_Scrib_. Possible That mongst these desert unfrequented rocks Thou can imadgine such a thing can be As that which you call safety? _Pal_. Yes, _Scribonia_, And comfort too; for, see, I spy a villadge, A maner and a fayre built monastery, Just at the foott of this descendeinge hill. And where, if not amongst religious men, Shoold we find that's calld charity? _Scrib_. Thether, then: Lett[75] us make hast with all the speede we can: Fyre at the least I hope it [is?] well assured, Besydes releiffe and harbor. _Pal_. Can you begge? _Scrib_. What will not rude necessity compell Distressed folke to doo? We'll not doo't basely, For beinge brought upp to musick and to sing, Demandinge in that kind there charity, And they perceivinge us much better bred Then these our present fortunes might deserve, May move in them compassions. _Pal_. Lett's retyre To the backe gate then, there complane our wants And that which others doo with impudence Lett us in shame and blushes. _Scrib_. Som sweete echo Speake from these walls and answer to our wants, And eather lend som comfort to our grieffs Or send us hence dispayringe and asham'd. [_They go in_. _Pal_. _Oh charity where art thou fled, And nowe how longe hast thou been dead? Answer within. Oh many many many hundred yeares Scrib. In villadge, borrough, towne or citty Remaines there yet no grace, no pitty? Answ. Not in sighes, not in want, not in teares. Pal. Cold comfort in this answer; but proceede. Above. we see a threatninge skye. Answ. Beelowe the winds and gusts blowe hye, And all all to fright hence this same juell. Scrib. The lightninges blast, the thunders cracke, The billows menace nought save wracke. Answ. And yet man is then these much more crewell. Pal. Unless my judgment quite miscarry, Shee may lyve in som monastery. Answ. Tis a place too that was fyrst assigned her. Scrib. If not amongst religious men, Yett where, where shall wee seeks her then? Answ. Yet even there, there, you scarce scarce can find her. Pal. If chastity and Innocens tryde Have boathe escaped wind and tyde-- Answ. Yet oh why should the land, land these cherish? Scrib. Of whome even billowes have a care, Whom seas preserve, whom tempests spare-- Answ. Yet these these amongst men may perishe._ _Pal_. Uncharitable echo! from a place Of pure devotion canst thou answer that? If not in these religious monasteries, In what place can we find could charity? _Scrib_. Where ere wee meete her shee is lyke our selfes, Bare, without harbor, weake and comfortles. _Enter Fryer John_. _Fr. Jhon_. What singeinge beggers were those at the gate That would so early rowse our charity, Before it was half styrringe or awake? _Enter Fryer Richard_. I thinke I answerd them in such a way As I beleeve scarce pleas'd them. _Fr. Rich_. What sweete musick Was that at the back gate hath cald mee upp Somwhat before my hower?