 | The Pilgrim |  |
Scena secunda.
Enter Roderigo, and foure Out-lawes.1 Out-l.
Captaine, y'are not merry.
Rod.
We get nothing,
We have no sport; whoring, and drinking spoiles us,
We keep no guards.
2.
There come no passengers,
Merchants, nor Gentlemen, nor whosoever,
But we have Tribute.
Rod.
And whilst we spend that idlely,
We let those passe that carry the best purchase.
Ile have all search'd & brought in; Rogues, and Beggars,
Have got the tricke now to become Banck-masters.
Ile have none scape: onely my friends, and neighbours,
That may deliver to the King my innocence;
Those I would have regarded; tis policy.
But otherwise nor gravities, nor shadows,
Appeare they how they will, that may have purses,
For they shall pay.
3.
Ye speake now like a Captaine.
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Will ye looke blith?
Rod.
You heare no preparation
The King intends against us yet?
4.
Not a word sir.
Good man, he's troubled with matter of more moment,
Hummings of higher nature vex his braines, sir;
Doe not we fee his garrisons?
Rod.
Who are out now?
4.
Good fellows sir, that if there be any purchase stirring
Will strike it dead; Jaques and Loper, Lads
That know their quarters, as they know their knapsaks;
And will not off.
Rod.
Where is the boy ye brought me?
A pretty lad, and of a quicke capacity,
And bred up neatly.
1.
He's within at meat, sir,
The knave is hungry: yet he seasons all
He eates or drinkes with many teares and sighings,
The saddest appetite I ever look'd on;
The boy is young, tis feare and want of company
He knows and loves: use him not rough, nor harshly,
He will be quickly bold; Ile entertaine him:
I want a pretty Boy to waite upon me,
And when I am sad or sleepy, to prate to me;
Besides there's something in his face, I like well.
And still the more I looke, more like; let him want nothing,
And use him gently, all.
2.
Here's a small Box, sir,
We tooke about him, which he griev'd to part with,
May be some wealth.
Rod.
Alas, some little money
The poore knave carried to defray his lodgings,
Ile give it him againe, and adde unto it.
'Twere sin to open such a petty purchase.
Enter Loper and Jaques, with Pedro.
How now, who is this? what have you brought me Souldiers?
Lop.
We know not wel what: a strange staving fellow,
Sullen enough I am sure.
Rod.
Where tooke ye him?
Jaq.
Upon the skirt o'th wood, veiwing, and gaping,
And sometime standing still, as if he had meant
To view the best accesses to our quarters;
Money he has enough: and when we threatned him,
He smil'd, and yeilded; but not one word utter'd.
Lop.
His habit saies he's holy: if his heart
Keep that proportion too, 'tis best ye free him,
We keep his Wallet here: I am sure tis heavy.
Rod.
Pilgrime: come hither sir; Are you a Pilgrime?
A piece of pretty holinesse: doe you shrinke sir?
A smug young Saint. What Countrey were you born in?
Ye have a Spanish face: In a dumb Province?
And had your mother too this excellent vertue?
No tongue do you say? sure she was a matchlesse woman;
What a fine family is this man sprung from!
Certaine he was begotten in a calme,
When all was husht: the Midwife was dumb Midnight;
Are ye seal'd up? or doe you scorne to answer?
Ye are in my hands, and I have medicines for ye
Can make ye speake: pull off his Bonnet, Souldiers;
Ye have a speaking face.
Lop.
I am sure a handsome:
This Pilgrime cannot want She-Saints to pray to.
Rod.
Stand neerer: ha?
Ped.
Come, do your worst; I am ready.
Rod.
Is your tongue found? go off, and let me talk with him;
And keepe your watches round.
All.
We are ready Captaine.
Rod.
So: now what are ye?
Ped.
Am I?
My habit shewes me what I am.
Rod.
Thy heart
A desperate foole, and so thy fate shall tell thee;
What devill brought thee hither? for I know thee.
Ped.
