This sally brought more laughter. Poor Edward drew himself up proudly
and said--

"I am the prince; and it ill beseemeth you that feed upon the king my
father's bounty to use me so."

This was vastly enjoyed, as the laughter testified. The youth who had
first spoken, shouted to his comrades--

"Ho, swine, slaves, pensioners of his grace's princely father, where be
your manners? Down on your marrow bones, all of ye, and do reverence to
his kingly port and royal rags!"

With boisterous mirth they dropped upon their knees in a body and did
mock homage to their prey. The prince spurned the nearest boy with his
foot, and said fiercely--

"Take thou that, till the morrow come and I build thee a gibbet!"

Ah, but this was not a joke--this was going beyond fun. The laughter
ceased on the instant, and fury took its place. A dozen shouted--

"Hale him forth! To the horse-pond, to the horse-pond! Where be the
dogs? Ho, there, Lion! ho, Fangs!"

Then followed such a thing as England had never seen before--the sacred
person of the heir to the throne rudely buffeted by plebeian hands, and
set upon and torn by dogs.