JACK. Was it you,[95] sir, that cried so loud, I trow, And bid us take in coals for the king’s mouth even now? GRIM. ’Twas I, indeed. JACK. Why, sir, how dare you speak such petty treason? Doth the king eat coals at any season? GRIM. Here is a gay world! boys now sets old men to school. I said well enough: what, Jack-sauce, think’st cham a fool? At bakehouse, butt’ry-hatch, kitchen, and cellar, Do[96] they not say for the king’s mouth? WILL. What, then, goodman collier? GRIM. What, then! seeing without coals thee cannot finely dress the king’s meat, May I not say, take in coals for the king’s mouth, though coals he do not eat? JACK. James Christe! came ever from a collier an answer so trim? You are learned, are you not, father Grim? GRIM. Grim is my name indeed, cham not learned, and yet the king’s collier: This vorty winter cha been to the king a servitor, Though I be not learned, yet cha mother-wit enough, whole and some. 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? WILL. Yea, sir; are we not pretty men? GRIM. Pretty men, quoth you? nay, you are strong men, else you could not bear these breeches. WILL. Are these such[100] great hose? in faith, goodman collier, you see with your nose: By mine honesty, I have but one lining in one hose, but seven ells of rug.[101] GRIM. This is but a little, yet it makes thee seem a great bug. JACK. How say you, goodman collier, can you find any fault here?[102] GRIM. Nay, you should [not] find fau’t, marry, here’s trim gear! Alas, little knave, dost not sweat? thou goest with great pain, These are no hose, but water-bougets,[103] I tell thee plain; Good for none but such as have no buttocks. Did you ever see two such little Robin ruddocks[104] So laden with breeches? chill say no more, lest I offend. Who invented these monsters[105] first, did it to a ghostly end, To have a mail ready to put in other folks’ stuff, We see this evident by daily proof. One preached of late not far hence in no pulpit, but in a wain-cart, That spake enough of this; but for my part, Chill say no more: your own necessity In the end will force you to find some remedy.