 | The Pilgrim |  |
Actus Primus
Scæna Prima.
Enter Alphonso, Curio, Seberto.Curio.
Signor Alphonso, ye are too rugged to her,
Believe too full of harshnesse.
Al.
Yes, it seemes so.
Seb.
A father of so sweet a child, so happy,
(Fy Sir) so excellent in all endowments,
In blessednesse of beauty, such a mirror.
Alp.
She is a foole, away.
Seb.
Can ye be angry?
Can any wind blow rough, upon a blossom
So faire, and tender? Can a Fathers nature,
A noble Fathers too?
Al.
All this is but prating:
Let her be rul'd; let her observe my humor,
With my eyes let her see; with my eares listen;
I am her Father: I begot her, bred her,
And I will make her.
Cur.
No doubt ye may compell her,
But what a misceivous, unhappy fortune
May wayt upon this wil of yours, as commonly
Such forcings ever end in hates, and ruines.
Al.
Is't not a man I wish her to? a strong man?
What can she have? what could she have? a Gentleman?
A yong man? and an able-man? a rich man?
A handsome man? a valiant man? do you marke me?
None of your peeced-companions, your pin'd-Gallants,
That flie to fitters, with every flaw of weather:
None of your impt bravados: what can she ask more?
Is not a mettal'd-man fit for a woman?
A strong chindman? i'le not be foold, nor flurted.
Seb.
I grant ye Rodorgio is all these
And a brave Gentleman: must it therefore follow
Upon necessity she must doate upon him?
Will ye allow no liberty in choosing?
Cur.
Alas she is tender yet.
Al.
Enough enough, enough Sir:
She is malliable; shee'l endure the hammer,
And why not that strong workeman that strikes deepest?
Let me know that? she is fifteen, with the vantage,
And if she be not ready now for mannage—
Seb.
You know he is a banish'd man: an out-Law;
And how he lives: his nature rough, and bloody
By customary rapines: now, her sweet humor
That is as easy as a calme, and peacefull,
All her affections, like the dewes on Roses,
Faire as the flowers themselves: as sweet, and gentle:
How would you have these meet?
Al.
A bed, a bed sir:
Let her be the fairest Rose, and the sweetest,
Yet I know this faire rose must have her prickles:
I grant ye Rodorigo is an out-Law,
An easie composition cals him in again,
He is a valiant man, and he is a rich man,
And loves the foole: a little rough by custome:
Shee'l like him ten times better. Shee'l do at upon him,
If ere they come to grapling, run mad for him;
But there is an other in the wind, some castrell
That hovers over her, and dares her dayly,
Some flickring slave.
Cur.
I dare not think so poorely.
Al.
Something there is, and must be: but I shall sente it
And hunt it narrowly.
Seb.
I never saw her yet
Make offer at the least glance of affection,
But still so modest, wise.
Al.
They are wise to gull us,
There was a fellow, old Ferandos son,
I must confesse handsome, but my enemy,
And the whole family, I hate yong Pedro:
That fellow I have seen her gaze upon,
And turn, and gaze again, and make such offers
As if she would shoot her eyes like meteors at him:
But that cause stands removed.
Cur.
You need not doubt him,
For long since as 'twas thought on a griev'd conscience,
He left his father, and his friends: more pitty:
For truth reports he was a noble Gentleman.
Al.
Let him be what he wil: he was a begger,
And there i'le leave him.
Seb.
The more the Court must answer;
But certainly I think, though she might favour him,
And love his goodnesse, as he was an honest man:
She never with loose eyes stuck on his person.
Al.
She is so full of conscience too, and charity,
And outward holinesse, she will undoe me:
Relieves more beggers, then an hospitall;
En. Alinda, and Juletta.
And all poor rogues, that can but say their prayers,
And tune their pipes to Lamentations,
She thinks she is bound to dance to: good morrow to you,
And that's as ye deserve too: you know my mind,
And studdy to observe it: doe it cheerfully,
And readily, and home.
Alin.
I shall obey ye.
But noble sir.
Al.
Come, come, away with your flatteries,
And your fine phrases,
48
Pray ye be gentle to her:
Al.
I know 'em; and know your feates: if you will find me
Noble and loving, seek me in your duty,
You know I am too indulgent.
Seb.
Alas poor Lady.
Al.
To your devotions: I take no good thing from you
Come Gentlemen; leave pittying, and moaning of her,
And praysing of her vertues: and her whym-whams,
It makes her proud, and sturdy:
Seb., Cur.
