“'T is a lie!” said Jack.
“A lie! A lie!” yelled a score of throats. “'T was not we bid them.”
“Doth not the King speak the will of the people?” Langland asked. “And King Edward bade them come.”
“Nay!” said Wat, “the King hath not spoke the will of the people in my day ever.”
“Nay,—nay,—nay!” the mob answered him.
“Stand o' one side, brother,” Wat said again. “We would not harm thee.”
“I 'll bide here!” Will answered, and lifting up his voice, “Is enough blood shed in this rising. I say ye shall not murder these harmless strangers.”
“Ho, ho!” roared Jack, “poet looketh to the noblesse for a son-in-law, and we do know English cloth is not fine enough for the court.”
There went up a howl of rage from weavers in the throng. They would have rushed into the street and over Will, but Wat set his back against the press, and also there was another man, pot-bellied, grizzled, withstood them.
“Serfs,—villeins!” cried Will, “ye are not fit to be free! The King hath rent your bonds in sunder, and how do ye repay him?”