I wonder how thou comest by all this gold;
How many benefices hast thou, priest?

SIR JOHN.
Yfaith, but one. Dost wonder how I come by gold? I
wonder rather how poor soldiers should have gold; for
I'll tell thee, good fellow: we have every day tithes,
offerings, christenings, weddings, burials; and you poor
snakes come seldom to a booty. I'll speak a proud word:
I have but one parsonage, Wrotham; tis better than the
Bishopric of Rochester. There's ne'er a hill, heath, nor
down in all Kent, but tis in my parish: Barham down,
Chobham down, Gad's Hill, Wrotham hill, Black heath,
Cock's heath, Birchen wood, all pay me tithe. Gold,
quoth a? ye pass not for that.

SUFFOLK.
Harry, ye are out; now, parson, shake the dice.

SIR JOHN.
Set, set; I'll cover ye at all. A plague on't, I am out: the
devil, and dice, and a wench, who will trust them?

SUFFOLK.
Sayest thou so, priest? Set fair; at all for once.

KING.
Out, sir; pay all.

SIR JOHN.