Good houres wait on ye.
Exeunt
Alin.
I thank ye Gentlemen: I want such comforts:
I would thank you too father: but your cruelty
Hath almost made me senselesse of my duty,
Yet still I must know: would J had known nothing;
What Poor attend my charity to day, wench?
Jul.
Of all sorte, Madam; your open handed bounty
Makes 'em flock every houre: some worth your pitty,
But others that have made a trade of begging.
Alin.
Wench, if they ask it truly, I must give it:
It takes away the holy use of charity
To examine wants.
Jul.
I would you would be merry:
A cheerfull-giving hand, as I think, Madam,
Requires a heart as cheerfull.
Alin.
Alas Iuletta,
What is there to be merry at? what joy now,
Unlesse we foole our own afflictions,
And make them shew ridiculous?
Jul.
Sure Madam,
You could not seeme thus serious, if you were married,
Thus sad, and full of thoughts.
Alin.
Married? to whom, wench?
Thou thinkst if there be a yong handsome fellow
As those are plentifull, our cares are quenched then.
Iul.
Madam, I think a lusty handsome fellow
If he be kind, and loving, and a right one,
Is even as good a pill, to purge this melancholy,
As ever Galen gave, I am sure more naturall:
And merrier for the heart, then Wine and Saffron:
Madam, wantone youth is such a Cataplasme.
Alin.
Who has bin thy tutor wench?
Jul.
Even my own thoughts, Lady:
For though J be bard the liberty of talking,
Yet I can think unhappily, and as near the mark, Madam,
'Faith, marry, and be merry.
Alin.
Who wil have me?
Who wil be troubled with a tettish Girle?
It may be proud, and to that vice expencefull?
Who can assure himselfe, I shall live honest?
Jul.
Let every man take his fortune:
Alin.
And o' my conscience
If once I grow to breeding, a whole Kingdome
Wil not containe my stock.
Jul.
The more the merrier:
'Tis brave to be a mother of new Nations.
Alin.
Why, I should bury a hundred husbands.
Iul.
Tis no matter:
As long as ye leave sufficient men to stock ye.
Alm.
Is this thy mirth? are these the joyes of marriage?
Away light-headed foole; are these contentments?
If I could finde a man.
Jul.
You may a thousand.
Alin.
Meere men I know I may: and there a woman
Has liberty, (at least shee'l venture for it,)
To be a monster and become the time too;
But to enjoy a man, from whose example
(As from a compasse) we may steer our fortunes,
Our actions, and our age; and safe arive at
A memory that shall become our ashes,
Such things are few, and far to seek; to finde one
That can but rightly mannage the wild beast, woman,
And sweetly govern with her. But no more of this, wench,
Tis not for thy discourse: Lets in, and see
What poor afflicted wait our charity.
Exeunt.
Scæna Secunda.
Enter a Porter, 4. Beggers, Pedro, and a Pilgrime.Por.
Stand off, and keep your Rancks: twenty foot further:
There louse your selves with reason, & discretion.
The Sun shines warm: the farther still the better,
Your beasts wil bolt anon, and then tis dangerous.
1. Beg.
Heaven blesse our Mistris.
Por.
Does the crack go that way?
'Twil be o'th o'ther side anon.
2.
Pray ye friend.
Por.
Your friend? and why your friend? why, goodman turncoat
What dost thou see within me, or without me,
Or what itch dost thou know upon me, tell me,
That I should be thy friend? what do I look like
Any of thy acquaintance hoong in Gibbets?
Hast thou any Friends, Kindred, or Alliance,
Or any higher ambition, then an almes-basket?
2. Beg.
I would be your worships friend.
Por.
So ye shall Sirra,
When I quarter the same louse with ye.
3.
Tis twelve o' clock.
Por.
Tis ever so with thee, when thou hast done scratching,
For that provokes thy stomach to ring noon;
O the infinite Seas of porridge thou hast swallowd!
And yet thou lookst as if they had bin but Glisters;
Thou feedst abundance; thou hadst need of sustenance;
Almes do you call it to relieve these Rascals?
Enter Alphonso, Curio, Seberto.
Nothing but a generall rot of sheep can satisfie 'em.
Al.
Did not I tel you, how she would undo me?
What Marts of Rogues, and Beggers?
Seb.
Tis charity
Methinks, you are bound to love her for—
Al.
