WILL. If wages make you want, what food is that she gives?

DICK. Tear's drink, sorrow's meat, wherewith not I, but in me my death lives.

WILL. What living get you then?

DICK. Disdain; but just disdain; So have I cause myself to plain, but no cause to complain.

WILL. What care takes she for thee?

DICK. Her care is to prevent My freedom, with show of her beams, with virtue, my content.

WILL. God shield us from such dames! If so our dames be sped, The shepherds will grow lean I trow, their sheep will be ill-fed. But Dick, my counsel mark: run from the place of woo: The arrow being shot from far doth give the smaller blow.

DICK. Good Will, I cannot take thy good advice; before That foxes leave to steal, they find they die therefore.