_Zen_. I'le sink to th' Center first. Why would your Lordship marry, and confine that pleasure You ever have had freely cast upon you? Take heed my Lord, this marrying is a mad matter, Lighter a pair of shackles will hang on you, And quieter a quartane feaver find you. If you wed me I must enjoy you only, Your eyes must be called home, your thoughts in cages, To sing to no ears then but mine; your heart bound, The custom, that your youth was ever nurst in, Must be forgot, I shall forget my duty else, And how that will appear-- _Clod_. Wee'l talk of that more. _Zen_. Besides I tell ye, I am naturally, As all young women are, that shew like handsome, Exceeding proud, being commended, monstrous. Of an unquiet temper, seldom pleas'd, Unless it be with infinite observance, Which you were never bred to; once well angred, As every cross in us, provokes that passion, And like a Sea, I roule, toss, and chafe a week after. And then all mischief I can think upon, Abusing of your bed the least and poorest, I tell you what you'le finde, and in these fitts, This little beauty you are pleased to honour, Will be so chang'd, so alter'd to an ugliness, To such a vizard, ten to one, I dye too, Take't then upon my death you murder'd me. _Clod_. Away, away fool, why dost thou proclame these To prevent that in me, thou hast chosen in another? _Zen_. Him I have chosen, I can rule and master, Temper to what I please, you are a great one Of a strong will to bend, I dare not venture. Be wise my Lord, and say you were well counsel'd, Take mony for my ransom, and forget me, 'Twill be both safe, and noble for your honour, And wheresoever my fortunes shall conduct me, So worthy mentions I shall render of you, So vertuous and so fair. _Clod_. You will not marrie me? _Zen_. I do beseech your honour, be not angry At what I say, I cannot love ye, dare not; But set a ransom, for the flowr you covet. _Clod_. No mony, nor no prayers, shall redeem that, Not all the art you have. _Zen_. Set your own price Sir. _Clod_. Goe to your wedding, never kneel to me, When that's done, you are mine, I will enjoy you: Your tears do nothing, I will not lose my custom To cast upon my self an Empires fortune. _Zen_. My mind shall not pay this custom, cruel man. [_Ex_. _Clod_. Your body will content me: I'le look for you. [_Ex_. _Enter_ Charino, _and servants in blacks. Covering the place with blacks_. _Char_. Strew all your withered flowers, your Autumn sweets By the hot Sun ravisht of bud and beauty Thus round about her Bride-bed, hang those blacks there The emblemes of her honour lost; all joy That leads a Virgin to receive her lover, Keep from this place, all fellow-maids that bless her, And blushing do unloose her Zone, keep from her: No merry noise nor lusty songs be heard here, Nor full cups crown'd with wine make the rooms giddy, This is no masque of mirth, but murdered honour. Sing mournfully that sad Epithalamion I gave thee now: and prethee let thy lute weep.