sure that's he.
Ser.
Most certaine.
Zab.
How long is it
Since first she saw him?
8
Some two hours.
Exit Ser.
Zab.
Be gone—let me alone to work him.
Rut.
How he eyes you,
Now he moves, towards us, in the Devills name
What would he with us?
Arn.
Innocence is bold:
Nor can I feare
Zab.
That you are poore and strangers,
I easily perceive
Rut.
But that you'le 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 Devill
Then any of your Nation.
Zab.
We are men,
And have like you, compassion when we finde
Fit subjects for our bounty, and for proofe
That we dare give, and freely, not to you Sir,
Pray spare your paines, there's gold, stand not amaz'd,
'Tis current I assure you
Rut.
Take it man.
Sure thy good Angel is a Jew, and comes
Tapers ready.
In his own shape to help thee: I could wish now,
Mine would appeare so, like a Turke.
Arn.
I thank you,
But yet must tell you, if this be the prologue
To any bad act, you would have me practice
I must not take it.
Zab.
This is but the earnest
Of that which is to follow, and the bond
Which you must seale to for't, is your advancement,
Fortune with all that's in her power to give,
Offers her selfe up to you; entertaine her,
And that which Princes have kneel'd for in vaine
Presents it selfe to you.
Arn.
'Tis above wonder
Rut.
But far beneath the truth, in my relation
Of what you shall possesse, if you embrace it.
There is an hour in each mans life appointed
To make his happinesse if then he seize it,
And this, (in which, beyond all expectation,
You are invited to your good) is yours,
If you dare follow me, so, if not, hereafter
Expect not the like offer.
Exit.
Arn.
'Tis no vision.
Rut.
'Tis gold I'm sure. We must like brothers share,
There's for you; by this light I'me glad I have it.
There are few gallants, (for men may be such
And yet want gold, yea and sometimes silver,)
But would receive such favours from the Divel,
Though he appeared like a broker, and demanded
Sixty ith' hundred.
Arn.
Wherefore should I feare,
Some plot upon my life? 'tis now to me
Not worth the keeping. I will follow him,
Farewell, wish me good fortune, we shall meete
Againe 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 cloake,
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 spoiles us;
The smooth chin carries all? whats here to do now?
Manet Rutillio.
Enter Duart, Alonso, and a Page.
Dua.
I'le take you as I finde you:
Alon.
That were base—you see I am unarm'd.
Dua.
Out with your bodkin
Your pocket dagger, your steletto, out with it,
Or by this hand i'le kill you: such as you are
Have studied the undoing of poore 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 repeale 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 returne.
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 you
Spight of the fashion, while I live, I am
Lights ready.
Instructed to goe arm'd: what folly 'tis
For you that are a man, to put your selfe
Into your enemies mercie.
Dua.
Yield it quickly
Or I'le cut off your hand, and now disgrace you,
Thus kicke and baffle you: as you like this
You may again prefer complaints against me
To my Uncle and my Mother, and then think
To make it good with a poniard.
Alon.
I am paid
For being of the fashion.
Dua.
Get a sword,
Then if you dare, redeeme your reputation:
You know I am easily found: Ile adde this to it
To put you in mind.
Rut.
You are too insolent,
And do insult too much on the advantage,
Of that which your unequall weapon gave you,
More then your valour.
Dua.
This to me you peasant?
Thou art not worthy of my foote poore fellow,
Tis scorne, not pitty, makes me give thee life:
Kneele 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,
I scorne to take blows.
Dua.
O I am slaine.
Page.
Help! murther, murther!
Alon.
Shift for your selfe you are dead else,
You have kill'd the Governours Nephew.
Page.
Raise the streetes there.
Alon.
If once you are beset you cannot scape,
Will you betray your selfe?
Rut.
Undone for ever.
Exit Rut. & Alonzo.
Enter Officers.
Off.
Who makes this out-cry,
Page.
O my Lord is murdered;
This way he tooke, make after him,
Help help there.
Exit Page.
2. Off.
'Tis Don Duart.
1. Off.
Pride has got a fall
He was still in quarrels, scorn'd us Peace-makers,
And all our bill-authority, now ha's paid for't.
You ha' met with your match Sir now, bring off his body
And beare it to the Governour. Some pursue
The murderer; yet if he scape, it skills not;
9
He ha's ridde the City of a turbulent beast,
There's few will pitty him: but for his Mother
I truly grieve indeed, shee's a good Lady.
Exeunt.
Enter Guiomar and Servants.
Guio.
Hee's not i'th house,
Ser.
No madam:
Guio.
Haste and seek him,
Goe all and every where, I'le not to bed
Till you returne him, take away the lights too,
The Moone lends me too much, to finde my feares,
And those devotions I am to pay
Are written in my heart, not in this booke,
Kneele.
