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

I had no Uncles part in him,

      And much I fear, the comfort of a Son

      You will not long enjoy.

      Gui. 'Tis not my fault,

      And therefore from his guilt my innocence

      Cannot be tainted, since his Fathers death,

      (Peace to his soul) a Mothers prayers and care

      Were never wanting, in his education.

      His Child-hood I 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