THE SERVANT (nudging him). And quickly.
THE BEGGAR. Wherefore should I touch my forehead to the floor?
THE KING. In order to seal thy promise to thy king.
THE BEGGAR. But I have made no promise. Neither have I any king.
THE KING. Ho! He has made no promise. Neither has he any king. Ha, ha, ha. I have commanded thee not to beg any more, for the sound of thy voice is grievous unto my ears. Touch thy forehead now to the floor, as I have commanded thee, and thou shall go from this palace a free man. Refuse, and thou wilt be sorry before an hour that thy father ever came within twenty paces of thy mother.
THE BEGGAR. I have ever lamented that he did. For to be born into this world a beggar is a more unhappy thing than any that I know—unless it is to be born a king.
THE KING. Fft! Thy tongue of a truth is too lively for thy health. Come, now, touch thy forehead thrice to the floor and promise solemnly that thou wilt never beg in the streets again. And hurry!
THE SERVANT (aside). It is wise to do as thy king commands thee.
His patience is near an end.
THE KING. Do not be afraid to soil the floor with thy forehead. I will graciously forgive thee for that.
(THE BEGGAR stands motionless.)