WAR. What wrong have I? is't wrong to be reliev'd?
DON. Reliev'd, say'st thou? why, shallow-witted fool,
Dost thou not see Robin's ambitious pride,
And how he climbs by pitying, and aspires
By humble looks, good deeds, and such fond toys,
To be a monarch reigning over us,
As if we were the vassals to his will?
WAR. I am his vassal, and I will be still.
PRIOR. Warman, thou art a fool. I do confess,
Were these good deeds done in sincerity—
Pity of mine, thine[266] or this knight's distress,
Without vain brags—it were true charity:
But to relieve our fainting bodies' wants,
And grieve our souls with quips and bitter 'braids,
Is good turns overturn'd: no thanks we owe
To any whatsoever helps us so.
WAR. Neither himself nor any that he keeps
Ever upbraided me, since I came last.
DON. O God, have mercy on thee, silly ass!
Doth he not say to every guest that comes,
This same is Warman, that was once my steward?
WAR. And what of that?
PRIOR. Is't not as much to say,
Why, here he stands that once did me betray?
DON. Did he not bring a troop to grace himself,
Like captives waiting on a conqueror's chair,
And calling of them out by one and one,
Presented them, like fairings, to the king?[267]
PRIOR. O, ay: there was a rare invention.
A plague upon the fool!
I hate him worse for that than all the rest.