Know monologue (Act 2) — Every Man in His Humor

Believe me, I am taken with some wonder, To think a fellow of thy outward presence, Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind, Be so degenerate, and sordid-base. Art thou a man? and sham'st thou not to beg, To practise such a servile kind of life? Why, were thy education ne'er so mean, Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses Offer themselves to thy election. Either the wars might still supply thy wants, Or service of some virtuous gentleman, Or honest labour; nay, what can I name, But would become thee better than to beg: But men of thy condition feed on sloth, As cloth the beetle on the dung she breeds in; Nor caring how the metal of your minds Is eaten with the rust of idleness. Now, afore me, whate'er he be, that should Relieve a person of thy quality, While thou insist'st in this loose desperate course, I would esteem the sin not thine, but his.