Theo. But, sir, if you had seen
How the poor people labour'd to effect it,
And (like so many salamanders) rush'd
Into the fire, scorching their clothes and beards,
You would have wonder'd justly, and have thought
That each man toil'd to save his father's house
Or his own dear estate; but I conceive
'Twas nothing but an honest charity,
That wrought it in them.
Earth. Ha! a charity!
Why should that charity be show'd to me?
Theo. If I mistake not strangely, he begins
To apprehend it.
Earth. As I came along,
I heard them pray for me; but those good prayers
Can never pierce the skies in my behalf,
But will return again, and ever lodge
Within those honest breasts, that sent them forth.
Theo. Surely it works.
Earth. O! all the world but I are honest men! [He weeps.
Theo. What is't that troubles you?
Your goods are safe; there's nothing lost at all.
You should rejoice, methinks. You might have suffer'd
A wondrous loss in your estate!
Earth. Ah, son!
'Tis not the thought of what I might have lost,
That draws these tears from me.
Theo. Does he not weep,
Or do my flattering hopes deceive my sight?
He weeps, and fully too; large show'rs of tears
Bedew his aged cheeks. O happy sorrow,
That makes me weep for joy! Never did son
So justly glory in a father's tears. [Aside.
Sir, you are sad, methinks.
Earth. No sadness, son,
Can be enough to expiate the crimes
That my accursed avarice has wrought.
Where are the poor?