I know thou dost: and since it is my fortune
To light into thy fingers; I must thinke too
The most malicious of all devils brought me,
Yet some men say thou art Noble.
Rod.
Not to thee,
That were a benefit to mocke the giver:
Thy father hates my friends, and family,
And thou hast been the heire of all this malice.
Can two such stormes meet then, and part with kissing?
Ped.
You have the mightier hand.
Rod.
And so Ile use it.
Ped.
I cannot hinder ye: lesse can I beg
Submissive at his knees that knows not honour;
That bears the stamp of man, and not his nature;
Ye may doe what ye please.
Rod.
I will doe all.
Ped.
And when you have done all, which is my poore ruine,
(For farther your base malice cannot venture)
Dishonours selfe will cry you out a coward.
Hadst thou been brave, and noble and an Enemy,
Thou wouldst have sought me whilst I carried Armes,
Whilst my good Sword was my profession,
And then have cried out Pedro, I defie thee;
Then stuck Alphonso's quarrell on the point,
The mercenary anger thou serv'st under
To get his daughter. Then thou shouldst have brav'd me,
And arm'd with all thy families hate upon me,
Done something worthy feat: Now poore and basely
Thou setst Toyles to betray me; and like the Pesant,
That dares not meet the Lyon in the face,
Digst crafty pit-fals: Thou sham'st the Spanish honour:
Thou hast neither poynt of man, nor conscience in thee.
Rod.
Sir, sir, y'are brave; ye plead now in a Sanctuary;
You think your Pilgrimes bulwarke can defend ye:
You will not finde it so.
Ped.
I looke not for't.
The more unhallowed soule hast thou to offer it.
Rod.
When you were bravest, sir, and your Sword sharpest,
I durst affront ye: when the Court Sunne guilded ye,
And every cry was the young hopefull Pedro,
Alonsos sprightly sonne; then durst I meet ye,
When you were Master of this fame, and fashion,
And all your glories in the full Meridian,
The Kings proof-favour buckled on your body;
Had we then come to competition,
Which I have often sought.
Ped.
And I desired too.
Rod.
You should have seen this Sword, how ere you sleight it,
And felt it too; sharper then sorrow felt it,
In execution quicker then thy scornes;
Thou shouldst have seen all this, and shrunke to see it.
Then like a Gentleman I would have us'd thee,
And given thee the faire fortune of thy being,
Then with a Souldiers Arme I had honour'd thee;
But since thou stealst upon me like a Spie,
And thiefe-like thinkst that holy case shall carry thee
Through all my purposes, and so betray me,
Base as you act, thy end be, and I forget thee.
Ped.
What poore evasions thou buildst on, to abuse me?
The goodnesse of a man nere taught these principles.
I come a Spie? durst any Noble spirit
Put on this habit, to become a Traitor?
53
Where there is Christian faith, and this not reverenced:
I come a Spie? no Roderigo, no,
A hater of thy person, a maligner?
So far from that, I brought no malice with me,
But rather when I meet thee, teares to soften thee;
When I put on this habit, I put off
All fires, all angers, all those starts of youth
That clapt too ranke a biasse to my being,
And drew me from the right marke all should aime at;
In stead of stubborne steele, I put on prayers;
For rash and hasty heats, a sweet repentance:
Long weary steps, and vows, for my vain-glories.
O Roderigo.
Rod.
If thy tongue could save thee,
Prating be thy baile, thou hast a rare benefit.
Souldiers, come out, and bring a halter with ye;
Ile forgive your holy habit sir, but Ile hang you.
Enter Outlaws, Loper, Jaques.
1 Out-l.
Wherefore this halter Captaine?
Rod.
For this traytor.
Go, put it on him, and then tie him up:
1.
Do you want a Band sir? this is a course wearing,
Twill sit but scurvily upon this collar;
But patience is as good as a French Pickadell.
Lop.
What's his fault, Captaine?
Rod.
Tis my will he perish,
And thats his fault.
Ped.
A Captaine of good government.
