In peril?

Wer.‍Poverty is ever so.

Gab. That I know by long practice. Will you not

Promise to make mine less?

Wer.‍Your poverty?

Gab. No—you don't look a leech for that disorder;

I meant my peril only: you've a roof,

And I have none; I merely seek a covert.

Wer. Rightly; for how should such a wretch as I

Have gold?