We saw a woman beg for alms,
One of the sufferers by the rule which gave
This portly Norman his fat priory
And his abundant lands. We heard him say
That he was helpless, had not one poor coin
To give her, not a scrap of bread! He wears
Purple beneath his cloak: his fine sleek palfrey
Flaunted an Emperor's trappings!
ABBOT
Man, the Church
Must keep her dignity!
ROBIN
[Pointing to the poor woman, etc.]
Ay, look at it!
There is your dignity! And you must wear
Silk next your skin to show it. But there was one
You call your Master, and He had not where
To lay His head, save one of these same trees!
ABBOT
Do you blaspheme! I pray you, let me go!
There are grave matters waiting. I am poor!
ROBIN