Come Souldiers, come, ye are roughly bred, and bloody,
Shew your obedience, and the joy ye take
In executing impious commands;
Ye have a Captaine seales your liberall pardons,
Be no more Christians, put religion by,
Twill make ye cowards: feele no tendernesse,
Nor let a thing call'd conscience trouble ye;
Alasse, twill breed delay. Beare no respect
To what I seem: were I a Saint indeed,
Why should that stagger ye? you know not holinesse:
To be excellent in evill, is your goodnesse;
And be so, twill become ye: have no hearts,
For feare you should repent: that will be dangerous:
For if there be a knocking there, a pricking,
And that pulse beate backe to your considerations,
How ye have laid a stiffe hand on Religion—
Rod.
Trusse him I say.
Ped.
And violated faith,
Rod.
heare him not prate.
Ped.
Why, what a thing will this be?
What strange confusion then will breed among ye?
Rod.
Will none of ye obey?
Ped.
What devils vex ye?
The feares ye live in and the hourely dangers
Will be delights to these: those have their ends,
But these outlive all time, and all repentance:
And if it creep into your conscience once,
Be sure ye locke that close.
Rod.
Why stand ye gazing?
Ped.
Farewell sleep, peace, all that are humane comforts,
Better ye had been Trees, or Stones, and happier;
For those die here, and seeke no further being,
Nor hopes, nor punishments.
Rod.
Rots take ye Rascals.
Jaq.
What would you have us do?
Rod.
Dispatch the prater.
Jaq.
And have religious blood hang on our consciences?
We are bad enough already: sins enough
To make our graves even loath us.
Rod.
No man love me?
Lop.
Although I be a thiefe, I am no hangman;
They are two mens trades, and let another execute.
Lay violent hands on holy things?
Rod.
Base Cowards,
Put to your powers, ye Rascals, I command ye.
Holy, or unholy, if I say it,
Ile have it done.
1 Out-l.
If I do't, let me starve for't.
2.
Or I.
3.
Or I: we will obey things handsome,
And bad enough, and over doe obedience:
But to be made such instruments of mischiefe.
Jaq.
I have done as many villanies as another,
And with as little reluctation,
Let me come cleare of these, and wipe that score off.
Put me upon a felt and known perdition?
Rod.
Have ye conspir'd, ye slaves?
Ped.
How vildly this showes,
In one that would command anothers temper,
And beare no bound in's own?
Rod.
Am I thus jaded?
Ped.
Is it my life thou long'st for Roderigo?
And can no sacrifice appease thy malice,
But my blood spilt? doe it thy selfe, dispatch it;
And as thou takst the whole revenge unto thee,
Take the whole sin upon thee; and be mighty,
Mighty in evill, as thou art in anger:
And let not these poore wretches houle for thy sake.
Those things that in thine owne glasse seeme most monstrous,
Wouldst thou abuse their weak sights with, for amiable?
Is it, thou thinkst to feare me with thy terrors,
And into weake condition draw my vertue?
If I were now to learn to die I would sue to thee:
Or did I feare death, then I would make thee glorious.
But knowing what, and how far I can suffer;
And all my whole life being but deaths preface,
My sleep but at next doore.
Rod.
Are ye so valiant?
Ile make ye feele: Ile make ye know, and feele too;
And Rascals, you shall tremble. Keepe him here,
And keep him safe too: if he scape your guards—
Ped.
Feare not, I will not.
Rod.
As I live, ye die for't;
I will not be thus baffled.
Exit.
Ja.
What a divel have ye done, Pilgrim? or what mischief
Have you conspir'd, that he should rage and rave thus?
Have you kild his father, or his mother? or strangled any of his kindred?
Lop.
Has he no sisters? have you not been bouncing
About their belly-pieces?
Jaq.
Why should that be dangerous
Or any way deserve death? is it not naturall?
Bar us the Christian liberty of women,
And build us up with brick, take away our free-stone.
1 Outl.
Because thou art holier then he, upon my conscience
He dos not envy thee: that's not his quarrell;
For, look you, that might be cōpounded without praiers.
Lop.
