Enter Lopez, and Jaques with Pedro.
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.