Clement. Why, harebraind courtiers, are you drunke or mad,
To taunt us with such scurilitie?
Deeme you us men of base and light esteeme,
To bring us such a fop for Henries son?—
Call out the beadl[e]s and convay them hence 90
Straight to Bocardo:[1385] let the roisters lie
Close clapt in bolts, untill their wits be tame.
Ermsbie. Why, shall we to prison, my lord?
Raphe. What saist, Miles, shall I honour the prison with my presence? 95
Miles. No, no: out with your blades, and hamper these jades;