The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (5 of 10), by Francis Beaumont, John Fletcher.

Por. Stand off, and keep your ranks: twenty foot further:
There louse your selves with reason and discretion.
The Sun shines warm: the farther still the better,
Your beasts will bolt anon, and then 'tis dangerous.

1 Beg. Heaven bless our Mistris.

Por. Does the crack go that way?
'Twill be o'th' other side anon.

2 Beg. 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 hung in Gibbets?
Hast thou any Friends, Kindred, or Alliance,
Or any higher ambition, than an Alms-basket?

2 Beg. I would be your worships friend.

Por. So ye shall, Sirrah,
When I quarter the same louse with ye.

3 Beg. '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 swallow'd!
And yet thou lookst as if they had been but Glysters;
Thou feedst abundance, thou hadst need of sustenance;
Alms do you call it to relieve these Rascals?

Nothing but a general rot of sheep can satisfie 'em.

Alp. Did not I tell you, how she would undo me?
What Marts of Rogues, and Beggers!

Seb. 'Tis charity
Methinks, you are bound to love her for—

Alp. 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 Beg. Poor people, and 't like your worship.

[2] Beg. Wretched poor people.

3 Beg. Very hungry people.

Alp. And very Lousy.

4 Beg. Yes forsooth, so, so.

Por. I'le undertake five hundred head about 'em,
And that's no needy Grasier.

Alp. What are you?

Pil. Strangers that come to wonder at your charity,
Yet people poor enough to beg a blessing.

Cur. Use them with favour, Sir, their shews are reverent,
It seems ye are holy Pilgrims?

Pil. Ye guess right, Sir,
And bound far off, to offer our devotions.

Alp. 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 goodness,
A Daughter of that pious excellence,
The very Shrines of Saints sink 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 doat upon her beauties,
But through our tedious wayes to beg her blessings.

Alp. This is a new way of begging, and a neat one,
And this cries mony 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 to: these Women Saints
Are plaguy heavy Saints: they out-weigh a he-saint
Three thousand thick; I know: I feel.

Seb. Ye are more afraid than hurt, Sir.

Alp. Have you your commendations ready too?
He bows, and nods.

Cur. A handsome well built person.

Alp. What Country-craver are you? nothing but motion?
A puppet-Pilgrim?

Pil. He's a stranger, Sir;
This four days I have Travel'd in his Company,
But little of his business, or his Language
As yet I have understood.

Seb. Both young and handsome,
Only the Sun has been too saucy with him.

Alp. Would ye have mony, Sir, or meat? what kind of blessing
Does your devotion look for? Still more ducking?
Be there any Saints, that understand by signs only?
More motion yet? this is the prettiest Pilgrim,
The pink of Pilgrims: I'le be for ye, Sir;
Do ye discourse with signs? ye are heartily welcome:
A poor viaticum; very good gold, Sir:
But holy men affect a better treasure.
I kept it for your goodness, but ne'rtheless
Since it can prove but burthensome to your holiness,
And that you affect light prayer, fit for carriage,
I'le put this up again.

Cur. Ye are too unreverent.

Alp. 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 yield but to my will, and know her duty
I know 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 will wish you had said less;
A comely and sweet usage becomes strangers.

Alp. We shall have half the Kingdom strangers shortly,
And this fond prodigality be suffer'd;
But I must be an Ass, see 'em relieved, sirrah;
If I were young again, I would sooner get Bear-whelps,
And safer too, than 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 cozen'd;
But fair befal thee Pilgrim, thou lookst lovely. [Exit.

Por. Will ye troop up, ye Porridge Regiment?

Captain Poors quarter will ye move?

Alin. Ye dull Knave,
Are not these wretches served yet?

Beg. 'Bless my Mistris.

Alin. Do you make sport, Sir, with their miseries?
Ye drousie Rogue.

Por. They are too high fed, Madam,
Their stomachs are a sleep yet.

Alin. Serve 'em plentifully,
Or I'le serve you out next: even out o' doors, sirrah;
And serve 'em quickly too.

Beg. Heaven bless the Lady.

