Landlord.
Then you may come again.
Agatha.
What am I to do? Where ſhall I go?
Landlord.
It is fine weather—you may go any where.
Agatha.
Who will give me a morſel of bread to ſatisfy my hunger?
Landlord.
Sick people eat but little.
Agatha.
Hard, unfeeling man, have pity.
Landlord.
When times are hard, pity is too expenſive for a poor man. Aſk alms of the different people that go by.
Agatha.
Beg! I would rather ſtarve.
Landlord.
You may beg, and ſtarve too. What a fine lady you are! Many an honeſt woman has been obliged to beg. Why ſhould not you? [Agatha ſits down upon a large ſtone under a tree.] For inſtance, here comes ſomebody; and I will teach you how to begin. [A Countryman, with working tools, croſſes the road.] Good day, neighbour Nicholas.
Countryman.
Good day. [Stops.
Landlord.
Won’t you give a trifle to this poor woman? [Countryman takes no notice, but walks off.] That would not do—the poor man has nothing himſelf
