_Master._ What not for money? pay ten silverlings,[91] You are a welcome guest, if so you please. _Jonas_ [_giving money_]. Hold, take thine hire; I follow thee, my friend. _Master._ Where is your budget? let me bear it, sir. _Jonas._ Go on in peace; who sail as I do now[92] Put trust in him who succoureth every want. [_Exeunt._ _Oseas._ When prophets, new-inspir'd, presume to force And tie the power of heaven to their conceits; When fear, promotion, pride, or simony, Ambition, subtle craft, their thoughts disguise, Woe to the flock whereas the shepherd's foul! For, lo, the Lord at unawares shall plague The careless guide, because his flocks do stray. The axe already to the tree is set: Beware to tempt the Lord, ye men of art. SCENE II.--_A Public Place in Nineveh._ _Enter_ ALCON, THRASYBULUS, SAMIA, _and_ CLESIPHON. _Cles._ Mother, some meat, or else I die for want. _Samia._ Ah little boy, how glad thy mother would Supply thy wants, but naked need denies! Thy father's slender portion in this world By usury and false deceit is lost: No charity within this city bides; All for themselves, and none to help the poor. _Cles._ Father, shall Clesiphon have no relief? _Alc._ Faith, my boy, I must be flat with thee, we must feed upon proverbs now; as "Necessity hath no law," "A churl's feast is better than none at all;" for other remedies have we none, except thy brother Radagon help us. _Samia._ Is this thy slender care to help our child? Hath nature arm'd thee to no more remorse?[93] Ah, cruel man, unkind and pitiless!-- Come, Clesiphon, my boy, I'll beg for thee. _Cles._ O, how my mother's mourning moveth me! _Alc._ Nay, you shall pay me interest for getting the boy, wife, before you carry him hence: alas, woman, what can Alcon do more? I'll pluck the belly out of my heart for thee, sweet Samia; be not so waspish. _Samia._ Ah silly man, I know thy want is great, And foolish I to crave where nothing is. Haste, Alcon, haste, make haste unto our son; Who, since he is in favour of the king, May help this hapless gentleman and us For to regain our goods from tyrant's hands. _Thras._ Have patience, Samia, wait your weal from heaven: The gods have rais'd your son, I hope, for this, To succour innocents in their distress. Lo, where he comes from the imperial court; Go, let us prostrate us before his feet. _Alc._ Nay, by my troth, I'll never ask my son's blessing; che trow, cha[94] taught him his lesson to know his father. _Enter_ RADAGON _attended._[95] What, son Radagon! i'faith, boy, how dost thee? _Radag._ Villain, disturb me not; I cannot stay.