Will. So it seems, you have so much mother-wit, that you lack your father’s wisdom.
Grim. Mass, cham well-beset, here’s a trim cast of murlons.[97]
What be you, my pretty cockerels, that ask me these questions?
Jack. Good faith, Master Grim,[98] if such merlins on your pouch may light,
They are so quick of wing, that quickly they can carry it out of your sight;
And though we are cockerels now, we shall have spurs one day,
And shall be able perhaps to make you a capon [to your pay.[99]]
But to tell you the truth, we are the porter’s men, which early and late
Wait on such gentlemen as you, to open the court-gate.
Grim. Are ye servants then?