Rob. I was going, sir,
To buy meat for a poor bird I have,
That sits so sadly in the cage of late,
I think he'll die for sorrow.
Steph. So, sir; your pity will not quit your pains:
I fear me, I shall find that bird to be
That churlish wretch your father, that has taken
Shelter here in Ludgate. Go to, sir! urge me not,
You had best; I have given you warning;
Fawn not upon him, nor come not near him,
If you'll have my love.
Rob. 'Las, sir! that lamb
Were most unnatural that should hate the dam.
Steph. Lamb me no lambs, sir!
Rob. Good uncle! alas!
You know, when you lay here, I succour'd you,
So let me now help him.
Steph. Yes, as he did me,
To laugh and triumph at my misery;
You freed me with his gold, but 'gainst his will:
For him I might have rotted, and lain still:
So shall he now.
Rob. Alack the day!
Steph. If him thou pity, 'tis thine own decay.
O. Fos. Bread, bread! some charitable man remember the poor prisoners: bread for the tender mercy! one penny!
Rob. O listen, uncle!
That's my poor father's voice.