SCENE II.

_Enter_ Roderigo, _and four Out-Laws._

_1 Out-law._ Captain, y'are not merry.

_Rod._ We get nothing, We have no sport; whoring and drinking spoils us, We keep no Guards.

_2 Out-law._ There come no Passengers, Merchants, nor Gentlemen, nor whosoever, But we have tribute.

_Rod._ And whilst we spend that idlely, We let those pass that carry the best purchase. I'll have all search'd, and brought in: Rogues, and Beggars, Have got the trick now to become Bank-masters. I'll have none scape; only 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, Appear they how they will, they may have purses, For they shall pay.

3 _Out-law._ You speak now like a Captain. And if we spare, fley us, and coin our Cassocks, Will ye look blith?

_Rod._ You hear no preparation The King intends against us yet?

4 _Out-law._ Not a word, Sir, Good man, he's troubled with matter of more moment, Hummings of higher nature vex his brains, Sir, Do not we see his Garrisons?

_Rod._ Who are out now?

4 _Out-law._ Good fellows, Sir, that if there be any purchase stirring Will strike it dead; _Jaques_, and _Lopez_, Lads, That know their Quarters, as they know their Knapsacks; And will not off.

_Rod._ Where is the Boy ye brought me? A pretty Lad, and of a quick capacity, And bred up neatly.

1 _Out-law._ He's within at meat, Sir, The Knave is hungry, yet he seasons all He eats or drinks with many tears and sighings, The saddest appetite I ever lookt on; The Boy is young, 'tis fear, and want of company, He knows, and loves; use him not rough, and harshly, He will be quickly bold; I'll entertain him; I want a pretty Boy to wait 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 look, more like; let him want nothing, And use him gently, all.

_2 Out-law._ Here's a small Box, Sir, We took about him, which he griev'd to part with, May be some Wealth.

_Rod._ Alas, some little money The poor Knave carried to defray his lodgings, I'll give it him again, and add unto it. 'Twere sin to open such a petty purchase.

_Enter_ Lopez, _and_ Jaques _with_ Pedro.

How now, who is this? what have you brought me, Souldiers?

_Lop._ We know not well, what a strange staving fellow, Sullen enough I am sure.

_Rod._ Where took ye him?

_Jaq._ Upon the Skirt o' th' wood, viewing, 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 yielded; but not one word utter'd.

_Lop._ His habit says 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._ Pilgrim, come hither, Sir, are you a Pilgrim? A piece of pretty holiness; do you shrink, Sir? A smug young Saint. What Country 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 matchless woman; What a fine family is this man sprung from! Certain he was begotten in a Calm, When all was hush'd; the Midwife was dumb Midnight; Are ye seal'd up? or do you scorn to answer? Ye are in my hands, and I have Medicines for ye Can make ye speak: pull off his Bonnet, Souldiers; Ye have a speaking face.

_Lop._ I am sure a handsome; This Pilgrim cannot want She-Saints to pray to.

_Rod._ Stand nearer, ha?

_Ped._ Come, do your worst, I am ready.

_Rod._ Is your tongue found? go off, and let me talk with him; And keep your watches round.

_All._ We are ready, Captain.

_Rod._ So, now what are ye?

_Ped._ Am I? My habit shews me what I am.

_Rod._ Thy heart A desperate fool, and so thy fate shall tell thee. What Devil 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 think 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 mock the Giver; Thy father hates my friends, and family, And thou hast been the heir of all this malice. Can two such storms meet then, and part with kissing?

_Ped._ You have the mightier hand.

_Rod._ And so I'll use it.

_Ped._ I cannot hinder ye; less can I beg Submissive at his knees that knows not honour, That bears the Stamp of Man, and not his Nature; Ye may do what ye please.

_Rod._ I will do all.

_Ped._ And when you have done all, which is my poor ruine, (For farther your base malice cannot venture) Dishonours self will cry you out a Coward. Hadst thou been brave, and noble, and an Enemy, Thou wouldst have sought me whilst I carried Arms, Whilst my good Sword was my profession, And then have cryed out, _Pedro_, I defie thee; Then stuck _Alphonso_'s quarrel 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 thee, Done something worthy feat; Now poor and basely Thou setst Toyls to betray me; and like the Pesant, That dares not meet the Lion in the face, Dig'st crafty pit-falls: thou sham'st the _Spanish_ Honour; Thou hast neither point of Man, nor Conscience in thee.

