_Man._ This is the Earl of Kendal's seal-at-arms; This Lord Charnel Bonfield's; And this Sir Gilbert Armstrong's. _Geo._ I tell thee, sirrah, did good King Edward's son Seal a commission 'gainst the king his father, Thus would I tear it in despite of him, [_Tears the commission._ Being traitor to my sovereign. _Man._ What, hast thou torn my lord's commission? Thou shalt rue it, and so shall all Wakefield. _Geo._ What, are you in choler? I will give you pills To cool your stomach. Seest thou these seals? Now, by my father's soul, Which was a yeoman when he was alive, Eat them, or eat my dagger's point, proud squire. _Man._ But thou dost but jest, I hope. _Geo._ Sure that shall you see before we two part. _Man._ Well, an there be no remedy, so, George: [_Swallows one of the seals._ One is gone; I pray thee, no more now. _Geo._ O, sir, if one be good, the others cannot hurt. [MANNERING _swallows the other two seals._ So, sir; now you may go tell the Earl of Kendal, Although I have rent his large commission, Yet of courtesy I have sent all his seals Back again by you. _Man._ Well, sir, I will do your errand. [_Exit._ _Geo._ Now let him tell his lord that he hath spoke With George-a-Greene, Hight Pinner of merry Wakefield town, That hath physic for a fool, Pills for a traitor that doth wrong his sovereign. Are you content with this that I have done? _Jus._ Ay, content, George; For highly hast thou honour'd Wakefield town In cutting off proud Mannering so short. Come, thou shalt be my welcome guest to-day; For well thou hast deserv'd reward and favour. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III.--_In Westmoreland._ _Enter_ MUSGROVE _and_ CUDDY. _Cud._ Now, gentle father, list unto thy son, And for my mother's love, That erst was blithe and bonny in thine eye, Grant one petition that I shall demand. _Mus._ What is that, my Cuddy? _Cud._ Father, you know the ancient enmity of late Between the Musgroves and the wily Scots, Whereof they have oath Not to leave one alive that strides a lance. O father, you are old, and, waning, age unto the grave: Old William Musgrove, which whilom was thought The bravest horseman in all Westmoreland, Is weak, and forc'd to stay his arm upon a staff, That erst could wield a lance. Then, gentle father, resign the hold to me; Give arms to youth, and honour unto age. _Mus._ Avaunt, false-hearted boy! my joints do quake Even with anguish of thy very words. Hath William Musgrove seen an hundred years? Have I been fear'd and dreaded of the Scots, That, when they heard my name in any road,[301] They fled away, and posted thence amain, And shall I die with shame now in mine age? No, Cuddy, no: thus resolve I, Here have I liv'd, and here will Musgrove die. [_Exeunt._