All. Oh brave! Come, come, my hearts! Away, away!
Firk. O eternal credit to us of the gentle craft! March fair, my hearts! Oh rare! [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Street in London.
Enter the King and his Train across the stage.
King. Is our lord mayor of London such a gallant?
Nobleman. One of the merriest madcaps in your land.
Your grace will think, when you behold the man,
He’s rather a wild ruffian than a mayor.
Yet thus much I’ll ensure your majesty.
In all his actions that concern his state,
He is as serious, provident, and wise,
As full of gravity amongst the grave,
As any mayor hath been these many years.
King. I am with child,[106] till I behold this huff-cap.[107]
But all my doubt is, when we come in presence,
His madness will be dashed clean out of countenance.
Nobleman. It may be so, my liege.
King. Which to prevent,
Let some one give him notice, ’tis our pleasure
That he put on his wonted merriment.
Set forward!