Burd. [to Ralph]. What are you?
Ralph. I am, father doctor, as a man would say, the bell-wether of this company: these are my lords, and I the Prince of Wales.
Clem. Are you Edward, the king's son?
Ralph. Sirrah Miles, bring hither the tapster that drew the wine, and, I warrant, when they see how soundly I have broke his head, they'll say 'twas done by no less man than a prince.
Mason. I cannot believe that this is the Prince of Wales.
War. And why so, sir?
Mason. For they say the prince is a brave and a wise gentleman.
War. Why, and think'st thou, doctor, that he is not so?
Dar'st thou detract and derogate from him,
Being so lovely and so brave a youth?
Erms. Whose face, shining with many a sugar'd smile,
Bewrays that he is bred of princely race.
Miles. And yet, master doctor,
To speak like a proctor,
And tell unto you
What is veriment and true:
To cease of this quarrel,
Look but on his apparel;
Then mark but my talis,
He is great Prince of Walis,
The chief of our gregis,
And filius regis:
Then 'ware what is done,
For he is Henry's white[202] son.
Ralph. Doctors, whose doting night-caps are not capable of my ingenious dignity, know that I am Edward Plantagenet, whom if you displease, will make a ship that shall hold all your colleges, and so carry away the university with a fair wind to the Bankside in Southwark.—How sayest thou, Ned Warren, shall I not do it?