The True and Honorable History of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, the Good Lord Cobham.
Page: 10

COBHAM.
Now, sir, here be your Alms knights. Now are you
As safe as the Emperour.

HARPOOLE.
My Alms knights! nay, th' are yours.
It is a shame for you, and I'll stand too 't;
Your foolish alms maintains more vagabonds,
Than all the noblemen in Kent beside.
Out, you rogues, you knaves! work for your livings!--
Alas, poor men! O Lord, they may beg their hearts out,
There's no more charity amongst men than amongst
So many mastiff dogs!--What make you here,
You needy knaves? Away, away, you villains.


SECOND SOLDIER.
I beseech you, sir, be good to us.

COBHAM.
Nay, nay, they know thee well enough. I think that all
the beggars in this land are thy acquaintance. Go bestow
your alms; none will control you, sir.

HARPOOLE.
What should I give them? you are grown so beggarly,
you have scarce a bit of bread to give at your door. You
talk of your religion so long, that you have banished
charity from amongst you; a man may make a flax shop
in your kitchen chimneys, for any fire there is stirring.

COBHAM.
If thou wilt give them nothing, send them hence: let
them not stand here starving in the cold.

HARPOOLE.
Who! I drive them hence? If I drive poor men from your
door, I'll be hanged; I know not what I may come to my
self. Yea, God help you, poor knaves; ye see the world,
yfaith! Well, you had a mother: well, God be with thee,
good Lady; thy soul's at rest. She gave more in shirts
and smocks to poor children, than you spend in your
house, & yet you live a beggar too.

COBHAM.
Even the worst deed that ere my mother did was in
relieving such a fool as thou.

HARPOOLE.
Yea, yea, I am a fool still. With all your wit you will
die a beggar; go too.

COBHAM.
Go, you old fool; give the poor people something. Go
in, poor men, into the inner court, and take such alms
as there is to be had.

SOLDIER.
God bless your honor.

HARPOOLE.
Hang you, rogues, hang you; there's nothing but misery
amongst you; you fear no law, you.

[Exit.]

OLD MAN.
God bless you, good master Rafe, God save your life;
you are good to the poor still.

[Enter the Lord Powis disguised, and shroud himself.]