“I would fain hope so if I could,” replied Basing, shaking his head incredulously; “but, by St. Thomas, I wish you may not all live to repent your handiwork, and to find, when too late, that you are like the countryman who brought up a young wolf, which no sooner grew strong enough than it began to tear his sheep to pieces.” The two citizens passed on, and the yeoman of Kent and his nephew, having passed some time in the bear-gardens, strolled leisurely towards London Bridge, which was crowded with passengers, and enlivened by ballad-singers and minstrels bawling out the newest verses in praise of Prince Louis, and Robert Fitzwalter, and Constantine Fitzarnulph, and looked and listened till warned by the curfew bell to return to their hostelry and betake themselves to repose. “Beshrew me,” said the stripling in a low but ardently earnest tone, as, having looked to their horses, they parted for the night--“beshrew me if the heads of the Londoners are not turned with all this babble and noise about Prince Louis, and Robert Fitzwalter, and Constantine Fitzarnulph. My patience begins to give way.” “Heed them not,” replied the yeoman in a similar tone; “it is because Louis and his friends are the stronger party, and for no other reason. It is ever the way of the vulgar to follow those, no matter what their worth, whom Fortune favours, and despise those on whom she frowns, as I have learned to my bitter experience. See you, when the royal cause flourishes again they will shout as lustily for the king. Mayhap even we may yet be the heroes of popular song. Marry, less likely things have come to pass in changeful times.” “May the saints forefend!” exclaimed the stripling, smiling; “for, certes, I should then conclude that we were in the wrong. I remember me of the story which tells that when the Greek orator was loudly applauded by the multitude, the philosopher chid him. ‘Sir,’ added the philosopher, ‘if you had spoken wisely, these men would have showed no signs of approbation.’” Next morning, the yeoman and the stripling rose betimes, broke their fast, crossed London Bridge, and mingled with the crowd--pressing, surging, and swaying--that cheered and welcomed Louis, who that day charmed all hearts by his great affability and his very gracious condescension. Nothing, indeed, could have exceeded the enthusiasm of the citizens and populace of London when the French prince, crossing London Bridge, entered the city; “for,” says the chronicler, “there was nothing wanting in the salutations of the flattering people, not even that barbarous Chaire Basileus, which is, ‘Hail, dear lord.’”