LANDLORD. You may beg and starve too. What a fine lady you are! Many
an honest woman has been obliged to beg. Why should not you? [Agatha
sits down upon a large stone under a tree.] For instance, here comes
somebody; and I will teach you how to begin. [A Countryman, with
working tools, crosses the road.] Good day, neighbour Nicholas.

COUNTRYMAN. Good day. [Stops.]

LANDLORD. Won't you give a trifle to this poor woman? [Countryman
takes no notice, but walks off.] That would not do--the poor man has
nothing himself but what he gets by hard labour. Here comes a rich
farmer; perhaps he will give you something.

Enter FARMER.

LANDLORD. Good morning to you, Sir. Under yon tree sits a poor woman
in distress, who is in need of your charity.

FARMER. Is she not ashamed of herself? Why don't she work?

LANDLORD. She has had a fever.--If you would but pay for one dinner--

FARMER. The harvest has been indifferent, and my cattle and sheep have
suffered distemper. [Exit.

LANDLORD. My fat, smiling face was not made for begging: you'll have
more luck with your thin, sour one--so, I'll leave you to yourself.
[Exit.

[Agatha rises and comes forward.]