Beaumont Fletchers Works, vol 2

Beaumont & Fletcher's Works,
vol 2

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (1 of
10) -
The Custom of the Country, by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
Edited by Arnold Glover
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Title: Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (1 of 10) - The Custom of the
Country
Author: Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher Edited by Arnold Glover
Release Date: April 15, 2004 [EBook #12039]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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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_.
Enter Rutilio, and Arnold[o].
_Rut._ Why do you grieve thus still?
_Arn._ 'Twould melt a Marble, And tame a Savage man, to feel my
fortune.
_Rut._ What fortune? I have liv'd this thirty years, And run through all
these follies you call fortunes, Yet never fixt on any good and constant,
But what I made myself: why should I grieve then At that I may mould
any way?

_Arn._ You are wide still.
_Rut._ You love a Gentlewoman, a young handsom woman, I have
lov'd a thosand, not so few.
_Arn._ You are dispos'd.
_Rut._ You hope to Marry her; 'tis a lawful calling And prettily
esteem'd of, but take heed then, Take heed dear Brother of a stranger
fortune Than e're 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 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.
Rut. 'Tis true, to marry is a Custom I' the world; for look you Brother,
Wou'd any man stand plucking for the Ace of Harts, With one pack of
Cards all dayes on's life?
_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.
_Arn._ That when a Maid is contracted And ready for the tye o'th'
Church, the Governour, He that commands in chief, must have her
Maiden-head, Or Ransom it for mony at his pleasure.

_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.
_Rut._ I tell thee Arnoldo, An thou wert my Father, as thou art