For liberty and vengeance!"
The peasants are victorious, and bring in a rabble of nobles and priests as prisoners. They now have the sinister luxury of turning the tables on their masters. This was done with a sarcasm whose relish seemed to smack to the very bones and marrow.
"Lord. You will not dare to hold us?
Aylmere. Heaven forefend!
Hold a lord captive! Awful sacrilege!
Oh, no! We'll wait on you with trembling reverence!
Ay, veil our brows before you,—kneel to serve you!
What! hold a lord!
Archbishop. He mocks us.
Aylmere. Save your lordships!