Beaumont Fletchers Works, vol 2 | Page 7

pass o're, as being brought up Under my wing; and growing ripe for
study, I overcame the tenderness, and joy I had to look upon him, and
provided The choicest Masters, and of greatest name Of Salamanca, in
all liberal Arts.
Man. To train his youth up. I must witness that.
Gui. How there he prospered to the admiration Of all that knew him,
for a general Scholar, 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 Son, and there Maintain'd him, in such
bravery and height, As did become a Courtier.
Man. 'Twas that spoil'd him, my Nephew had been happy. The Court's
a School indeed, in which some few Learn 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 been a happy man, had he ne're known What's there in
grace and fashion.
Gui. I have heard yet, That while he liv'd in Court, the Emperour Took
notice of his carriage and good parts, The Grandees did not scorn his
company, And of the greatest Ladies he was held A compleat
Gentleman.
Man. He indeed Daunc'd well; A turn o'th' Toe, with a lofty trick or two,
To argue nimbleness, and a strong back, Will go far with a Madam: 'tis
most true, That he's an excellent Scholar, and he knows it; An exact
Courtier, and he knows that too; He has fought thrice, and come off
still with honour, Which he forgets not.
Gui. Nor have I much reason, To grieve his fortune that way.

Man. You are mistaken, Prosperity does search a Gentlemans temper,
More than his adverse fortune: I have known Many, and of rare parts
from their success In private Duels, rais'd up to such a pride, And so
transform'd from what they were, that all That lov'd them truly, wish'd
they had fallen in them. I need not write examples, in your Son 'Tis too
apparent; for e're Don Duarte Made tryal of his valour, he indeed was
Admired for civil courtesie, but now He's swoln so high, out of his own
assurance, Of what he dares do, that he seeks occasions, Unjust
occasions, grounded on blind passion, Ever to be in quarrels, and this
makes him Shunn'd of all fair Societies.
Gui. Would it were In my weak power to help it: I will use With my
entreaties th' Authority of a Mother, As you may of an Uncle, and
enlarge it With your command, as being a Governour To the great King
in _Lisbon.
Enter_ Duarte and his Page.
Man. Here he comes. We are unseen, observe him.
Dua. Boy.
Page. My Lord.
Dua. What saith the Spanish Captain that I struck, 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 seems more willing To
sit down with the wrongs, than to repair His honour by the sword; he
knows too well, That from your Lordship nothing can be got But more
blows, and disgraces.
Dua. He's a wretch, A miserable wretch, and all my fury Is lost upon
him; holds the Mask, appointed I'th' honour of _Hippolyta_?

Page. 'Tis broke off.
Dua. The reason?
Page. This was one, they heard your Lordship Was by the Ladies
choice to lead the Dance, And therefore they, too well assur'd how far
You would outshine 'em, gave it o're and said, They would not serve
for foiles to set you off.
Dua. They at their best are such, and ever shall be Where I appear.
Man. Do you note his modesty?
Dua. But was there nothing else pretended?
Page. Yes, Young Don Alonzo, the great Captains Nephew, Stood on
comparisons.
Dua. With whom?
Page. With you, And openly profess'd that all precedence, His birth and
state consider'd, was due to him, Nor were your Lordship to contend
with one So far above you.
Dua. I look down upon him With such contempt and scorn, as on my
slave, He's a name only, and all good in him He must derive from his
great grandsires Ashes, For had not their victorious acts bequeath'd His
titles to him, and wrote on his forehead, This is a Lord, he had liv'd
unobserv'd By any man of mark, and died as one Amongst the common
route. Compare with me? 'Tis Gyant-like ambition; I know him, And
know my self, that man is truly noble, And he may justly call that
worth his own, Which his deserts have purchas'd, I could wish My birth
were more obscure, my friends and kinsmen Of