By your maisterships licence.
R. Roister. What is that? a moate?
M. Mery. No it was a fooles feather had light on your coate.
R. Roister. I was nigh no feathers since I came from my bed.
M. Mery. No sir, it was a haire that was fall from your hed.
R. Roister. My men com when it plese them.
M. Mery. By your leue.
R. Roister. What is that?
M. Mery. Your gown was foule spotted with the foot of a gnat.
R. Roister. Their maister to offende they are nothing afearde.