_Rut_. 'Tis true, to marry is a Custom
I' the world; for look you Brother,
Wou'd any man stand plucking for the Ace of Harts,
With one pack of Cards all dayes on's life?

_Arn._ You do not
Or else you purpose not to understand me.

_Rut._ Proceed, I will give ear.

_Arn._ They have a Custom
In this most beastly Country, out upon't.

_Rut._ Let's hear it first.

_Arn._ That when a Maid is contracted
And ready for the tye o'th' Church, the Governour,
He that commands in chief, must have her Maiden-head,
Or Ransom it for mony at his pleasure.

_Rut._ How might a man atchieve that place? a rare Custom!
An admirable rare Custom: and none excepted?

_Arn._ None, none.

_Rut._ The rarer still: how could I lay about me,
In this rare Office? are they born to it, or chosen?

_Arn._ Both equal damnable.