Clarence

O my good Lord, true wisdom drops like honey From your tongue, as from a worshipped oak! Forgive, my Lords, my talkative youth, that speaks Not merely what my narrow observation has Pick’d up, but what I have concluded from your lessons. Now, by the Queen’s advice, I ask your leave To dine to-morrow with the Mayor of London; If I obtain your leave, I have another boon To ask, which is the favour of your company. I fear Lord Percy will not give me leave.