SCENE I.—Before Grime's house in Bradford.
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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. Grime. [aside]. A pretty wench, of smiling countenance! Old men can like, although they cannot love; Ay, and love, though not so brief as young men can.— Well, go in, my wench, and speak with my daughter. [Exit Wily into the house. I wonder much at the Earl of Kendal, Being a mighty man, as still he is, Yet for to be a traitor to his king, Is more than God or man will well allow. But what a fool am I to talk of him! My mind is more here of the pretty lass. Had she brought some forty pounds to town, I could be content to make her my wife: Yet I have heard it in a proverb said, He that is old and marries with a lass, Lies but at home, and proves himself an ass.
Enter, from the house, Bettris in Wily's apparel.
How now, my wench! how is't? what, not a word?— Alas, poor soul, the toothache plagues her sore.— Well, my wench, Here is an angel for to buy thee pins, [Gives money. And I pray thee use mine house; The oftener, the more welcome: farewell. [Exit. Bet. O blessèd love, and blessèd fortune both! But, Bettris, stand not here to talk of love, But hie thee straight unto thy George-a-Greene: Never went roebuck swifter on the downs Than I will trip it till I see my George. [Exit.