'Ewe lamb, ewe lamb, I am here by the dam.' But the miller came home that night, And so dusted his back with the meal in his sack, That he made the black sheep white. 3RD BEGGAR. Be we not of the family? be we not a-supping with the head of the family? be we not in my lord's own refractory? Out from among us; thou art our black sheep. _Enter the four_ KNIGHTS. FITZURSE. Sheep, said he? And sheep without the shepherd, too. Where is my lord Archbishop? Thou the lustiest and lousiest of this Cain's brotherhood, answer. 3RD BEGGAR. With Cain's answer, my lord. Am I his keeper? Thou shouldst call him Cain, not me. FITZURSE. So I do, for he would murder his brother the State. 3RD BEGGAR (_rising and advancing_). No my lord; but because the Lord hath set his mark upon him that no man should murder him. FITZURSE. Where is he? where is he? 3RD BEGGAR. With Cain belike, in the land of Nod, or in the land of France for aught I know. FITZURSE. France! Ha! De Morville, Tracy, Brito--fled is he? Cross swords all of you! swear to follow him! Remember the Queen! [_The four_ KNIGHTS _cross their swords_. DE BRITO. They mock us; he is here. [_All the_ BEGGARS _rise and advance upon them_. FITZURSE. Come, you filthy knaves, let us pass. 3RD BEGGAR. Nay, my lord, let _us_ pass. We be a-going home after our supper in all humbleness, my lord; for the Archbishop loves humbleness, my lord; and though we be fifty to four, we daren't fight you with our crutches, my lord. There now, if thou hast not laid hands upon me! and my fellows know that I am all one scale like a fish. I pray God I haven't given thee my leprosy, my lord. [FITZURSE _shrinks from him and another presses upon_ DE BRITO. DE BRITO. Away, dog! 4TH BEGGAR. And I was bit by a mad dog o' Friday, an' I be half dog already by this token, that tho' I can drink wine I cannot bide water, my lord; and I want to bite, I want to bite, and they do say the very breath catches. DE BRITO. Insolent clown. Shall I smite him with the edge of the sword? DE MORVILLE. No, nor with the flat of it either. Smite the shepherd and the sheep are scattered. Smite the sheep and the shepherd will excommunicate thee. DE BRITO. Yet my fingers itch to beat him into nothing. 5TH BEGGAR. So do mine, my lord. I was born with it, and sulphur won't bring it out o' me. But for all that the Archbishop washed my feet o' Tuesday. He likes it, my lord. 6TH BEGGAR. And see here, my lord, this rag fro' the gangrene i' my leg. It's humbling--it smells o' human natur'. Wilt thou smell it, my lord? for the Archbishop likes the smell on it, my lord; for I be his lord and master i' Christ, my lord. DE MORVILLE. Faugh! we shall all be poisoned. Let us go. [_They draw back,_ BEGGARS _following_. 7TH BEGGAR. My lord, I ha' three sisters a-dying at home o' the sweating sickness. They be dead while I be a-supping.