Foul. Well Knights ile lay out fors all; here, my fine Pages.
Wil. No in deed, ant please your worship.
Foul. O Pages, refuse a Gentlemans bounty?
Ia. Cry you mercy, Sir; thanke you sweet Captaine.
Foul. And what other newes is stirring, my fine villiacos.
Wil. Marry Sir, they are invited to a great supper to night to your Lords house, Captaine, the Lord Furnifall, and there will be your great cosen Sir Gyles Goosecappe, the Lorde Tales, and your Vnckle, Sir Cutt. Rudesby, Sir Cutbert Kingcob.
Foul. The Lord Tales, what countriman is he?
Ia. A kentish Lord, sir; his ancestors came forth off Canterbury.
Foul. Out of Canterbury.
Wil. Indeed, Sir, the best Tales in England are your Canterbury Tales, I assure ye.