Beaumont Fletchers Works, vol 2 | Page 4

though they purge again to their first beauty, The sweetness of their taste is clean departed. I must have all or none; and am not worthy Longer the noble name of wife, Arnoldo, Than I can bring a whole heart pure and handsom.
Arnol. I never shall deserve you: not to thank you; You are so heavenly good, no man can reach you: I am sorrie I spake so rashly, 'twas but to try you.
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.
Enter Clodio, and Guard.
Rut. An't come to that once, The Devil pick his bones, that dyes a coward, I'le jog along with you, here comes the Stallion, How smug he looks upon the imagination Of what he hopes to act! pox on your kidneys; How they begin to melt! how big he bears, Sure he will leap before us all: what a sweet company Of rogues and panders wait upon his lewdness! Plague of your chops, you ha' more handsome bitts, Than a hundred honester men, and more deserving. How the dogg leers.
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.
Rut. I'le watch you for that trick, baboon, I'le Smoke you: the rogue sweats, as if he had eaten Grains, he broyles, if I do come to the Basting of you.
Arno. Your Lordship May happily speak this, to fright a stranger, But 'tis not in your honour, to perform it; The Custom of this place, if such there be, At best most damnable, may urge 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 undoubtedly Believe you are abus'd, this custome feign'd too, And what you now pretend, most fair and vertuous.
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?
Arn. By any means, I know she has pious thoughts enough to guard her: Besides, here's nothing due to him till the tye be done, Nor dare he offer.
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.
Clod. Do you see nothing in me? Nothing to catch your eyes, nothing of wonder The common mould of men, come short, and want in? Do you read no future fortune for your self here? And what a happiness it may be to you, To have him honour you, all women aim at? To have him love you Lady, that man love you, The best, and the most beauteous have run mad for? Look and be wise, you have a favour offer'd you I do not every day propound to women; You are a prettie one; and though each hour I am glutted with the sacrifice of beautie, I may be brought, as you may handle it, To cast so good a grace and liking on you. You understand, come kiss me, and be joyfull, I give you leave.
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.
Clod. I tell thee maid I love thee, Let that word make thee happie, so far love thee, That though I may enjoy thee without ceremony, I will descend so low, to marry thee, Me thinks I see the race that shall spring from us, Some Princes, some great Souldiers.
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.
Zen. I'le sink 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 marrying is a mad matter, Lighter a pair of shackles will hang on you, And quieter a quartane feaver find you. If you wed me I must enjoy you only, Your eyes must be called home, your thoughts in