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


_Clod._ So true a sorrow, and so feelingly
Exprest, I never read of.
_Man._ I am struck
With wonder to behold it, as with pity.
_Char._ If you that are a stranger, suffer for them,
Being tied no further than humanity
Leads you to soft compassion; think great Sir,
What of necessity I must endure,
That am a Father?
Hippolyta, Zabulon, _and_ Sulpitia _at the door._
_Zab._ Wait me there, I hold it
Unfit to have you seen; as I find cause,
You shall proceed.
_Man._ You are welcom Lady.
_Hip._ Sir, I come to do a charitable office,
How does the patient?
_Clod._ You may enquire
Of more than one; for two are sick, and deadly,
He languishes in her, her health's despair'd of,
And in hers, his.
_Hip._ 'Tis a strange spectacle,
With what a patience they sit unmov'd!
Are they not dead already?
_Doct._ By her pulse,
She cannot last a day.
_Arn._ Oh by that summons,
I know my time too!
_Hip._ Look to the man.
_Clod._ Apply
Your Art, to save the Lady, preserve her,
A town is your reward.
_Hip. I'le treble it,
In ready gold, if you restore _Arnoldo_;
For in his death I dye too.
_Clod._ Without her
I am no more.


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