SCENE IV.--_At Bradford._ _Enter_ LORD BONFIELD, SIR GILBERT ARMSTRONG, GRIME, _and_ BETTRIS. _Bon._ Now, gentle Grime, God-a-mercy for our good cheer; Our fare was royal, and our welcome great: And sith so kindly thou hast entertain'd us, If we return with happy victory, We will deal as friendly with thee in recompense. _Grime._ Your welcome was but duty, gentle lord; For wherefore have we given us our wealth, But to make our betters welcome when they come? [_Aside_]. O, this goes hard when traitors must be flatter'd! But life is sweet, and I cannot withstand it: God, I hope, will revenge the quarrel of my king. _Arm._ What said you, Grime? _Grime._ I say, Sir Gilbert, looking on my daughter, I curse the hour that e'er I got the girl; For, sir, she may have many wealthy suitors, And yet she disdains them all, To have poor George-a-Greene unto her husband. _Bon._ On that, good Grime, I am talking with thy daughter; But she, in quirks and quiddities of love, Sets me to school, she is so over-wise.-- But, gentle girl, if thou wilt forsake the Pinner And be my love, I will advance thee high; To dignify those hairs of amber hue, I'll grace them with a chaplet made of pearl, Set with choice rubies, sparks, and diamonds, Planted upon a velvet hood, to hide that head Wherein two sapphires burn like sparkling fire: This will I do, fair Bettris, and far more, If thou wilt love the Lord of Doncaster. _Bet._ Heigh-ho! my heart is in a higher place, Perhaps on the earl, if that be he. See where he comes, or angry, or in love, For why his colour looketh discontent. _Enter the_ EARL OF KENDAL _and_ SIR NICHOLAS MANNERING. _Ken._ Come, Nick, follow me. _Bon._ How now, my lord! what news? _Ken._ Such news, Bonfield, as will make thee laugh, And fret thy fill, to hear how Nick was us'd. Why, the Justices stand on their terms: Nick, as you know, is haughty in his words; He laid the law unto the Justices With threatening braves, that one look'd on another, Ready to stoop; but that a churl came in, One George-a-Greene, the Pinner of the town, And with his dagger drawn laid hands on Nick, And by no beggars swore that we were traitors, Rent our commission, and upon a brave Made Nick to eat the seals or brook the stab: Poor Mannering, afraid, came posting hither straight. _Bet._ O lovely George, fortune be still thy friend! And as thy thoughts be high, so be thy mind In all accords, even to thy heart's desire! _Bon._ What says fair Bettris? _Grime._ My lord, she is praying for George-a-Greene: He is the man, and she will none but him. _Bon._ But him! why, look on me, my girl: Thou know'st, that yesternight I courted thee, And swore at my return to wed with thee. Then tell me, love, shall I have all thy fair?