Faugh! Thou vile, base-born knave! Thou hast befouled royal velvet with thy filthy backside? Thou filthy swine-herd, that cloth was spun by angels, and thou hast made it a rag for thy scurvy filth! What madness is this, thou cumber-world clodpate? Thou has brought the stench of the privy into my chambers! By my troth, I shall have thee whipped! Guards! Take this dung-heap creature to the deepest dungeon and let him rue the day he dared touch a Queen's garment! Then seize this knave, this moldwarp, and bring me his head!
