Beaumont Fletchers Works, vol 2 | Page 4

me, To entertain another, nay a fairer,
And make the case thus desp'rate, she must dy else; D'ye think 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 born, my full Antipathie. Empire and more
imperious love, alone Rule, and admit no rivals: the purest springs
When they are courted by lascivious land-floods, Their maiden
pureness, and their coolness perish. And 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,

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