'When wolves teach conies how to play on pipes,' the master printer snarled from his chest.
'The Lord Privy Seal never stood higher,' Udal said. 'The match with the Cleves Lady hath gained him great honour.'
'God cement it!' the printer said fervently.
The old man pulled at his nose and gazed at nothing.
'I am tired with this chatter of the woman from Cleves,' he croaked, like a malevolent raven. 'An Anne she is, and a Lutheran. I mind we had an Anne and a Lutheran for Queen before. She played the whore and lost her head.'
'Where's your niece Margot?' Udal asked the printer.
'You owe me nine crowns,' the old man said.
'I will give your Margot ten crowns' worth of lessons in Latin.'
'Hold and enough,' the printer muttered heavily. 'Tags from Seneca in a wench's mouth are rose garlands on a cow's horns.'
'The best ladies in the land learn of me,' Udal answered.