Yes, I warrant ye,
If men could sale to heaven in porridge pots,
With masts of Beef, and Mutton, what a voyage should I make?
What are all these?
1.
Poore people, and 't like your worship.
2.
Wretched poor people.
3.
Very hungry people.
Al.
And very Lousy.
4.
Yes forsooth, so, so.
Por.
I'le undertake five hundred head about 'em,
And that's no needy Grasier.
Al.
What are you?
Pil.
Strangers that come to wonder at your charity,
Yet people poore enough to beg a blessing.
Cur.
Use them with favour, sir, their shews are reverent,
It seemes ye are holy Pilgrimes?
Pil.
Ye ghesse right sir,
And bound far off, to offer our devotions.
Al.
What make ye this way? we keep no Reliques here,
Nor holy Shrines.
Pil.
The holiest we ere heard of;
Ye keep a living monument of goodnesse,
A Daughter of that pious excellence,
The very Shrines of Saints sinck at her vertues,
And swear they cannot hold pace with her pieties,
We come to see this Lady: not with prophane eyes,
Nor wanton bloods, to do at upon her beauties,
But through our tedious wayes to beg her blessings.
49
This is a new way of begging, and a neat one,
And this cries money for reward: good store too;
These commendations beg not with bag, and bottle;
Well, well, the sainting of this woman (Gentlemen)
I know what it must come too: these women saints
Are plaguy heavy saints: they out-waigh a he-saint
Three thousand thick; I know: I feele.
Seb.
Ye are more afraid then hurt sir.
Al.
Have you your commendations ready too?
He bowes, and nods.
Cur.
A handsome well built person.
Al.
What Country-craver are you? nothing but motion?
A puppet-Pilgrim?
Pil.
Hee's a stranger sir;
This foure dayes I have traveld in his company,
But little of his busines, or his Language
As yet, I have understood.
Seb.
Both yong, and handsome,
Only the Sun has bin too saucy with him.
Al.
Would ye have money sir, or meat? what kind of blessing
Does your devotion looke for? Still more ducking?
Be there any saints, that understand by signes only?
More motion yet? this is the prettiest Pilgrim,
The pinck of pilgrims: ile be for ye sir;
Do ye discourse with signes? ye are hartly wel come:
A poor viaticum; very good gold sir;
But holy men affect a better treasure.
I kept it for your goodnes, but neerthelesse
Since it can prove but burthensome to your holines,
And you affect light prayer, fit for carriage,
I'le put this up againe.
Cur.
Ye are too unreverent.
Al.
Ye talk too broad; must I give way, and wealth too
To every toy, that carries a grave seeming?
Must my good angels wait on him? if the proud hilding
Would yeild but to my wil, and know her duty
I knew what I would suffer.
Seb.
Good sir, be patient,
The wrongs ye do these men, may light on you,
Too heavy too: and then you wil wish you had said lesse;
A comly and sweet usage becomes strangers.
Al.
We shall have half the Kingdom strangers shortly,
And this fond prodigality be sufferd;
But I must be an asse, see 'hem relieved, sirah;
If I were yong again, I would sooner get beare whelps,
And safer too, them any of these She-saints,
But I will break her,
Cur.
Such a face for certain.
Seb.
Me thinks I have seen it too: but we are cozend;
But fair befall thee Pilgrim, thou lookst lovely.
Exit.
Por.
Will ye troop up, ye porridge Regiment?
Enter Alinda Iuletta.
Captain Poors quarter wil ye move?
Alin.
Ye dull Knave,
Are not these wretches served yet?
Beg.
'Blesse my Mistris.
Alin.
Do you make sport sir, with their miseries?
Ye drousie rogue.
Por.
They are too high fed, Madam,
Their stomacks are a'sleep yet.
Alin.
Serve 'hem plentifully,
Or i'le serve you out next: even out o' dores, sirah;
And serve 'em quickly too.
Beg.
Heaven blesse the Lady.
Alin.
Blesse the good end I meane it for.
Jul.
I would I knew it:
If it be for any mans sake, i'le cry amen too,
Well Madam, ye have even as pretty a port of pentioners.
Alin.
Vain-glory would seek more, and handsomer.
Ex.
But I appeale to vertue what my end is;
Beggers
What men are these?
Jul.
It seems they are holy Pilgrims:
That handsome youth should suffer such a pennance,
Would I were even the saint they make their vowes too,
How easily I would grant.