Nor that thou seemst an honester man: for here
We have no trading with such Tinsell-stuffe;
To be an excellent thiefe, is all we aime at.
Wilt thou take a spit and stride, and see if thou canst outrun us?
Ped.
I scorn to shift his fury, keepe your obedience;
For though your governmennt admit no president,
Keep your selves carefull in't.
Jaq.
Thou will be hang'd then.
Ped.
I cannot die with fewer faults upon me.
54
Tis ten to one he wil shoot him: for the devil's in him
If he hang him himselfe.
Lop.
He has too proud a nature:
He will compell some one.
Jaq.
I am confident.
Lop.
And so are all I thinke.
Ped.
Be not molested,
If I must die, let it not trouble you;
It stirs not me: It is the end I was born for.
Onely this honest office I desire ye,
(If there be curtesie in men of your breed)
To see me buried; not to let his fury
Expose my body to the open violence
Of beasts, and fowles: so far I urge humanity.
Enter Roderigo, Alinda.
Jaq.
He shall not deny us that: we'l see ye under ground
And give ye a volley of as good cups of Sacke,
For that's our Discipline.
Lop.
He comes againe,
As high in rage as ever; the boy with him.
1 Out-l.
Will he compell the child?
Lop.
He is bent to doe it,
And must have some body.
Rod.
If thou lov'st me doe it:
Love me, or love me not, I say thou shalt doe it:
Stare not, nor stagger, sirra; if ye deny me,
Doe you see this Rogue?
Alin.
What would ye have me doe sir?
Heavens goodnesse blesse me.
Rod.
Doe? why hang a Rascall,
That would hang me.
Alin.
I am a boy, and weake, sir.
Rod.
Thou art strong enough to tie him to a Bough,
And turn him off: come, thou shalt be my Jewell,
And Ile allow thee horse, and all thy pleasures,
And twenty gallant things: Ile teach thee armes too;
Make thee mine heire.
Alin.
Let me inherit death first.
Rod.
Make me not angry, sirha.
Alin.
Which is the man, sir?
Ile pluck up the best heart I can yet.
Rod.
Feare not,
It is my will: That in the Pilgrimes coate there,
That devill in the Saints skin.
Alin.
Guard me goodnesse.
Rod.
Dispatch him presently.
Ped.
I wait your worst, sir.
Jaq.
will the boy doe it? is the rogue so confident?
So young, so deep in blood?
Lop.
He shakes, and trembles.
Ped.
Dost thou seeke more coles still to sear thy conscience,
Worke sacred innocence, to be a devill?
Doe it thy selfe for shame, thou best becomst it.
Rod.
Sirha, I scorn my finger should be filde with thee;
And yet Ile have it done: this child shall strangle thee;
A crying Girle, if she were here should master thee.
Ali.
How should I save him? how my self from violence?
Ped.
Leave your tongue-valour, & dispatch your hate, sir;
The patience of my death, shall more torment thee,
(Thou painted honour, thou base man made backward)
Then all my life has fear'd thee.
Rod.
Gag him, sirha.
Jaq.
The Boy looks cheerfully now: sure he will do it.
Lop.
He will mall him else.
Alin.
Are ye prepar'd to die, sir?
Ped.
Yes boy, and ready; prethee to thy businesse.
Alin.
Why are ye then so angry? so perplext, sir?
Patience wins Heaven, and not the heat of passion.
Why doe you rayle?
Lop.
The boy's a pretty Priest.
Ped.
I thank ye gentle child, you teach me truely.
Alin.
You seem to feare too.
Ped.
Thou seest more, then I feel, boy.
Alin.
You tremble sure.
Ped.
No sure boy, tis thy tendernesse:
Prethee make haste, and let that gulph be satisfied.
Alin.
Are ye so willing to goe to it?
Ped.
Most willing:
I would not borrow from his curtesie
One houre of life, to gaine an age of glory.
Alin.
And is your reckoning straight sir?
Ped.
As straight as truth, boy:
I cannot go more joyfully to a wedding.
