Sst! Sst! Good masters! Pray, sweet lordings, here
Comes Master Wycliffe.
[Enter, in conversation, Wycliffe and Chaucer, followed by Johanna, who seeks to draw Wycliffe away. The Pilgrims greet the last, some with shouts of welcome, others with hisses.]
WYCLIFFE
[To Chaucer.]
Certes, sir, it may
Be as you say.—Good folk! good children!—Yet
To me this England is a gorgeous tabard,
Blazon’d with shining arms and kingly shields;
A cloth of gold, blood-dyed with heraldries