These ragged knaves who come before us here,
With mouths chock-full of treason.
Third Citizen
Good my Lord,
Fill up our mouths with bread; we’ll hold our tongues.
Duke
Ye shall hold your tongues, whether you starve or not.
My lords, this age is so familiar grown,
That the low peasant hardly doffs his hat,
Unless you beat him; and the raw mechanic
Elbows the noble in the public streets.
[To the Citizens.]
Still as our gentle Duchess has so prayed us,
And to refuse so beautiful a beggar
Were to lack both courtesy and love,
Touching your grievances, I promise this—
First Citizen
Marry, he will lighten the taxes!
Second Citizen