Giles. Ah, th’ old farmer was always wonderful set on him. [A pause.
Old Man. I be a poor old wretch what journeys upon the roads, master, and maybe I picks a crust here and gets a drink of water there, and the shelter of the pig-stye wall to rest the bones of me at night time.
Giles. What matters it if you be old and poor, master, so that the heart of you be whole and unbroken?
Old Man. Us poor old wretches don’t carry no hearts to th’ insides of we. The pains of us do come from the having of no victuals and from the winter’s cold when snow do lie on the ground and the wind do moan over the fields, and when the fox do bark.
Giles. What is the pang of hunger and the cold bite of winter set against the cruel torment of a disappointed love?
Old Man. I baint one as can judge of that, my lord, seeing that I be got a poor old badger of a man, and the days when I was young and did carry a heart what could beat with love, be ahind of I, and the feel of them clean forgot.
Giles. Then what do you up yonder at the marrying this morning?
Old Man. Oh, I do take me to those places where there be burying or marriage, for the hearts of folk at these seasons be warmed and kinder, like. And ’tis bread and meat as I gets then. Food be thrown out to the poor old dog what waits patient at the door.
Giles. [Looks intently at him for a moment.] See here, old master. I would fain strike a bargain with you. And ’tis with a handful of golden pieces that I will pay your service.
Old Man. Anything to oblige you, my young lord.