The night following the Duke [of Lancaster] consulted with his private men how he might put off that that redounded to his infamy and manifest dishonour. After divers men's opinions diversely told, he, liking of none of their ways, is reported to have said: "What," saith he, "do these base and ignoble knights attempt? Do they think they be kings or princes of this land? Or else whence is this haughtiness and pride? I think they know not what power I am of. I will therefore early in the morning appear unto them so glorious and will show such power among them and with such vigour I will terrify them, that neither they nor their like shall dare henceforth to provoke me to wrath." Boasting in this sort and vainly assuring himself, one of his gentlemen is said to have given him this answer: "My lord," saith he, "it is not unknown to your honour what helps these knights, not of the common sort, as you affirm, but mighty in arms and valiant, have to undershore them; for they have the favour and love of the lords, and especially of the Lord Prince Edward, your brother, who giveth them his council and aid effectually. The Londoners also, all and everyone, and common people be so well affected towards them that they will not suffer them to be overlaid with reproachful language, or to be molested with the least injury in the world. Yea, and the knights themselves abused in any reproachful manner, shall be enforced to attempt all extremities against your person and your friends, which, haply, otherwise they would never do." With this admonition the duke's guilty conscience was very much troubled. He was afraid indeed that it would so come to pass, as the gentleman had said unto him, and that so his honour should ever more distained.[41] Whereas he knew that if mention were openly made of his wicked acts he could not satisfy the people by any purgation, nor for trouble of mind and guiltiness of conscience durst, though he were willing thereto, wage battle against his enviers.... O unfortunate duke and miserable, O that destroyest with thy treason and lack of sense and reason, whom thou guidest to battle, and whom in peace thou shouldst guide through examples of good works, thou leadest them through bye ways and bringest them to destruction, for thou whereas either God, or, that I may so say, Nature, the mother of all things hath given thee a soul and discretion, than the which nothing is more excellent, so dost abject and abase thyself, that a man may think you to differ nothing from a brute beast. Behold, O most miserable man, thinkest thyself to flourish, which accountest thyself happy, in what sort thy own miseries do overbear thee, thy lusts do torment thee; to whom that which thou hast is not sufficient, and yet fearest lest it will not long continue thine.