FLOWERDALE.
Why so, this is as it should be: being poor,
Thus art thou served by a vile painted whore.
Well, since thy damned crew do so abuse thee,
I'll try of honest men, how they will use me.
[Enter an ancient Citizen.]
Sir, I beseech you to take compassion of a man, one
whose Fortunes have been better than at this
instant they seem to be: but if I might crave of you
some such little portion, as would bring me to my
friends, I should rest thankful, until I had requited
so great a courtesy.
CITIZEN.
Fie, fie, young man, this course is very bad,
Too many such have we about this City,
Yet for I have not seen you in this sort,
Nor noted you to be a common beggar:
Hold, there's an angel, to bear your charges down.
Go to your friends, do not on this depend:
Such bad beginnings oft have worser ends.
[Exit Citizen.]
FLOWERDALE.
Worser ends: nay, if it fall out no worse than in old
angels I care not. Nay, now I have had such a
fortunate beginning, I'll not let a sixpenny-purse
escape me. By the mass, here comes another.
[Enter a Citizen's wife with a torch before her.]
God bless you, fair mistress. Now would it please
you, gentlewoman, to look into the wants of a poor
Gentle-Man, a younger brother, I doubt not but God
will treble restore it back again: one that never before
this time demanded penny, halfpenny, nor farthing.
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