CLOWN.
Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.
AUTOLYCUS.
O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions.
CLOWN.
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.
AUTOLYCUS.
I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and these detestable things put upon me.
CLOWN.
What, by a horseman or a footman?
AUTOLYCUS.
A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
CLOWN.
Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee: if this be a horseman’s coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I’ll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.
[Helping him up.]
AUTOLYCUS.
O, good sir, tenderly, O!
CLOWN.
Alas, poor soul!