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2 Then you may come again.

What am I to do? Where hall I go?

It is fine weather—you may go any where.

Who will give me a morel of bread to atisfy my hunger?

Sick people eat but little.

Hard, unfeeling man, have pity.

When times are hard, pity is too expenive for a poor man. Ak alms of the different people that go by.

Beg! I would rather tarve.

You may beg, and tarve too. What a fine lady you are! Many an honet woman has been obliged to beg. Why hould not you? [Agatha its down upon a large tone under a tree.] For intance, here comes omebody; and I will teach you how to begin. [A Countryman, with working tools, croes the road.] Good day, neighbour Nicholas.

Good day. [Stops.

Won’t you give a trifle to this poor woman? [Countryman takes no notice, but walks off.] That would not do—the poor man has nothing himelf but