So said our brother.
_Hat_. And he was a Bishop,
Had read the Scripture and knew what he said.
_Alf_. But he hath bought[170] that saying with his death,
With such a loathsome and notorious death
As while the World's a World 'twill speake of _Meath_.
_Hat_. The Lord Archbishop of _Meath_, and die by Rats!
_Alf_. He did proclaime reliefe unto the poore;
Assembled them unto a private Barne
And, having lockt the doore, set it on fire,
Saying hee'de rid the countrie of such Mice;
And Mice and Rats have rid him from the World.
_Hat_. Well, Ile not hurt the poore so publikely,
But privately I'le grinde their very hearts.
Torture them living, and yet have their prayers,
And by such meanes that few or none shall know it.
_Al_. In such a course _Alfred_ would wind with you;
For though I counsail'd you to be more calme,
Twas not in pittie of their povertie
But to avoide their clamour. To give nothing
Will make them curse you: but to threaten them,
Flie in your face, and spit upon your beard.
No devill so fierce as a bread-wanting heart,
Especially being baited with ill tearmes.
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