HARPOOLE.
Who! I drive them hence? If I drive poor men from your
door, I'll be hanged; I know not what I may come to my
self. Yea, God help you, poor knaves; ye see the world,
yfaith! Well, you had a mother: well, God be with thee,
good Lady; thy soul's at rest. She gave more in shirts
and smocks to poor children, than you spend in your
house, & yet you live a beggar too.

COBHAM.
Even the worst deed that ere my mother did was in
relieving such a fool as thou.

HARPOOLE.
Yea, yea, I am a fool still. With all your wit you will
die a beggar; go too.

COBHAM.
Go, you old fool; give the poor people something. Go
in, poor men, into the inner court, and take such alms
as there is to be had.

SOLDIER.
God bless your honor.

HARPOOLE.
Hang you, rogues, hang you; there's nothing but misery
amongst you; you fear no law, you.