_Rod._ Sir, Sir, y'are brave, ye plead now in a Sanctuary, You think your Pilgrims Bulwark can defend ye; You will not find it so.

_Ped._ I look not for't. The more unhallowed soul hast thou to offer it.

_Rod._ When you were bravest, Sir, and your sword sharpest, I durst affront ye; when the Court Sun gilded ye, And every cry was the young hopeful _Pedro_, _Alonso_'s sprightly Son; 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.

_Pedro._ And I desir'd too.

_Rod._ You should have seen this Sword, how e're you slight it, And felt it too; sharper than sorrow felt it, In execution quicker than thy scorns; Thou should'st have seen all this, and shrunk to see it. Then like a Gentleman I would have us'd thee, And given thee the fair fortune of thy being, Then with a Souldiers arm I had honour'd thee; But since thou stealst upon me like a Spie, And thief-like thinkst that holy case shall carry thee Through all my purposes, and so betray me, Base as the act, thy end be, and I forget thee.

_Ped._ What poor evasions thou buildst on, to abuse me! The goodness of a man ne'r taught these principles. I come a Spie? durst any noble spirit Put on this habit, to become a Traitor? Even in an Enemy shew me this antipathy 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, tears to soften thee; When I put on this habit, I put off All fires, all angers, all those starts of youth That clapt too rank a bias to my being, And drew me from the right mark all should aim at; In stead of stubborn steel, 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 bail, thou hast a rare benefit. Souldiers, come out, and bring a halter with ye; I'le forgive your holy habit, Sir, but I'le hang you.

_Enter Out-laws_, Lope[z], Jaques.

_1 Out-l._ Wherefore this halter Captain?

_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 fit but scurvily upon this collar; But patience is as good as a _French_ Pickadel.

_Lop._ What's his fault, Captain?

_Rod._ 'Tis my will he perish, And that's his fault.

_Ped._ A Captain 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 Captain seals your liberal pardons, Be no more _Christians_, put religion by, 'Twill make ye cowards: feel no tenderness, Nor let a thing call'd conscience trouble ye; Alas, 'twill breed delay. Bear no respect To what I seem; were I a Saint indeed, Why should that stagger ye? you know not holiness: To be excellent in evil, is your goodness; And be so, 'twill become ye: have no hearts, For fear you should repent: that will be dangerous: For if there be a knocking there, a pricking, And that pulse beat back to your considerations, How ye have laid a stiff hand on Religion--

_Rod._ Truss him I say.

_Ped._ And violated faith.

_Rod._ Hear 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 fears ye live in and the hourly 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 lock that close.

_Rod._ Why stand ye gazing?

_Ped._ Farewel sleep, peace, all that are humane comforts, Better ye had been Trees, or Stones, and happier; For those die here, and seek 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 thief, 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, I'le 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 handsom, And bad enough, and overdo obedience: But to be made such instruments of mischief.

_Jaq._ I have done as many villanies as another, And with as little reluctation, Let me come clear of these, and wipe that score off. Put me upon a felt and known perdition?

_Rod._ Have ye conspir'd, ye slaves?

_Ped._ How vilely this shows, In one that would command anothers temper, And bear 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? do it thy self, dispatch it; And as thou takst the whole revenge unto thee, Take the whole sin upon thee; and be mighty, Mighty in evil, as thou art in anger: And let not these poor wretches houl for thy sake. Those things that in thine own glass seem most monstrous, Wouldst thou abuse their weak sights with, for amiable? Is it, thou thinkst to fear me with thy terrors, And into weak condition draw my vertue? If I were now to learn to die I would sue thee: Or did I fear 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 door.

_Rod._ Are ye so valiant? I'le make ye feel: I'le make ye know, and feel too; And Rascals, you shall tremble. Keep him here, And keep him safe too: if he scape your guards--

_Ped._ Fear not, I will not.

_Rod._ As I live, ye die for't; I will not be thus baffled. [_Exit._

_Ja._ What a Devil have ye done, Pilgrim? or what mischief Have you conspir'd, that he should rage and rave thus? Have you kill'd 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 natural? Bar us the _Christian_ liberty of women, And build us up with brick, take away our free-stone.

_1 Out-l._ Because thou art holier than he, upon my conscience He does not envy thee: that's not his quarrel; For, look you, that might be compounded without prayers.

_Lop._ Nor that thou seemst an honester man: for here We have no trading with such Tinsel-stuff; To be an excellent thief, is all we aim at. Wilt thou take a spit and stride, and see if thou canst outrun us?

