King. Come on, then, all shake hands: I’ll have you friends;
Where there is much love, all discord ends.
What says my mad lord mayor to all this love?
Eyre. O my liege, this honour you have done to my fine journeyman here, Rowland Lacy, and all these favours which you have shown to me this day in my poor house, will make Simon Eyre live longer by one dozen of warm summers more than he should.
King. Nay, my mad lord mayor, that shall be thy name,
If any grace of mine can length thy life,
One honour more I’ll do thee: that new building,[117]
Which at thy cost in Cornhill is erected,
Shall take a name from us; we’ll have it called
The Leadenhall, because in digging it
You found the lead that covereth the same.
Eyre. I thank your majesty.
Marg. God bless your grace!
King. Lincoln, a word with you!
Enter Hodge, Firk, Ralph, and more Shoemakers.
Eyre. How now, my mad knaves? Peace, speak softly, yonder is the king.
King. With the old troop which there we keep in pay,
We will incorporate a new supply.
Before one summer more pass o’er my head,
France shall repent, England was injured.
What are all those?
Lacy. All shoemakers, my liege,
Sometime my fellows; in their companies
I lived as merry as an emperor.