BEGGAR Oh Sir, you are like the rest. 
              This Little-one—­it cuts me to the heart—­
              Well! they might turn a beggar from their doors,
              But there are Mothers who can see the Babe
              Here at my breast, and ask me where I bought it: 
              This they can do, and look upon my face—­
              But you, Sir, should be kinder.

MARMADUKE Come hither, Fathers,
              And learn what nature is from this poor Wretch!

BEGGAR Ay, Sir, there’s nobody that feels for us. 
              Why now—­but yesterday I overtook
              A blind old Greybeard and accosted him,
              I’ th’ name of all the Saints, and by the Mass
              He should have used me better!—­Charity! 
              If you can melt a rock, he is your man;
              But I’ll be even with him—­here again
              Have I been waiting for him.

OSWALD Well, but softly,
              Who is it that hath wronged you?

BEGGAR Mark you me;
              I’ll point him out;—­a Maiden is his guide,
              Lovely as Spring’s first rose; a little dog,
              Tied by a woollen cord, moves on before
              With look as sad as he were dumb; the cur,
              I owe him no ill will, but in good sooth
              He does his Master credit.

MARMADUKE As I live,
              ’Tis Herbert and no other!

BEGGAR ’Tis a feast to see him,
              Lank as a ghost and tall, his shoulders bent,
              And long beard white with age—­yet evermore,
              As if he were the only Saint on earth,
              He turns his face to heaven.

OSWALD But why so violent
             Against this venerable Man?

BEGGAR I’ll tell you: 
              He has the very hardest heart on earth;
              I had as lief turn to the Friar’s school
              And knock for entrance, in mid holiday.

MARMADUKE But to your story.

BEGGAR I was saying, Sir—­
              Well!—­he has often spurned me like a toad,
              But yesterday was worse than all;—­at last
              I overtook him, Sirs, my Babe and I,
              And begged a little aid for charity: 
              But he was snappish as a cottage cur. 
              Well then, says I—­I’ll out with it; at which
              I cast a look upon the Girl, and felt
              As if my heart would burst; and so I left him.

OSWALD I think, good Woman, you are the very person
              Whom, but some few days past, I saw in Eskdale,
              At Herbert’s door.