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!
There’s nobody’Il 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!
The curse of the poor be upon him,
The curse of the widows upon him,
