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"Fletcher's Works (1 of 10) - the Custom of the Country"

_ I have serv'd you from my youth, and ever
You have found me faithful: that you live's a treasure
I'le lock up here; nor shall it be let forth,
But when you give me warrant.
_Dua._ I rely
Upon thy faith; nay, no more protestations,
Too many of them will call that in question,
Which now I doubt not: she is there?
_Ser._ Alone too,
But take it on my life, your entertainment,
Appearing as you are, will be but course,
For the displeasure I shall undergo
I am prepar'd.
_Dua._ Leave me, I'le stand the hazard. [_Exit_ Servant.
The silence that's observ'd, her close retirements,
No visitants admitted, not the day;
These sable colours, all signs of true sorrow,
Or hers is deeply counterfeit. I'le look nearer,
Manners give leave--she sits upon the ground;
By heaven she weeps; my picture in her hand too;
She kisses it and weeps again.
_Enter_ Guiomar.
_Gui._ Who's there?
_Dua._ There is no starting back now Madam.
_Gui._ Ha, another murderer! I'le not protect thee,
Though I have no more Sons.
_Dua._ Your pardon Lady,
There's no such foul fact taints me.
_Gui._ What makes thou here then?
Where are my servants, do none but my sorrows
Attend upon me? speak, what brought thee hither?
_Dua.


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