Lor. How might I cross it, my sweet mischief?
Honey-damnation, how?
Laz. Well:
As many ways as there are paths to hell,
And that’s enou’, i’ faith. From usurer’s door—
There goes one path: from friars that nurse whores—
There goes another path: from brokers’ stalls,
From rich that die and build no hospitals—
Two other paths: from farmers that crack barns
With stuffing corn, yet starve the needy swarms—