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.