But hark--to divert this angry parley--I hear no unpleasing touch of minstrelsy.

You know the gay science, my Lord of March, and love it well.

Step to yonder window, beside the holy prior, at whom we make no question touching secular pleasures, and you will tell us if the music and play be worth listening to.

The notes are of France, I think.

My brother of Albany's judgment is not worth a cockle shell in such matters, so you, cousin, must report your opinion whether the poor glee maiden deserves recompense.