_Alp._ They are wise to gull us. There was a fellow, old _Ferando_'s son, I must confess handsome, but my enemy, And the whole family I hate: young _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 pity: For truth reports he was a noble Gentleman. _Alp._ Let him be what he will: he was a beggar, 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 goodness, as he was an honest man: She never with loose eyes stuck on his person. _Alp._ She is so full of Conscience too, and charity, And outward holiness, she will undo me: Relieves more Beggars, than an Hospital; _Enter_ 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 study to observe it: do it cheerfully, And readily, and home. _Alin._ I shall obey ye. But, noble Sir. _Alp._ Come, come, away with your flatteries, And your fine phrases. _Cur._ Pray ye be gentle to her. _Alp._ I know 'em; and know your feats: if you will find me Noble and loving, seek me in your duty, You know I am too indulgent. _Seb._ Alas, poor Lady. _Alp._ To your devotions: I take no good thing from you. Come Gentlemen; leave pitying, and moaning of her And praising of her vertues: and her whim-whams, It makes her proud, and sturdy. _Seb. Cur._ Good hours 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 senseless of my duty, Yet still I must know: would I had known nothing. What Poor attend my charity to day, wench? _Jul._ Of all sorts, Madam; your open handed bounty Make's 'em flock every hour: some worth your pity, 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 cheerful giving hand, as I think, Madam, Requires a heart as chearful. _Alin._ Alas _Juletta,_ What is there to be merry at? what joy now, Unless we fool our own afflictions, And make them shew ridiculous? _Jul._ Sure, Madam, You could not seem thus serious, if you were married, Thus sad, and full of thoughts.