varlet

The Winchester Manorhouse has fled bodily, like a Dream of the old Night […]. House and people, royal and episcopal, lords and varlets, where are they?

[T]here was a little, sleek, fat clerk of the name of Chaucer, who was so apt at rondel, sirvente, or tonson, that no man dare give back a foot from the walls, lest he find it all set down in his rhymes and sung by every underling and varlet in the camp.

My lady to be called a nasty Scotch wh–re by such a varlet!—To be sure I wish I had knocked his brains out with the punchbowl.