AGATHA.
Who will give me a morsel of bread to satisfy my hunger?
LANDLORD.
Sick people eat but little.
AGATHA.
Hard, unfeeling man, have pity.
LANDLORD.
When times are hard, pity is too expensive for a poor man. Ask alms of the different people that go by.
AGATHA.
Beg! I would rather starve.
LANDLORD.
You may beg and starve too. What a fine lady you are! Many an honest woman has been obliged to beg. Why should not you? [Agatha sits down upon a large stone under a tree.] For instance, here comes somebody; and I will teach you how to begin. [A Countryman, with working tools, crosses the road.] Good day, neighbour Nicholas.
COUNTRYMAN
Good day. [Stops.]
LANDLORD.
Won’t you give a trifle to this poor woman? [Countryman takes no notice, but walks off.] That would not do—the poor man has nothing himself but what he gets by hard labour. Here comes a rich farmer; perhaps he will give you something.
Enter FARMER.
LANDLORD.
Good morning to you, Sir. Under yon tree sits a poor woman in distress, who is in need of your charity.