Holy Saint Coleman! FIRST CRIPPLE. Fine talk! fine talk! What else does the King do? He fattens hogs and drives the poet away! SECOND CRIPPLE. He starves the song-maker! FIRST CRIPPLE. He fattens geese! MAYOR. How dare you take his name into your mouth! How dare you lift your voice against the King! What would we be without him? BRIAN. Why do you praise him? I will have nobody speak well of him, Or any other king that robs my master. MAYOR. And had he not the right to? and the right To strike your master’s head off, being the King, Or yours or mine? I say, ‘Long live the King! Because he does not take our heads from us.’ Call out, ‘Long life to him!’ BRIAN. Call out for him! [_Speaking at same time with MAYOR._ There’s nobody’ll call out for him, But smiths will turn their anvils, The millers turn their wheels, The farmers turn their churns, The witches turn their thumbs, ’Till he be broken and splintered into pieces. MAYOR. [_At same time with BRIAN._] He might, if he’d a mind to it, Be digging out our tongues, Or dragging out our hair, Or bleaching us like calves, Or weaning us like lambs, But for the kindness and the softness that is in him. [_They gasp for breath._ FIRST CRIPPLE. I’ll curse him till I drop! [_Speaking at same time as SECOND CRIPPLE and MAYOR and BRIAN, who have begun again._ The curse of the poor be upon him, The curse of the widows upon him, The curse of the children upon him, The curse of the bishops upon him, Until he be as rotten as an old mushroom! SECOND CRIPPLE. [_Speaking at same time as FIRST CRIPPLE and MAYOR and BRIAN._ The curse of wrinkles be upon him! Wrinkles where his eyes are, Wrinkles where his nose is, Wrinkles where his mouth is, And a little old devil looking out of every wrinkle! BRIAN. [_Speaking at same time with MAYOR and CRIPPLES._] And nobody will sing for him, And nobody will hunt for him, And nobody will fish for him, And nobody will pray for him, But ever and always curse him and abuse him. MAYOR. [_Speaking at same time with CRIPPLES and BRIAN._] What good is in a poet? Has he money in a stocking, Or cider in the cellar, Or flitches in the chimney, Or anything anywhere but his own idleness? [_BRIAN seizes MAYOR._ MAYOR. Help! help! Am I not in authority? BRIAN. That’s how I’ll shout for the King! MAYOR. Help! help! Am I not in the King’s place? BRIAN. I’ll teach him to be kind to the poor! MAYOR. Help! help! Wait till we are in Kinvara! FIRST CRIPPLE. [_Beating MAYOR on the legs with crutch._] I’ll shake the royalty out of his legs! SECOND CRIPPLE. [_Burying his nails in MAYOR’S face._] I’ll scrumble the ermine out of his skin! [_The CHAMBERLAIN comes down steps shouting, ‘_Silence! silence! silence!_’_ CHAMBERLAIN.