Pil.
Heavens grace in-wheele ye:
And all good thoughts, and prayers dwell about ye,
Abundance be your friend; and holy charity
Be ever at your hand' to crown ye glorious.
Alin.
I thank ye sir; peace guid your travels too,
And what you wish for most, end all your trobles;
Remember me by this: and in your prayers
When your strong heart melts, mediate my poor fortunes.
Pil.
All my devotions wait upon your service.
Alin.
Are ye of this Country, sir?
Pil.
Yes, worthiest Lady,
But far off bred: my fortunes farther from me.
Alin.
Gentle, I dare believe.
Pil.
I have liv'd freer.
Alin.
I am no inquisitor, that were too curious:
What ever vow, or pennance puls ye on sir;
Conscience, or love, or stubborn disobedience,
The saint ye kneel too, hear, and ease your travels.
Pil.
Yours neer begin: and thus I seal my prayers.
Ex.
Alin.
How constantly this man looks? how he sighes?
Some great affliction hatches his devotions,
Right holy sir: how yong, and sweet he suffers?
Iul.
Would I might suffer with him.
Alin.
He turns from us:
Alas he weeps too: something presses him
He would reveale, but dare not; sir, be comforted,
Ye come for that: and take it: if it be want, sir,
To me yee appear so worthy of relieving,
I am your steward: speak, and take: he's dumb still:
Now as I have a faith this man so stirs me,
His modesty makes me affraid I have trespassed.
Iul.
Would he would stir me too: I like his shape well.
Alin.
May be he would speak alone: go off Iuletta,
Afflicted hearts fear their own motions,
Be not far off.
Iul.
Would I were neerer to him,
A yong smug handsome holines has no fellow.
Exit
Alin.
Why do you grieve? do you find your pennance sharp?
O rare the vowes ye have made, too mighty for ye?
Do's not the world allure ye to look back
And sorrow for the sweet time ye have lost?
Ye are yong, and fair; be not deluded, sir;
A manly made up heart contemnes these shadows,
And yours appeares no lesse: greifes for your fears,
For houres ill-spent, for wrongs don rash, and rudely,
For fowle contempts for faiths ill violated,
Become fears well: I dare not task your Goodnes:
And then a sorrow shewes in his true glory
VVhen the whole heart is excellently sorry.
I pray ye be comforted.
Ped.
I am, deer Lady,
And such a comfort ye have cast upon me,
That though I struggle with mine own calamities
Too mighty, and too many for my mannage,
And though, like angry waves, they curld upon me
Contending proudly who should first devour me,
Yet I would stem their danger.
Alin.
He speaks nobly:
What do ye want?
Ped.
All that can make me happy:
I want my selfe.
Alin.
Your self? who rob'd ye Pilgrim?
50
I want my selfe: indeed, you holy wounderers
Are said to seek much: but to seek your selves.
Ped.
I seek my self; and am but my selfs-shadow:
Have lost my self; and now am not so noble.
Alin.
I seek my self: something I yet remember
That bears that Motto; 'tis not he: he is yonger,
And far more tender: for that self-sake (Pilgrim)
Be who it will, take this.
Ped.
Your hand I dare take,
That be far from me, Lady, thus I kisse it,
And thus I blesse it too; be constant fair still:
Be good, and live to be a great example.
Exit.
Alin.
One word more (Pilgrim) has amazd me strangly,
Be constant faire still: tis the posie here:
And here without, Be good: he wept to see me
Enter Iuletta
Juletta:
Iul.
Madam.
Alin.
Take this Key, and fetch me
The Marygold Jewell that lies in my little Cabinet:
I think tis that: what eyes had I, to misse him?
O' me, what thoughts? he had no beard then, and
As I remember well, he was more ruddy.
En Iuletta
If this be he, he has a manly face yet
A goodly shape.
Iul.
Here Madam?
Alin.
Let me see it:
Tis so, too true: It must be he, or nothing,
He spak the words just as they stand engraved here:
I seek my self, and am but my selfes-shadow:
Alas poor man: didst thou not meet him, Iuletta?
The Pilgrim wench?
Iul.
He went by long ago, Madam.
Alin.
I forgot to give him something.
Iul.
'Twas ill done Lady:
For, o' my troth, he is the handsomest man
I saw this many a day: would he had all my wealth,
And me to boote: what ayles she to grow sullen?
Alin.
Come, I forgot: but I will recompence it.
Exeunt.
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