_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? _Enter_ Alinda, _and_ Juletta. 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.