_Ped._ I scorn to shift his fury, keep your obedience; For though your government admit no president, Keep your selves carefull in't.

_Jaq._ Thou wilt be hang'd then.

_Ped._ I cannot die with fewer faults upon me.

_2 Out-l._ 'Tis ten to one he will shoot him: for the Devil's in him If he hang him himself.

_Lop._ He has too proud a nature: He will compel some one.

_Jaq._ I am confident.

_Lop._ And so are all I think.

_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. Only this honest office I desire ye, (If there be courtesie in men of your breed) To see me buried; not to let his fury Expose my body to the open violence Of beasts, and fowls: 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 volly of as good cups of Sack, For that's our Discipline.

_Lop._ He comes again, As high in rage as ever; the boy with him.

_1 Out-l._ Will he compel the child?

_Lop._ He is bent to do it, And must have some body.

_Rod._ If thou lov'st me do it: Love me, or love me not, I say thou shalt do it: Stare not, nor stagger, Sirrah; if ye deny me, Do you see this Rogue?

_Alin._ What would ye have me do Sir? Heavens goodness bless me.

_Rod._ Do? why hang a Rascal, That would hang me.

_Alin._ I am a boy, and weak, Sir.

_Rod._ Thou art strong enough to tie him to a Bough, And turn him off: come, thou shalt be my Jewel, And I'le allow thee horse, and all thy pleasures, And twenty gallant things: I'le teach thee arms too; Make thee mine heir.

_Alin._ Let me inherit death first.

_Rod._ Make me not angry, Sirrah.

_Alin._ Which is the man, Sir? I'le pluck up the best heart I can yet.

_Rod._ Fear not, It is my will: That in the Pilgrims coat there, That Devil in the Saints skin.

_Alin._ Guard me goodness.

_Rod._ Dispatch him presently.

_Ped._ I wait your worst, Sir.

_Jaq._ Will the boy do it? is the rogue so confident? So young, so deep in blood?

_Lop._ He shakes, and trembles.

_Ped._ Dost thou seek more coals still to sear thy conscience, Work sacred innocence, to be a Devil? Do't thy self for shame, thou best becom'st it.

_Rod._ Sirrah, I scorn my finger should be 'fil'd with thee; And yet I'le have it done: this child shall strangle thee, A crying Girle, if she were here, should master thee.

_Alin._ How should I save him? how my self from violence?

_Ped._ Leave your tongue-valour, and dispatch your hate, Sir; The patience of my death, shall more torment thee, (Thou painted honour, thou base man made backward) Than all my life has fear'd thee.

_Rod._ Gag him, Sirrah.

_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 business.

_Alin._ Why are ye then so angry? so perplext, Sir? Patience wins Heaven, and not the heat of passion. Why do you rayle?

_Lop._ The boy's a pretty Priest.

_Ped._ I thank ye gentle child, you teach me truely.

_Alin._ You seem to fear too.

_Ped._ Thou seest more, than I feel, boy.

_Alin._ You tremble sure.

_Ped._ No sure boy, 'tis thy tenderness: Prethee make haste, and let that gulph be satisfied.

_Alin._ Are ye so willing to go to it?

_Ped._ Most willing: I would not borrow from his courtesie One hour of life, to gain 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: I'le dispatch ye presently. Now guide my tongue, thou blessedness.

_Rod._ A good boy.

_Alin._ But hark ye Sir, one word; and pray ye resolve me. Let me speak 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, I'le do it. But must he now?

_Rod._ What else? who dare reprieve him?

_Alin._ Pray ye think again; and as your injuries Are great, and full, you suffer from this fellow, Do not ye purpose so to suit your vengeance?

_Rod._ I do, and must.

_Alin._ You cannot if he die now.

_Rod._ Cannot?

_Alin._ No, cannot: be not vext, you'l find it: I have considered, and I know it certain, 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 slight your cause, and Saint your enemy, Clap the Doves wings of downy peace unto him, And let him soar 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 scorns ye, contemns ye, And all the tortures ye can use. Let him die thus; And these that know and love revenge will laugh at ye: Here lies the honour of a well-bred anger, To make his enemy shake and tremble under him; Doubt, nay, almost despair, and then confound him. This man ye rock asleep, and all your rages Are Requiems to his parting soul, meer Anthems.

_Rod._ Indeed he is strongly built.

_Alin._ You cannot shake him; And the more weight ye put on his foundation, Now as he stands, ye fix him still the stronger; If ye love him, honour him, would heap 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._ I'le ease him presently.