Alin.
Then to your prayers: Ile dispatch ye presently.
Now guid my tongue, thou blessednesse.
Rod.
A good boy.
Alin.
But harke ye sir, one word; and pray ye resolve me.
Let me speake privately.
Rod.
What wouldst thou have child?
Alin.
Shall this man die?
Rod.
Why dost thou make that question?
Alin.
Pray ye be not angry: if he must, Ile doe it.
But must he now?
Rod.
What else? who dare reprieve him?
Alin.
Pray ye thinke againe; and as your injuries
Are great, and full, you suffer from this fellow,
Doe not ye purpose so to suit your vengeance?
Rod.
I doe, and must.
Alin.
You cannot if he die now.
Rod.
Cannot?
Alin.
No, cannot: be not vext, you'l finde it.
I have considered, and I know it certaine,
Ye suffer below him: lose all your angers.
Rod.
Why my best boy?
Alin.
I love, and tender ye,
I would not tell ye else. Is that revenge,
To sleight your cause, and Saint your enemy,
Clap the Doves wings of downy peace unto him,
And let him soare to Heaven, whilst you are sighing?
Is this revenge?
Rod.
I would have him die.
Alin.
Prepar'd thus?
The blessing of a father never reach'd it:
His contemplation now scornes ye, contemnes ye,
And all the tortors ye can use. Let him die thus;
And these that know and love revenge will laugh at ye:
Here lies the honour of a wel-bred anger,
To make his enemy shake and tremble under him;
Doubt: nay, almost despaire, and then confound him.
This man ye rocke asleep, and all your rages
Are Requiems to his parting soule, meere Anthems.
Rod.
Indeed he is strongly built.
Alin.
You cannot shake him;
And the more waight ye put on his foundation,
Now as he stands, ye fixe him still the stronger;
If ye love him, honour him, would heape upon him
Friendships and benefits beyond example,
Hope him a Star in Heaven, and there would stick him,
Now take his life.
Rod.
I had rather take mine own, Boy.
Alin.
Ile ease him presently.
Rod.
Stay, be not hasty.
Alin.
Blesse my tongue still.
Lop.
What has the boy done to him?
How dull, and still he lookes?
Alin.
You are a wise man.
55
A valiant man, and no doubt know both fortunes,
And would ye work your Master-peece thus madly,
Take the bare name of honour, that will pitty ye
When the world knows ye have prey'd on a poor Pilgrim?
Rod.
The Boy has staggard me: what would'st thou have me?
Alin.
Have ye? do you not feel Sir? do's it not stir ye?
Doe you aske a child? I would have ye do most bravely,
Because I most affect ye: like your selfe Sir,
Scorn him, and let him goe; seem to contemne him,
And now ye have made him shake, seale him his pardon,
When he appears a subject fit for Anger,
And fit for you, his pious Armour off,
His hopes no higher then your sword may reach at
Then strike, and then ye know revenge; then take it.
I hope I have turn'd his mind.
Rod.
Let the foole goe there,
I scorn to let loose so base an anger
May light on thee: See me no more, but quit me;
And when we meet again.
Ped.
I'le thank ye Captaine.
Exit.
Alin.
Why this was like your selfe: but which way goes he?
Shall we ne're happy meet?
Rod.
I am drowsie; Boy,
Goe with me, and discourse: I like thy company
O Child! I love thy Tongue.
Alin.
I shall waite on ye.
Exit.
Lo.
The Boy has don't: a Plaguey witty Rascall.
And I shall love him terribly.
Iaq.
'Twas he most certaine,
For if ye marke, how earnest he was with him,
And how he labour'd him.
Lop.
A cuning villaine,
But a good Rogue; 'This Boy will make's all honest.
1. Outl.
I scarce beleeve that: but I like the Boy well
Come, let's to Supper; then upon our watches.
Lop.
This Pilgrim scap'd a joyfull one.
Iaq.
Let's Drink round,
To the Boyes health, and then about our businesse.
Exeunt
| The Pilgrim | |