The Prince's heart was beating high with hopes of escape, now.

A burly waterman, considerably exalted with liquor, found himself rudely shoved by Canty in his efforts to plough through the crowd; he laid his great hand on Canty's shoulder and said-- "Nay, whither so fast, friend?
Dost canker thy soul with sordid business when all that be leal men and true make holiday ?" "Mine affairs are mine own, they concern thee not," answered Canty, roughly; "take away thy hand and let me pass." "Sith that is thy humour, thou'lt NOT pass, till thou'st drunk to the Prince of Wales, I tell thee that," said the waterman, barring the way resolutely.
"Give me the cup, then, and make speed, make speed!" Other revellers were interested by this time.

They cried out-- "The loving-cup, the loving-cup! make the sour knave drink the loving-cup, else will we feed him to the fishes." So a huge loving-cup was brought; the waterman, grasping it by one of its handles, and with the other hand bearing up the end of an imaginary napkin, presented it in due and ancient form to Canty, who had to grasp the opposite handle with one of his hands and take off the lid with the other, according to ancient custom.

{1} This left the Prince hand-free for a second, of course.

He wasted no time, but dived among the forest of legs about him and disappeared.