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Of a good deed at that most awful hour
When riches profit not.
Farmer, I'm going
To visit Margery. She is sick I hear—
Old, poor, and sick! a miserable lot,
And death will be a blessing. You might send her
Some little matter, something comfortable,
That she may go down easier to the grave
And bless you when she dies.
FATHER.
What! is she going!
Well God forgive her then! if she has dealt
In the black art. I'll tell my dame of it,
And she shall send her something.
CURATE.
So I'll say;
And take my thanks for her's.[goes]
FATHER.
That's a good man
That Curate, Nat, of ours, to go and visit
When riches profit not.
Farmer, I'm going
To visit Margery. She is sick I hear—
Old, poor, and sick! a miserable lot,
And death will be a blessing. You might send her
Some little matter, something comfortable,
That she may go down easier to the grave
And bless you when she dies.
FATHER.
What! is she going!
Well God forgive her then! if she has dealt
In the black art. I'll tell my dame of it,
And she shall send her something.
CURATE.
So I'll say;
And take my thanks for her's.[goes]
FATHER.
That's a good man
That Curate, Nat, of ours, to go and visit
