And we have manuscripts in peacock styles
  By Ali of Damascus; we have swords
Engraved with storks and apes and crocodiles,
  And heavy beaten necklaces, for Lords.

But you are nothing but a lot of Jews.

Sir, even dogs have daylight, and we pay.

But who are ye in rags and rotten shoes,
  You dirty-bearded, blocking up the way?

We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go
  Always a little further: it may be
Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow,
  Across that angry or that glimmering sea,