And I shall reade them there without a taper,
Exit Serv.
Enter Rutillio.
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 fortune
My enemie on the Sea, and on the Land too,
Redeem'd from one affliction to another:
Would I had made the greedy waves my tombe
And dyed obscure, and innocent, not as Neroe
Smear'd ore with blood. Whither have my fears brought me?
I am got into a house, the doors all open,
This, by the largenesse of the roome, the hangings,
And other rich adornments, glistring through
The sable masque of night, sayes it belongs
To one of meanes and ranke: no servant stirring?
Murmur nor whisper?
Guio.
Who's that?
Rut.
By the voice,
This is a woman.
Guio.
Stephano, Jaspe, Julia,
Who waites 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 else
Presse to my private chamber. Whither would you,
Or what do you seeke for?
Rut.
Gracious woman heare me;
I am a stranger, and in that I answer
All your demands, a most unfortunate stranger,
That cald unto it by my enemies pride,
Have left him dead it'h streets, Justice pursues me,
And for that life, I tooke unwillingly,
And in a faire defence, I must lose mine,
Unlesse 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 deare unto you, by your vertues,
And by your innocence, that needs no forgivenesse
Take pitty on me.
Guio.
Are you a Castillian:
Rut.
No Madam, Italy claims my birth.
Guio.
I ask not
With purpose to betray you, if you were
Ten thousand times a Spaniard, the nation
We Portugals most hate, I yet would save you
If it lay in my power: lift up these hangings;
Behind my Beds head theres a hollow place,
Into which enter; so, but from this stir not
If 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 me
And search no further.
Rut.
The blest Saints pay for me
The infinite debt I owe you.
Guio.
How he quakes?
Thus far I feele his heart beate, be of comfort,
Once more I give my promise for your safety,
All men are subject to such accidents,
Especially the valiant; and who knows not,
But that the charity I afford this stranger
My only Son else-where may stand in neede of?
Enter Officers and servants with the body of Duart—Page.
1 Ser.
Now Madam, if your wisedome ever could
Raise up defences against floods of sorrow
That hast to overwhelme you, make true use of
Your great discretion.
2 Ser.
Your only sonne
My Lord Duart's slaine.
1 Off.
His murtherer, pursued by us
Was by a boy discovered
Entring your house, and that induced us
To presse into it for his apprhension.
Guio.
Oh?
1 Ser.
Sure her heart is broke.
Off.
Madam.
Guio.
Stand off,
My sorrow is so deare and pretious to me,
That you must not partake it, suffer it
Hold a purse ready.
Like wounds that do breed inward to dispatch me.
O my Duart, such an end as this
Thy pride long since did prophesie; thou art dead,
And to encrease my misery, thy sad mother?
Must make a wilfull shipwrack of her vow
Or thou fall unreveng'd. My soule's divided
And piety to a son, and true performance
Of hospitable duties to my guest,
That are to others Angels, are my furies.
Vengeance knocks at my heart, but my word given
Denies the entrance, is no medium left,
But that I must protect the murderer
Or suffer in that faith he made his Altar?
Motherly love give place, the fault made this way,
To keep a vow, to which high heaven is witnesse,
Heaven may be pleas'd to pardon.
Enter Manuel, Doctors, Surgeons.
Man.
'Tis too late
Hee's gone, past all recovery: now reproofe
Were but unseasonable when I should give comfort,
And yet remember Sister.
Guio.
O forbeare,
Search for the murtherer, and remove the body,
And as you thinke fit, give it buriall.
Wretch that I am, uncapable of all comfort,
And therefore I intreate my friends and kinsfolk,
And you my Lord, for some spare to forbeare
Your courteous visitations.
Man.
We obey you.
Exeunt omnes with the body.
Manet Guiomar.
Rut.
My spirits come back, and now despaire resignes
Her place againe to hope.
Guio.
What ere thou art
To whom I have given meanes of life, to witnesse
With what religion I have kept my promise,
Come fearlesse forth, but let thy face be cover'd,
That I hereafter be not forct to know thee,
For motherly affection may returne
My vow once paid to heaven. Thou hast taken from me,
The respiration of my heart, the light
Of my swoln eyes, in his life that sustain'd me:
Yet my word given to save you, I make good,
10
You are not knowne, there is no marke about you
That can discover you; let not feare betray you.
With all convenient speed you can, flie from me
That I may never see you; and that want
Of meanes may be no let unto your journie,
There are a hundred Crownes: you are at the doore now,
And so farewell for ever.
Rut.
Let me first fall
Before your feete, and on them pay the duty
I owe your goodnesse; next all blessings to you,
And heaven restore the joyes I have bereft you,
With full increase hereafter, living be
The Goddesse stil'd of Hospitalitie.
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