Char.  What I spake Gentlemen, was meer compulsion,
No Fathers free-will, nor did I touch your person
With any edge of spight; or strain your loves
With any base, or hir’d perswasions;
Witness these tears, how well I wisht your fortunes. [Exit.

Rut.  There’s some grace in thee yet, you are determined To marry this Count, Lady.

Zen.  Marry him Rutilio?

Rut.  Marry him, and lye with him I mean.

Zen.  You cannot mean that, If you be a true Gentleman, you dare not, The Brother to this man, and one that loves him; I’le marry the Devil first.

Rut.  A better choice And lay his horns by, a handsomer bed-fellow, A cooler o’ my conscience.

Arn.  Pray let me ask you;
And my dear Mistris, be not angry with me
For what I shall propound, I am confident,
No promise, nor no power, can force your love,
I mean in way of marriage, never stir you,
Nor to forget my faith, no state can wound you. 
But for this Custom, which this wretched country
Hath wrought into a law, and must be satisfied;
Where all the pleas of honour are but laught at,
And modesty regarded as a may-game,
What shall be here considered? power we have none,
To make resistance, nor policie to cross it: 
’Tis held Religion too, to pay this duty.

Zeno.  I’le dye an Atheist then.

Arn.  My noblest Mistris,
Not that I wish it so, but say it were so,
Say you did render up part of your honour,
For whilst your will is clear, all cannot perish;
Say for one night you entertain’d this monster,
Should I esteem you worse, forc’d to this render? 
Your mind I know is pure, and full as beauteous;
After this short eclipse, you would rise again,
And shaking off that cloud, spread all your lustre.

Zeno.  Who made you witty, to undoe your self, Sir? 
Or are you loaden, with the love I bring you,
And fain would fling that burthen on another? 
Am I grown common in your eyes Arnoldo? 
Old, or unworthy of your fellowship? 
D’ye think because a woman, I must err,
And therefore rather wish that fall before-hand
Coloured with Custom, not to be resisted? 
D’ye love as painters doe, only some pieces,
Some certain handsome touches of your Mistris,
And let the mind pass by you, unexamined? 
Be not abus’d; with what the maiden vessel
Is seasoned first, you understand the proverb.

Rut.  I am afraid, this thing will make me vertuous.

Zeno.  Should you lay by the least part of that love Y’ave sworn is mine, your youth and faith has given 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