Come, you filthy knaves, let us pass.
3RD BEGGAR.
Nay, my lord, let _us_ pass. We be a-going home
after our supper in all humbleness, my lord; for the
Archbishop loves humbleness, my lord; and though
we be fifty to four, we daren't fight you with our
crutches, my lord. There now, if thou hast not laid
hands upon me! and my fellows know that I am all
one scale like a fish. I pray God I haven't given thee
my leprosy, my lord.
[FITZURSE _shrinks from him and another presses upon_ DE BRITO.
DE BRITO.
Away, dog!
4TH BEGGAR.
And I was bit by a mad dog o' Friday, an' I be half dog already by
this token, that tho' I can drink wine I cannot bide water, my lord;
and I want to bite, I want to bite, and they do say the very breath
catches.
DE BRITO.
Insolent clown. Shall I smite him with the edge of the sword?
DE MORVILLE.
No, nor with the flat of it either. Smite the shepherd and the sheep
are scattered. Smite the sheep and the shepherd will excommunicate
thee.
DE BRITO.
Yet my fingers itch to beat him into nothing.
5TH BEGGAR.
So do mine, my lord. I was born with it, and sulphur won't bring it
out o' me.
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