King. What if he did? was either he in place Grow to a mighty Flame. But that's not all, Roch. We do befeech you therefore, gracious Prince, We may be bold to ufe Authority. King. As how? Roch. To fummon him unto the Arches, King. How if he appeal? Roch. My Lord, he cannot in fuch a cafe as this. [In Scorn. [Exeunt. S. John. S. John. How now my Lord? why stand you discontent? Infooth, methinks, the King hath well decreed. Roch. Ay, ay, Sir John, if he would keep his Word: But I perceive he favours him so much As this will be to fmall Effect, I fear. S. John. Why then I'll tell you what you're beft to do: In reprehending him, fend you a Process too [Exit. S. John. Yea, do fo. In the mean space this remains A a 4 There There be more Stocks to fet poor Soldiers in, Old Man. Ay, Houfe-keeping decays in every place, Even as St. Peter writ, ftill worfe and worse. 2. Master Mayor of Rochefter has given command, That none fhall go abroad out of the Parish, and has fet down an Order forfooth, what every poor Houfholder must give for our relief; where there be fome feffed, I may fay to you, had almost as much need to beg as we. I. It is a hard World the while. Old Man. If a poor Man ask at Door for God's fake, they ask him for a Licence or a Certificate from a Justice. 2. Faith we have none, but what we bear upon our Bo dies, our maim'd Limbs, God help us. 4. And yet as lame as I am, I'll with the King into France, if I can but crawl a Ship-board, I had rather be flain in France, than ftarve in England. Old Man. Ha, were I but as lufty as I was at Shrewsbury Battel, I would not do as I do; but we are now come' to the good Lord Cobham's Houfe, the best Man to the Poor in all Kent. 4. God bless him, there be but few fuch. Enter Cobham with Harpool. Cob. Thou peevish froward Man, what wouldft thou have? Har. This Pride, this Pride, brings all to beggary, I ferv'd your Father, and your Grandfather, Shew me fuch two Men now: No, no, Your Backs, your Backs; the Devil and Pride Cob. Yea, except thou have a crew of filthy Knaves There is no Hofpitality with thee. Har. They may fit at the Gate well enough, but the Devil of any thing you give them, except they'll eat Stones. Cob. 'Tis long then of fuch hungry Knaves as you: Yea, Sir, here's your Retinue, your Guefts be come, They know their Hours, I warrant you. Old Old Man. God bless your Honour, God fave the good Lord Cobham, and all his House. Sold. Good your Honour, bestow your bleffed Alms Upon poor Men. Cob. Now, Sir, here be your alms Knights: Now are you as fafe as the Emperor. Har. My alms Knights? Nay, they're yours It is a fhame for you, and I'll ftand to't, Your foolish Alms maintains more Vagabonds Than all the Noblemen in Kent befide. Out you Rogues, you Knaves, work for you Livings. Than amongst so many Maftive Dogs. 2 Sold. I beseech you, Sir, be good. Cob. Nay, nay, they know thee well enough, I think that all the Beggars in this Land are thy Acquaintance: go be ftow your Alms, none will controul you, Sir. Har. What fhould I give them? you are grown fo Beggarly, that you can fcarce give a bit of Bread at your Door: you talk of your Religion fo long, that you have banish'd Charity from you: a Man may make a Flax-fhop in your Kitching Chimnies, for any Fire there is ftirring. Cob. It thou wilt give them nothing, fend them hence: Let them not stand here ftarving in the Cold. Har. Who, I drive them hence? If I drive poor Men from the Door, I'll be hang'd: I know not what I may come to my felf God help ye poor Knaves, ye fee the World. Well, you had a Mother: O God be with thee good Lady, thy Soul's at reft: fhe gave more in Shirts and Smocks to poor Children, than you spend in your Houfe, and yet you live a Beggar too. Cob. Ev'n the worft deed that ever my Mother did, Was in relieving fuch a Fool as thou. Har. Ay, I am a Fool ftill: with all your Wit you'll die a Beggar, go too. Cob. Go, you old Fool, give the poor People fomething: Go in poor Men into the inner Court, and take fuch Alms as there is to be had, Sold. Sold. God bless your Honour. Har. Hang you Rogues, hang you, there's nothing but Mifery amongst you, you fear no Law, you. [Exit, Oldm. God bless you good Mafter Ralph, God fave your Life, you are good to the Poor ftill. Enter the Lord Powis difguifed. Cob. What Fellow's yonder comes along the Grove? Few Paffengers there be that know this way:. Methinks he ftops as though he ftaid for me, And meant to fhroud himself among the Bushes, I know the Clergy hates me to the Death, And my Religion gets me many Foes : And this may be fome defperate Rogue. Suborn'd to work me Mischief: as pleaseth God. If he come toward me, fure I'll ftay his coming, Be he but one Man, whatfoe'er he be. [Lord Powis comes on. I have been well acquainted with that Face. Pow. Well met, my Honourable Lord and Friend. Cob. My Honourable Lord, and worthy Friend, |