Alin. Bless the good end I mean 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 Pensioners.

Alin. Vain-glory would seek more, and handsomer.
But I appeal to vertue what my end is; [Ex. Beggers.
What men are these?

Jul. It seems they are holy Pilgrims:
That handsome youth should suffer such a penance,
Would I were even the Saint they make their vowes to,
How easily I would grant!

Pil. Heavens grace in-wheel 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 guide your travels too,
And what you wish for most, end all your troubles;
Remember me by this: and in your prayers
When your strong heart melts, meditate my poor fortunes.

Pil. All my Devotions wait upon your service.

Alin. Are you 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;
Whatever Vow, or Penance pulls you on, Sir;
Conscience, or Love, or stubborn Disobedience,
The Saint ye kneel to, hear, and ease your travels.

Pil. Yours ne'r begin; and thus I seal my Prayers. [Exit.

Alin. How constantly this man looks! how he sighs!
Some great affliction hatches his Devotions,
Right holy Sir, how young, and sweet he suffers!

Jul. Would I might suffer with him.

Alin. He turns from us;
Alas, he weeps too; something presses him
He would reveal, but dare not; Sir, be comforted,
Ye come for that; and take it; if it be want, Sir,
To me ye 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 afraid I have trespassed.

Jul. Would he wou'd stir me too, I like his shape well.

Alin. May be he would speak alone; go off, Juletta,
Afflicted hearts fear their own motions.
Be not far off.

Jul. Would I were nearer to him,
A young smug handsom holiness has no fellow. [Exit.

Al. Why do you grieve? do you find your penance sharp?
Or are the vows ye've made too mighty for ye?
Does not the World allure ye to look back,
And sorrow for the sweet time ye have lost?
Ye are young, and fair; be not deluded, Sir,
A manly made-up heart contemns these shadows,
And yours appear no less, griefs for your fears,
For hours ill-spent, for wrongs done rash, and rudely,
For foul contempts, for faiths ill violated,
Become fears well; I dare not task your goodness;
And then a sorrow shews in his true glory,
When the whole heart is excellently sorry,
I pray ye be comforted.

Ped. I am, dear Lady,
And such a comfort ye have cast upon me,
That though I struggle with mine own cal[a]mities
Too mighty, and too many for my mannage,
And though, like angry waves, they curl'd upon me,
Contending proudly who should first devour me,
Yet I would stem their danger.

Alin. He speaks nobly;
What do you want?

Ped. All that can make me happy;
I want my self.

Alin. Your self? who rob'd ye, Pilgrim?
Why does he look so constantly upon me?
I want my self; indeed, ye holy Wanderers
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's younger,
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 kiss it,
And thus I bless it too; Be constant fair still,
Be good, and live to be a great example. [Exit.

Alin. One word more (Pilgrim) has amaz'd me strangly,
Be constant fair still; 'tis the Posie here;
And here without, Be good; he wept to see me. Juletta.

Jul. Madam.

Alin. Take this Key, and fetch me
The marygold-Jewel that lies in my little Cabinet;
I think 'tis that; what eyes had I to miss him? [Ex. Jul.
O me, what thoughts? he had no beard then, and
As I remember well, he was more ruddy.

If this be he, he has a manly face yet,
A goodly shape.

Jul. Here Madam.

Alin. Let me see it;
'Tis so true, it must be he, or nothing,
He spake the words just as they stand engraven here:
I seek my self, and am but my selfs shadow;
Alas, poor man! didst thou not meet him, Juletta?
The Pilgrim, Wench?

Jul. He went by long ago, Madam.

Alin. I forgot to give him something.

Jul. '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 boot; what ails she to grow so sullen?

Alin. Come, I forgot, but I will recompence it. [Exeunt.

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Alph. Can she slip through a Cat-hole? tell me that; resolve me;
Can she flye in the air? is she a thing invisible?
Gone, and none know it!

Seb. You amaze your servants.

Alph. Some pelting Rogue has watcht her hour of itching,
And claw'd her, claw'd her, do you mark me? claw'd her;
Some that I foster up.

Cur. They are all here, Sir.

