_Geo._ Well, my lord, you have almost turned me.-- Jenkin, come hither. _Jen._ Sir? _Geo._ Go your ways home, sir, And drive me those three horses home unto my house, And pour them down a bushel of good oats. _Jen._ Well, I will.--[_Aside_]. Must I give these scurvy horses oats? [_Exit._ _Geo._ Will it please you to command your train aside? _Ken._ Stand aside. [_The train retires._ _Geo._ Now list to me: Here in a wood, not far from hence, There dwells an old man in a cave alone, That can foretell what fortunes shall befall you, For he is greatly skilful in magic art. Go you three to him early in the morning, And question him: if he says good, Why, then, my lord, I am the foremost man Who will march up with your camp to London. _Ken._ George, thou honourest me in this. But where shall we find him out? _Geo._ My man shall conduct you to the place; But, good my lord, tell me true what the wise man saith. _Ken._ That will I, as I am Earl of Kendal. _Geo._ Why, then, to honour George-a-Greene the more, Vouchsafe a piece of beef at my poor house; You shall have wafer-cakes your fill, A piece of beef hung up since Martlemas: If that like you not, take what you bring, for me. _Ken._ Gramercies, George. [_Exeunt._ ACT THE THIRD SCENE I.--_Before_ GRIME'S _house in Bradford._ _Enter_ GEORGE-A-GREENE'S _boy_ WILY, _disguised as a woman._ _Wily._ O, what is love! it is some mighty power, Else could it never conquer George-a-Greene. Here dwells a churl that keeps away his love: I know the worst, an if I be espied, 'Tis but a beating; and if I by this means Can get fair Bettris forth her father's door, It is enough. Venus, for me, of all the gods alone, Be aiding to my wily enterprise! [_Knocks at the door._ _Enter_ GRIME _as from the house._ _Grime._ How now! who knocks there? what would you have? From whence came you? where do you dwell? _Wily._ I am, forsooth, a sempster's maid hard by, That hath brought work home to your daughter. _Grime._ Nay, are you not Some crafty quean that comes from George-a-Greene, That rascal, with some letters to my daughter? I will have you search'd. _Wily._ Alas, sir, it is Hebrew unto me, To tell me of George-a-Greene or any other! Search me, good sir, and if you find a letter About me, let me have the punishment that's due. _Grime._ Why are you muffled? I like you the worse for that. _Wily._ I am not, sir, asham'd to show my face; Yet loth I am my cheeks should take the air: Not that I'm chary of my beauty's hue, But that I'm troubled with the toothache sore. [_Unmuffles._