_Simp._ O, master, that you could! _Glo._ My masters of St. Albans, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips? _Mayor._ Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. _Glo._ Then send for one presently. _May._ Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. [_Exit an_ Attendant. _Glo._ Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. _Simp._ Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain. _Enter a_ Beadle _with whips_. _Glo._ Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. _Bead._ I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet quickly. _Simp._ Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. [_After the_ Beadle _hath hit him once, he leaps over the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry_, “A miracle!” _K. Hen._ O God! seest thou this, and bearest so long? _Q. Mar._ It made me laugh to see the villain run. _Glo._ Follow the knave; and take this drab away. _Wife._ Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. _Glo._ Let them be whipped through every market-town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. [_Exeunt_ Wife, Beadle, Mayor, _etc._ _Car._ Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. _Suf._ True; made the lame to leap and fly away. _Glo._ But you have done more miracles than I; You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. There are a good many market-towns on the 317 miles between St. Albans and Berwick. The Duke was buried hard by the shrine of St. Alban, where his magnificent chantry tomb, built by Abbot Wheathampstead, still remains, bearing amid its delicate sculptures the antelope, his badge. The leaden coffin of the Duke was opened in 1703, when the body was found “lying in pickle.” The once well-known phrase, “dining with Duke Humphrey,” is variously explained. It seems to have originated with a visitor to the Abbey in the late sixteenth century having been accidentally locked in the chantry chapel all night. The humour of it spread to London and found a more poignant note in its application to the beggars and insolvent debtors who, with nothing else to do, paced the aisles of Old St. Paul’s. They went dinnerless, without the will to it, and were said to “dine with Duke Humphrey.”