? I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. What means this noise? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? A miracle! a miracle! Come to the king and tell him what miracle. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine, Within this half-hour, hath received his sight; A man that ne'er saw in his life before. Now, God be praised, that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Here comes the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king; His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind and now restored? Born blind, an't please your grace. Ay, indeed, was he. What woman is this? His wife, an't like your worship. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told. Where wert thou born? At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee: Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance, Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come, Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so. What, art thou lame? Ay, God Almighty help me! How camest thou so? A fall off of a tree. A plum-tree, master. How long hast thou been blind? Born so, master. What, and wouldst climb a tree? But that in all my life, when I was a youth. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst venture so. Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life. A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve. Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them: In my opinion yet thou seest not well. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? Red, master; red as blood. Why, that's well said.