AUTOLYCUS.
O, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out.
CLOWN.
How now! canst stand?
AUTOLYCUS.
Softly, dear sir! [Picks his pocket.] good sir, softly. You ha’ done me a charitable office.
CLOWN.
Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.
AUTOLYCUS.
No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past three-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart.
CLOWN.
What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?
AUTOLYCUS.
A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.
CLOWN.
His vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.
AUTOLYCUS.
Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He hath been since an ape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus.
CLOWN.
Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.