LORD MAYOR.
Listen, then, good Master More.
SURESBY.
I tell thee plain, it is a shame for thee,
With such a sum to tempt necessity;
No less than ten pounds, sir, will serve your turn,
To carry in your purse about with ye,
To crake and brag in taverns of your money:
I promise ye, a man that goes abroad
With an intent of truth, meeting such a booty,
May be provoked to that he never meant.
What makes so many pilferers and felons,
But such fond baits that foolish people lay
To tempt the needy miserable wretch?
Ten pounds, odd money; this is a pretty sum
To bear about, which were more safe at home.
Fore God, twere well to fine ye as much more
[Lord Mayor and More whisper.]
To the relief of the poor prisoners,
To teach ye be more careful of your own,
In sooth, I say ye were but rightly served,
If ye had lost as much as twice ten pounds.
MORE.
Good my lord, sooth a point or two for once,
Only to try conclusions in this case.
LORD MAYOR.
Content, good Master More: we’ll rise awhile,
And, till the jury can return their verdict,
Walk in the garden.—How say ye, Justices?
ALL.
We like it well, my lord; we’ll follow ye.
[Exeunt Lord Mayor and Justices.]
MORE.
Nay, plaintiff, go you too;—and officers,
[Exeunt Smart.]