Eyre. Vouchsafe to taste of a poor banquet that stands sweetly waiting for your sweet presence.
King. I shall undo thee, Eyre, only with feasts;
Already have I been too troublesome;
Say, have I not?
Eyre. O my dear king, Sim Eyre was taken unawares upon a day of shroving,[118] which I promised long ago to the prentices of London.
For, an’t please your highness, in time past,
I bare the water-tankard, and my coat
Sits not a whit the worse upon my back;
And then, upon a morning, some mad boys,
It was Shrove Tuesday, even as ’tis now,
Gave me my breakfast, and I swore then by the stopple of my tankard, if ever I came to be lord mayor of London, I would feast all the prentices. This day, my liege, I did it, and the slaves had an hundred tables five times covered; they are gone home and vanished;
Yet add more honour to the gentle trade,
Taste of Eyre’s banquet, Simon’s happy made.
King. Eyre, I will taste of thy banquet, and will say,
I have not met more pleasure on a day.
Friends of the gentle craft, thanks to you all,
Thanks, my kind lady mayoress, for our cheer.—
Come, lords, a while let’s revel it at home!
When all our sports and banquetings are done,
Wars must right wrongs which Frenchmen have begun. [Exeunt.
