Art thou a man? and sham'st thou not to beg?
To practise such a servile kind of life?
Why, were thy education ne'er so mean,
Having thy limbs: a thousand fairer courses
Offer themselves to thy election.
Nay, there the wars might still supply thy wants,
Or service of some virtuous gentleman,
Or honest labour; nay, what can I name,
But would become thee better than to beg?
But men of your condition feed on sloth,
As doth the Scarab on the dung she breeds in,
Not caring how the temper of your spirits
Is eaten with the rust of idleness.
Now, afore God, whate'er he be that should
Relieve a person of thy quality,
While you insist in this loose desperate course,
I would esteem the sin not thine, but his.
MUS. Faith, Signior, I would gladly find some other course,
if so.
LOR. SE. Ay, you'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it.
MUS. Alas, sir, where should a man seek? in the wars, there's
no ascent by desert in these days, but -- and for service,
would it were as soon purchased as wish'd for, (God's my
comfort) I know what I would say.
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