Alph. Let 'em be where they will, they are arrant Rascals,
And by this hand, I'll hang all.

Seb. Deal calmly;
You will not give 'em time to answer ye.

Al. I'll choak 'em, famish 'em, what say you, Wagtail?
You knew her mind; you were of counsel with her,
Tell me, and tell me true.

Cur. Ask with discretion.

Alph. Discretion? hang discretion, hang ye all:
Let me know where she is.

Jul. Would you know o' me, Sir?

Al. O' thee, Sir? I, o' thee, Sir; what art thou Sir?

Jul. Her woman, Sir, and't like your Worship, Sir.

Alph. Her Bawd, her Fiddle-stick;
Her Lady-fairy, to oyl the doors o' nights,
That they may open with discretion,
Her Gin, her Nut-Crack.

Jul. 'Tis very well, Sir.

Alph. Thou lyest; 'tis damnable ill, 'tis most abominable;
Will ye confess (Thing?)

Jul. Say I were guilty, Sir;
I would be hang'd before I would confess;
Is this a World to confess in?

Cur. Deal directly.

Jul. Yes, if my matter lye direct before me;
But when I am forc'd, and ferretted.

Alph. Tell me the truth,
And as I live, I'll give thee a new Petticoat.

Jul. And you would give me ten, I would not tell ye,
Truths bear a greater price than you are aware of.

Seb. Deal modestly.

Jul. I do not pluck my Cloaths up.

Al. What say you, Sirrah? you? or you? are ye dumb all?

Port. I saw her last night, and't shall like your Worship,
When I serv'd in her Livery.

Alph. What's that, Sirrah?

Port. Her Chamber-pot, and't please you.

Seb. A new Livery.

Alph. Where lay she? who lay with her?

Port. In truth, not I, Sir;
I lay with my fellow Frederick in the flea-Chamber,
And't like your Worship, we are almost worried.

Jul. I left her by her self, in her own Closet,
And there I thought she had slept.

Alph. Why lay you from her?

Jul. It was her will I should; she is my Mistriss,
And my part is obedience.

Alph. Were all the doors lock'd?

Port. All mine.

Ser. And mine; she could not get out those ways
Unless she leapt the walls; and those are higher
Than any Womans courage dare aspire at.

Alph. Come, you must know.

Cur. Conceal it not, but deal plain.

Jul. If I did know, and her trust lay upon me,
Not all your angers nor your flatteries
Should make me speak, but having no more interest
Than I may well deliver to the air,
I'll tell ye what I know, and tell it liberally,
I think she is gone, because we cannot find her;
I think she is weary of your tyranny,
And therefore gone; may be she is in love;
May be in love, where you show no great liking,
And therefore gone; May be some point of Conscience,
Or vow'd Devotion.

Alph. These are nothing, minion;
You that can aim at these, must know the truth too.

Jul. Any more truth than this if I know, hang me,
Or where to search for it, if I make a lye
To gain your love, and envy my best Mistriss,
Pin me against a wall with my heels upward.

Alph. Out of my doors.

Jul. That's all my poor petition;
For if your house were Gold, and she not in it,
Sir, I should count it but a Cage to whistle in.

Alph. Whore, if she be above ground, I will have her.

Jul. I would live in a Coal-pit then, were I your daughter.

Seb. Certain she does not know, Sir.

Alph. Hang her, hang her;
She knows too much; search all the house, all corners,
And where 'tis possible she may go out, [Ex. Servants.
If I do find your tricks.

Jul. Reward me for 'em.
Or if I had such tricks, you could discover
So weak, and sleightly woven, you might look through,
All the young Girls should hoot me out o' th' Parish;
You are my Master, but you own an anger
Becomes a School-Boy that hath lost his Apples;
Will ye force things into our knowledges?

Alph. Come hither, Juletta, thou didst love me.

Jul. And do stil[l],
You are my Ladies Father, and I reverence ye.

Alph. Thou would'st have pleas'd my humour.

Jul. Any good way,
That carried not suspicion in't, or flattery,
Or fail of trust.

