_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.