re friends
Than I could number with arithmetic,
Have now no more than one poor cypher is,
And that poor cypher I supply myself:
All that I durst commit my fortunes to,
I have tried, and find none to relieve my wants.
My sudden flight and fear of future shame
Left me unfurnish'd of all necessaries,
And these three days I have not tasted food.

MRS ART. It is my husband; O, how just is heaven!
Poorly disguis'd, and almost hunger-starv'd!
How comes this change?

Y. ART. Doth no man follow me?
O, how suspicious guilty murder is!
I starve for hunger, and I die for thirst.
Had I a kingdom, I would sell my crown
For a small bit of bread: I shame to beg,
And yet, perforce, I must or beg or starve.
This house, belike, 'longs to some gentlewoman,
And here's a woman: I will beg of her.
Good mistress, look upon a poor man's wants.
Whom do I see? tush! Arthur, she is dead.
But that I saw her dead and buried,
I would have sworn it had been Arthur's wife;
But I will leave her; shame forbids me beg
Of one so much resembles her.

MRS ART. Come hither, fellow! wherefore dost thou turn
Thy guilty looks and blushing face aside?
It seems thou hast not been brought up to this.

Y. ART. You say true, mistress; then for charity,
And for her sake whom you resemble most.
Pity my present want and misery.

MRS ART. It seems thou hast been in some better plight;
Sit down, I prythee: men, though they be poor,
Should not be scorn'd; to ease thy hunger, first
Eat these conserves; and now, I prythee, tell me
What thou hast been--thy fortunes, thy estate,
And what she was that I resemble most?

Y. ART. First, look that no man see or overhear us:
I think that shape was born to do me good. [_Aside_.]

MRS ART. Hast thou known one that did resemble me?

Y. ART. Ay, mistress; I cannot choose but weep
To call to mind the fortunes of her youth.

MRS ART. Tell me, of what estate or birth was she?

Y. ART, Born of good parents, and as well brought up;
Most fair, but not so fair as virtuous;
Happy in all things but her marriage;
Her riotous husband, which I weep to think,
By his lewd life, made them both miscarry.

MRS ART. Why dost thou grieve at their adversities?

Y. ART. O, blame me not; that man my kinsman was,
Nearer to me a kinsman could not be;
As near allied was that chaste woman too,
Nearer was never husband to his wife;
He whom I term my friend, no friend of mine,
Proving both mine and his own enemy,
Poison'd his wife