Fer. Now, here he comes in glory; be merry Masters,
A Banquet too? [meat conveyed away.
Ron. O, he must sit in State Sir!
Asca. How rarely he is usher'd! can he think now
He is a King indeed?
Ron. Mark but his countenance.
Cast. Let me have pleasures infinite, and to the height,
And women in abundance, many women,
Enter Ladies.
I will disport my grace,
Stand there and long for me.
What have ye brought me here? is this a Feast
Fit for a Prince? a mighty Prince? are these things,
These preparations, ha?
Doct. May it please your grace?
Cast. It does not please my grace: where are the Marchpanes,
The Custards double royal, and the subtilties?
Why, what weak things are you to serve a Prince thus?
Where be the delicates oth' earth and ayr?
The hidden secrets of the Sea? am I a plow-man,
You pop me up with porridge? hang the Cooks.
Fer. O most Kingly:
What a Majestick anger!