_Ned._ Though young, Yet often have I heard my father say, No greater wrong than to be made cuckold. Were I of age, or were my body strong, Were he ten kings, I would shoot him to the heart That should attempt to give Sir John the horn.-- Mother, let him not come in: I will go lie at Jocky Miller's house. _K. James._ Stay him. _Jane._ Ay, well said; Ned, thou hast given the king his answer; For were the ghost of Cæsar on the earth, Wrapp'd in the wonted glory of his honour, He should not make me wrong my husband so. But good King James is pleasant, as I guess, And means to try what humour I am in; Else would he never have brought an host of men, To have them witness of his Scottish lust. _K. James._ Jane, in faith, Jane,-- _Jane._ Never reply, For I protest by the highest holy God, That doometh just revenge for things amiss, King James, of all men, shall not have my love. _K. James._ Then list to me: Saint Andrew be my boot, But I'll raze thy castle to the very ground, Unless thou open the gate, and let me in. _Jane._ I fear thee not, King Jamy: do thy worst. This castle is too strong for thee to scale; Besides, to-morrow will Sir John come home. _K. James._ Well, Jane, since thou disdain'st King James's love, I'll draw thee on with sharp and deep extremes; For, by my father's soul, this brat of thine Shall perish here before thine eyes, Unless thou open the gate, and let me in. _Jane._ O deep extremes! my heart begins to break: My little Ned looks pale for fear.-- Cheer thee, my boy, I will do much for thee. _Ned._ But not so much as to dishonour me. _Jane._ An if thou diest, I cannot live, sweet Ned. _Ned._ Then die with honour, mother, dying chaste. _Jane._ I am armed: My husband's love, his honour, and his fame, Join[304] victory by virtue. Now, King James, If mother's tears cannot allay thine ire, Then butcher him, for I will never yield: The son shall die before I wrong the father. _K. James._ Why, then, he dies. _Alarum within. Enter a_ Messenger. _Mess._ My lord, Musgrove is at hand. _K. James._ Who, Musgrove? The devil he is! Come, my horse! [_Exeunt._ SCENE II.--_The Same._ _Enter_ MUSGROVE _with_ KING JAMES _prisoner_; JANE-A-BARLEY _on the walls._ _Mus._ Now, King James, thou art my prisoner. _K. James._ Not thine, but fortune's prisoner. _Enter_ CUDDY. _Cud._ Father, the field is ours: their colours we have seiz'd, And Humes is slain; I slew him hand to hand. _Mus._ God and Saint George! _Cud._ O father, I am sore athirst! _Jane._ Come in, young Cuddy, come and drink thy fill: Bring in King Jamy with you as a guest; For all this broil was 'cause he could not enter. [_Exit above.--Exeunt below, the others._ SCENE III.--_At Wakefield._