_Rod._ Stay, be not hasty.

_Alin._ Bless my tongue still.

_Lop._ What has the boy done to him? How dull, and still he looks!

_Alin._ You are a wise man, And long have buckled with the worlds extremities, A valiant man, and no doubt know both fortunes, And would ye work your Master-piece thus madly, Take the bare name of honour, that will pity ye When the world knows ye have prey'd on a poor Pilgrim?

_Rod._ The boy has stagger'd me: what would'st thou have me?

_Ali._ Have ye? do you not feel Sir? do's it not stir ye? Do you ask a child? I would have ye do most bravely, Because I most affect ye: like your self Sir, Scorn him, and let him go; seem to contemn him, And now ye have made him shake, seal him his pardon, When he appears a subject fit for anger, And fit for you, his pious Armour off, His hopes no higher than 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 fool go 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 Captain. [_Exit._

_Alin._ Why this was like your self: but which way goes he? Shall we ne're happy meet?

_Rod._ I am drowsie: Boy, Go with me, and discourse: I like thy company O Child! I love thy tongue.

_Alin._ I shall wait on ye. [_Exit._

_Lop._ The Boy has don't: a Plaguey witty Rascal. And I shall love him terribly.

_Jaq._ 'Twas he most certain, For if ye mark, how earnest he was with him, And how he labour'd him.

_Lop._ A cunning villain, But a good rogue; 'This boy will make's all honest.

_1 Out-l._ I scarce believe that: but I like the boy well. Come let's to Supper; then upon our watches.

_Lop._ This Pilgrim scap'd a joyfull one.

_Jaq._ Let's drink round To the boys health, and then about our business.

[_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Roderigo, Jaques, Lopez, _and three Out-Laws_.

_Rod._ None of you know her?

_Jaq._ Alas Sir, we never saw her: Nor ever heard of her, but from your report.

_Rod._ No happy eye?

_Lop._ I do not think 'tis she, Sir, Me thinks a woman dares not.

_Rod._ Thou speak'st poorly, What dares not woman, when she is provok'd? Or what seems dangerous to Love, or fury? That it is she, this has confirm'd me certain, These Jewels here, a part of which I sent her, And though unwilling, yet her Father wrought her To take, and wear.

_Lop._ A wench, and we not know it? And among us? where were our understandings? I could have ghess'd unhappily: have had some feeling In such a matter: Here are as pretty fellows, At the discovery of such a Jigambob: A handsome wench too! sure we have lost our faculties, We have no motions: what should she do here, Sir?

_Rod._ That's it that troubles me: O that base rascal! There lies the misery: how cunningly she quit him, And how she urg'd! had ye been constant to me, I ne're had suffer'd this.

_1 Out-l._ Ye might have hang'd him: And would he had been hang'd, that's all we care for't: So our hands had not don't.

_Rod._ She is gone again too, And what care have ye for that? gone, and contemn'd me; Master'd my will, and power, and now laughs at me.

_Lop._ The Devil that brought her hither, Sir I think Has carryed her back again invisible, For we ne're knew, nor heard of her departure.

_Jaq._ No living thing came this night through our watches. She went with you.

_Rod._ Was by me till I slept, But when I wak'd, and call'd: O my dull pate here, If I had open'd this when it was given me, This Roguy Box.

_Enter_ Alphonso, _and 2 Out-laws_.

_Lop._ We could but give it ye.

_Rod._ Pilgrim? a Pox o' Pilgrims, there the game goes, There's all my fortune fled; I know it, I feel it.

_Al._ Bring me unto thy Captain: where's thy Captain? I am founder'd, melted, some fairy thing or other Has led me dancing; the Devil has haunted me I'th' likeness of a voyce: give me thy Captain.

_2 Out-l._ He's here Sir, there he stands.

_Al._ How do'st thou Captain? I have been fool'd and jaded, made a dog-bolt. My Daughter's run away: I have been haunted too, I have lost my horse; I am hungry, and out of my wits also.

_Rod._ Come in: I'le tell you what I know: strange things. And take your ease; I'le follow her recovery, These shall be yours the whil'st, and do ye service.

_Al._ Let me have drink enough: I am almost choak'd too.

_Rod._ You shall have any thing; what think you now, Souldiers?

_Jaq._ I think a woman, is a woman, that's any thing. The next we take, we'l search a little nearer, We'l not be boyed again with a pair of breeches. [_Exeunt._