Alph. Come, come, thou wouldst have—

Jul. Stay, Sir.

Alph. And thou hast felt my bounty for't, and shalt do.
Dost thou want Cloaths or Money?

Jul. Both.

Alph. 'Shalt have both.

Jul. But not this way, I had rather be an Adamite,
And bring Fig-tree leaves into fashion again.
If you were young, Sir,
Handsome, and fitted to a Womans appetite;
And I a giddy-headed Girl, that car'd for nothing,
Much might be done; then you might fumble with me,
And think to grope out matters of some moment,
Which now you will put too short for;
For what you have seen hitherto
And know by me, has been but honest service,
Which I dare pin i'th' market-place to answer;
And let the World, the Flesh, and Devil examine it,
And come you in too, I dare stand your strictest.
And so much good may do you, with your dreams of courtesie.

Alph. This is most monstrous.

Seb. Sure she does not know, Sir;
She durst not be so confident, and guilty.

Alph. How now, what news? what hopes and steps discovered?
Speak any thing that's good, that tends to th' matter;
Do you stand staring still?

1 Serv. We are no gods, Sir,
To say she is here or there, or what she is doing;
But we have search'd.

Port. I am sure she is not i'th' Cellar;
For look you, Sir, if she had been i'th' Cellar—

Alph. I am sure thou hast been there.

Port. As I carried the matter,
For I search'd every piece of Wine; yes sure, Sir,
And every little Terse, that could but testifie;
And I drew hard to bolt her out.

Alph. Away with him;
Fling him i'th' Hay-mow, let him lye a mellowing;
He stinks of Muskadel like an English Christmas;
Are these your cares? your services?

2 Serv. Pray ye hear, Sir,
We have found where she went out, her very footing.

Alph. Where, where? go on.

Cur. Observe then with more stayedness.

2 Ser. Searching the Garden at the little Postern
That opens to the Park, we first discovered it.

Alph. A little foot?

1 Serv. It must be hers, or none, Sir.

Alph. How far beyond that?

1 Serv. To the Park it leads us,
But there the ground being hard, we could not mark it.

Alph. She always kept that Key; I was a Coxcomb,
A Fool, an Ass, to give a Girl that liberty;
Saddle my Horses, Rogues, ye drunken Varlets,
Your precious diligence lies in Pint-pots,
Your Brains in Butts, my Horses, ye pin-Buttocks.
You'll bear me Company?

Seb. We dare not leave ye,
Unless we found a quieter soul within ye.

Cur. If we may do the Lady any service,
Sweet, gentle Soul.

Alph. I say again, my horses,
Are ye so hot? have ye your private Pilgrimages?
Must ye be jumping, Joan? I'll wander with ye;
I'll jump ye, and I'll juggle ye, my horses;
And keep me this young Lirry-poop within doors,
I will discover, Dame.

Jul. 'Tis fit you should, Sir,
If ye knew what; well Love, if thou beest with her,
Or what power else that arms her resolution,
Conduct her fair, and keep her from this mad-man,
Direct her to her wishes; dwell about her,
That no dishonourable end o'rtake her,
Danger, or want; and let me try my fortune.

Alph. You know the place we meet in?

Seb. We shall hit it.

Alph. And as ye are honest Gentlemen, endeavour.

Cur. We'l search the best we can; if she light in our hands.

Alph. I'll tye her to the horse-tail.

Seb. We know how to use her,
But not your way, for all your state.

Alph. Make haste there;
And get you in, and look to th' house. If you stir out, Damsel,
Or set a foot any new motion this way,
When I come home (which will be suddenly)
You know my mind; if you do play the Rascal,
I have my eyes and ears in sundry places,
If ye do praunce.

Jul. I shall do that that's fit, Sir;
And fit to cross your fooleries; I'll fail else:
And so I'll to my Chamber. [Exit.

Alph. To your Prayers,
And leave your stubborn tricks; she is not far yet,
She cannot be, and we dividing suddenly.

Cur. Keep her from thy hands, I beseech.

Alph. Our horses;
Come chearfully. I'll teach her to run gadding. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

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.

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.