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

Francis Beaumont

Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (1 of 10) – the Custom of the Country

Persons Represented in the Play

Count Clodio, Governour and a dishonourable pursuer of Zenocia.

Manuel du Sosa, Governour of Lisbon, and Brother to Guiomar.

Arnoldo, A Gentleman contracted to Zenocia.

Rutilio, A merry Gentleman Brother to Arnoldo.

Charino, Father to Zenocia.

Duarte, Son to Guiomar, a Gentleman well qualified but vain glorious.

Alonzo, a young Portugal Gentleman, enemy to Duarte.

Leopold, a Sea Captain Enamour'd on Hippolyta.

Zabulon, a Jew, servant to Hippolyta.

Jaques, servant to Sulpitia.

Doctor.

Chirurgion.

Officers.

Guard.

Page.

Bravo.

Knaves, of the Male Stewes.

Servants.

WOMEN.

Zenocia, Mistress to Arnoldo, and a chaste Wife.

Guiomar, a vertuous Lady, Mother to Duarte.

Hippolyta, a rich Lady, wantonly in Love with Arnoldo.

Sulpitia, a Bawd, Mistress of the Male Stewes.

* * * * *

The Scene sometimes Lisbon, sometimes Italy.

* * * * *

The principal Actors were Joseph Taylor. Robert Benfeild. John Lowin. William Eglestone. Nicholas Toolie. Richard Sharpe. John Underwood. Thomas Holcomb.

* * * * *

Actus primus. Scena prima

Rut. Why do you grieve thus still?

Arn. 'Twould melt a Marble, And tame a Savage man, to feel my fortune.

Rut. You love a Gentlewoman, a young handsom woman, I have lov'd a thosand, not so few.

Arn. You are dispos'd.

Arn. 'Tis true I love, dearly, and truly love, A noble, vertuous, and most beauteous Maid, And am belov'd again.

Rut. That's too much o' Conscience, To love all these would run me out o' my wits.

Arn. Prethee give ear, I am to Marry her.

Rut. Dispatch it then, and I'le go call the Piper.

Arn. But O the wicked Custom of this Country, The barbarous, most inhumane, damned Custom.

Arn. You do not Or else you purpose not to understand me.

Rut. Proceed, I will give ear.

Arn. They have a Custom In this most beastly Country, out upon't.

Rut. Let's hear it first.

Rut. How might a man atchieve that place? a rare Custom! An admirable rare Custom: 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 equal damnable.

Rut. Me thinks both excellent, Would I were the next heir.

Arn. To this mad fortune Am I now come, my Marriage is proclaim'd, And nothing can redeem me from this mischief.

Rut. She's very young.

Arn. Yes.

Rut. And fair I dare proclaim her, Else mine eyes fail.

Arn. Fair as the bud unblasted.

Rut. I cannot blame him then, if 'twere mine own case, I would not go an Ace less.

Arn. Fye Rutilio, 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 Counsel, How to avoid this blow, not to be mockt at, And my afflictions jeer'd.

And could pretend to th' place.

Arn. Draw off a little; Here comes my Mistress and her Father.

Rut. A dainty wench! Wou'd I might farm his Custom.

Zeno. I have considered.

Zeno. Good Father Hide not that bitter Pill I loath to swallow In such sweet words.

Rut. A good wench, She sticks close to you Sir.

Rut. Good wench still.

Zeno. And till he fling me off, as undeserving, Which I confess I am, of such a blessing, But would be loth to find it so—

Zeno. I ask but you, a pure Maid to possess, And then they have crown'd my wishes: If I fall then Go seek some better love, mine will debase you.

Arn. Does this seem handsome Sir?

Char. What I spake Gentlemen, was meer compulsion,

Rut. There's some grace in thee yet, you are determined To marry this Count, Lady.

Zen. Marry him Rutilio?

Rut. Marry him, and lye with him I mean.

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

Zeno. I'le dye an Atheist then.

Rut. I am afraid, this thing will make me vertuous.

Rut. You might have tryed a thousand women so, And 900, fourscore and 19 should ha' followed your counsel. Take heed o' clapping spurrs to such free cattell.

Arn. We must bethink us suddenly and constantly, And wisely too, we expect no common danger.

Zen. Be most assur'd, I'le dye first.

Clod. You need not now be jealous, I speak at distance to your wife, but when the Priest has done, We shall grow nearer, and more familiar.

Clod. Go and believe, a good belief does well Sir; And you Sir, clear the place, but leave her here.

Arn. Your Lordships pleasure.

Clod. That anon Arnoldo, This is but talk.

Rut. Shall we goe off?

Rut. Now do I long to worry him: Pray have a care to the main chance.

Zen. Pray Sir, fear not. [Exit Ar. and Rut.

Clod. Now, what say you to me?

Zen. Sir it becomes The modestie, that maids are ever born with, To use few words.

Zen. Faith Sir, 'twill not shew handsome; Our sex is blushing, full of fear, unskil'd too In these alarms.

Clod. Learn then and be perfect.

Zen. I do beseech your honour pardon me, And take some skilfull one can hold you play, I am a fool.

Zen. I am afraid Your honour's couzen'd in this calculation; For certain, I shall ne're have a child by you.

Clod. Why?

Zen. Because I must not think to marry you, I dare not Sir, the step betwixt your honour, And my poor humble State.

Clod. I will descend to thee, And buoy thee up.

Clod. Wee'l talk of that more.

Clod. Away, away fool, why dost thou proclame these To prevent that in me, thou hast chosen in another?

Clod. You will not marrie me?

Zen. I do beseech your honour, be not angry At what I say, I cannot love ye, dare not; But set a ransom, for the flowr you covet.

Clod. No mony, nor no prayers, shall redeem that, Not all the art you have.

Zen. Set your own price Sir.

Zen. My mind shall not pay this custom, cruel man. [Ex.

Clod. Your body will content me: I'le look for you. [Ex.

Rut. How now, what livery's this? do you call this a wedding? This is more like a funeral.

Rut. Yes they are knit; but must this slubberdegullion Have her maiden-head now?

Rut. And there's the scaffold where she must lose it.

Rut. No way to wipe his mouldy chaps?

Char. That we know.

Char. I wish it, [Exit Rut. And all my best devotions offer to it.

Clod. Now is this tye dispatch'd?

Char. I think it be Sir.

Clod. And my bed ready?

Char. There you may quickly find Sir, Such a loath'd preparation.

Char. I beseech your Lordship Load not a Fathers love.

Char. And I am frozen. [Exit.

Zen. Come fearless on.

Rut. Nay an I budge from thee Beat me with durty sticks.

Rut. That's a lye, A loud one, if you knew as much as I do, The Guard's dispers'd.

Arn. Fortune I hope invites us.

Clod. I can no longer hold, she pulls my heart from me.

Clod. My Guard.

Arn. One word more, and thou diest.

Arn. Pray take your pleasure Sir, And so we'l take our leaves.

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.

Char. Heaven send her far enough,

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.