 | The Pilgrim |  |
Scæna prima.
Enter Alphonso, Gent. Juletta.Gent.
You are now within a mile oth' Towne sir: if my businesse
Would give me leave, I would turne and waite upon ye;
But for such Gentlemen as you enquire of,
Certaine, I saw none such: But for the boy ye spoke of,
I will not say tis he, but such a one;
Just of that height.
Alph.
In such clothes?
Gent.
I much mistake else,
Was sent in th'other night, a little maddish,
And where such people waite their cures.
Alp.
I understand ye.
Gent.
There you may quickly know.
Alp.
I thanke ye sir.
Jul.
So doe I to: and if there be such a place,
I aske no more; but you shall heare more of me.
She may be there, and you may play the tyrant;
Ile see what I can doe: I am almost foundred
In following him; and yet Ile never leave him,
Ile crawle of all foure first; my cause is meritorious,
And come what can come.
Gent.
All you have told me is certaine;
Complexion, and all else.
Alph.
It may be she then;
And ile so fumble her: Is she growne mad now?
Is her blood set so high? ile have her madded,
Ile have her worm'd.
Jul.
Marke but the end, old Master,
If thou beest not sicke oth' Bots within these five hours,
And kickst and roar'st; Ile make ye fart fire, Signior,
Enter Alinda, as a foole.
Gent.
Here's one oth' house, a foole, an idiot sir;
May be she is going home; she'l be a guide to ye:
And so I kisse your hand.
Exit.
Alph.
I am your servant.
Alin.
O now I am lost, lost, lost, Lord, how I tremble!
60
This is more misery then I have scap'd yet.
Alp.
Foole, foole.
Alin.
He knows me not; will ye give me two-pence?
And gaffer, here's a Crow-flower, and a Dazie;
I have some pie in my pocket too.
Alp.
This is an arrant foole,
An ignorant thing.
Alin.
Believe so, and I am happy.
Alp.
Dost thou dwell in Sigonia, foole?
Alin.
No no, I dwell in Heaven.
And I have a fine little house, made of Marmalad.
And I am a lone woman, and I spin for Saint Peter;
I have a hundred little children, and they sing Psalmes with me.
Alp.
Tis pity this pretty thing should want understanding.
But why doe I stand talking with a coxcombe?
If I doe finde her, if I light upon her,
Ile say no more. Is this the way to th'Town, foole?
Alin.
You must goe over the top of that high steeple, Gaffer.
Alp.
A plague o' your fooles face.
Jul.
No, take her counsell.
Alin.
And then you shall come to a River twenty mile over,
And twenty mile & ten: and then you must pray, Gaffer;
And still you must pray, and pray.
Alp.
Pray Heaven deliver me
From such an asse, as thou art.
Alin.
Amen, sweet Gaffer.
And fling a sop of Suger-cake into it;
And then you must leap in naked.
Jul.
Would he would believe her.
Alin.
And sink seven daies together; can ye sinck gaffer?
Alp.
Yes coxcombe, yes; prethee farewell: a pox on thee.
A plague o' that foole too, that set me upon thee.
Alin.
And then Ile bring you a sup of Milke shal sarve ye:
I am going to get Apples.
Alp.
Go to th'devill:
Was ever man tormented with a puppy thus?
Thou tell me news? thou be a guide?
Alin.
And then Nunkle—
Alp.
Prethee keepe on thy way (good Naunt) I could rayle now
These ten houres at mine owne improvidence:
Get Apples, and be choak'd: farewell.
Exit.
Alin.
Farewell Nuncle.
Jul.
I rejoyce in any thing that vexes him;
And I shall love this foole extreamly for't:
Could I but see my Mistris now, to tell her
How I have truely, honestly wrought for her,
How I have worne my selfe away, to serve her.
Foole, there's a Royall for the sport thou mad'st me,
In crossing that old foole, that parted from thee.
Alin.
Thou art honest sure; but yet thou must not see me:
I thanke ye little Gentleman: Heaven blesse ye
And ile pray for ye too: pray ye keep this Nutmeg,
Twas sent me from the Lady of the Mountaine.
A golden Lady.
Jul.
How prettily it prattles.
Alin.
Tis very good to rub your understanding:
And so good night: the Moone's up.
Jul.
Pretty innocent.
Alin.
Now fortune, if thou dar'st do good, protect me.
Exit.
Jul.
Ile follow him to yond Towne: he shall not scape me:
Stay, I must counterfeit a Letter by the way first,
And one that must carry some credit with it: I am wide else,
And all this to no purpose that I ayme at.
A Letter must be had, and neatly handled:
And then if Goodwife fortune doe not faile me,
Have at his skirts: I shall worse anger him
Then ever I have done, and worse torment him.
It do's me good to thinke how I shall conjure him.
And crucifie his crabbednesse: he's my Master,
But that's all one: Ile lay that on the left hand.
He would now persecute my harmlesse Mistris,
A fault without forgivenesse, as I take it;
And under that bold banner flies my vengeance,
A meritorious war, and so Ile make it.
I'th' name of Innocence, what's this the foole gave me?
She said twas good to rub my understanding.
What strange concealment? Bread or Cheese, or a Chesnut?
Ha! tis a Ring: a pretty Ring, a right one:
A ring I know too! the very same Ring:
O admirable Blockhead! O base eyes!
A Ring my Mistris tooke from me, and wore it;
I know it by the Posie: Prick me, and heale me.
None could deliver this, but she her selfe too:
Am I twice sand-blind? twice so neer the blessing
I would arive at? and block-like never know it?
I am veng'ance angry, but that shal light on thee,
And heavily, and quickly, I pronounce it:
There are so many crosse waies, there's no following her:
And yet I must not now: I hope she is right still,
For all her outward shew, for sure she knew me;
And in that hope, some few houres Ile forget her.
Exit.
| The Pilgrim | |