GEORGE-A-GREENE

Why, I am George a Green, True liegeman to my King, Who scorns that men of such esteem as these, Should brook the braves of any traitorous squire: You of the bench, and you my fellow friends, Neighbours, we subjects all unto the King, We are English born, and therefore Edwards friends, Voude unto him even in our mother's womb, Our minds to God, our hearts unto our King, Our wealth, our homage, and our carcases, Be all King Edwards: then sirrah, we have Nothing left for traitors, but our swords, Whetted to bath them in your bloods, And die against you, before we send you any victuals. Sirrah you get no victuals here, Not if a hoof of beef would save your lives. Let me see it, sirrah. Whose seals be these? I tell thee, sirrah, did good King Edwards son Seal a commission against the King his father, Thus would I tear it in despite of him, Being traitor to my Sovereign. 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 daggers point, proud squire. Sure that shall you see, before we two partly. Oh sir, if one be good, the others cannot hurt. So sir, now you may go tell the Earl of Kendall, Although I have rend his large Commission, Yet of courtesy I have sent all his seals Back again by you. Now let him tell his Lord, that he hath Spoke with George a Green, Right 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? The sweet content of men that live in love, Breeds fretting humours in a restless mind, And fancy being checked by Fortune's spite, Grows too impatient in her sweet desires: Sweet to those men whom love leads on to bliss, But sour to me, whose happen is still amiss. Sir, what do you cry, Amen at? How do you know that? Canst thou brook any rivals in thy love? Three horses in our wheat close? whose be they? Now sir, go and driven me those three horses To the pound. Why so? Why, they being gentlemens horses, may stand on their Reputation, and will not obey me. Go do as I bid you, sir. What be these? Now, gentlemen, I know not your degrees, But more you cannot be, unless you be Kings, Why wrong you us of Wakefield with your horses? I am the pinner, and before you pass, You shall make good the trespass they have done. Why sir, so may I sir, although I give no arms. Now by my father's soul, Were good king Edwards horses in the corn, They shall amend the seath or kiss the pound, Much more yours sir, whatsoever you be. Marry this, my Lord, I muse, If thou be Henry Momford Kendals Earl, That thou wilt do poor G. a Green this wrong, Ever to match me with a troop of men. Say on my sons. The king, my son. I, as sure as thou art Henry Momford, The one L. Bonfild, the other sir Gilbert. Welcome is the Earl to my poor cell, And so are you my Lords: but let me counsel you, To leave these wars against your king, And live in quiet. Poor George a Green the pinner. Pull all your plumes, and soar dishonour you. Nay, the end tries all, but so it will fallen out. Good my Lord be not offended, For I speak no more then art reveals to me: And for greater proof, Give your man leave to fetch me my staff. I'll prove it good upon your carcases: A wiser wizard never met you yet, Nor one that better could foredoom your fallen: Now I have singled you here alone, I care not though you be three to one. Is this my love, or is it but her shadow? Tell me sweet love, what good fortune Brought thee hither: For one it was that favoured George a Green. Tell me sweet love, how is thy mind content, What canst thou brook to live with George a Green? Happy am I to have so sweet a love. But what are these come trasing here along? Back again, you foolish travellers, For you are wrong, and may not weened this way. Leap the ditch, or I will make you skip. What, cannot the High way serve your turn, But you must make a path over the corn? Sirrah, darest thou try me? Make no doubt, I will be as liberal to thee. Soft you sir, by your leave you lie, You never yet laid hands on me. Why, who art thou? Robin Hood? next to king Edward Art thou leefe to me: Welcome, sweet Robin, welcome, maid Marian. And welcome, you my friends. Will you to my poor house, You shall have wafer cakes your fill, A piece of beef hung up since Martlemas, Mutton and veil, if this Like you not, Take that you find, or that you bring for me. Robin, therein thou honourest me. I'll lead the way. Robin, they are some peasants Tricked in yeomans weeds. Hollo, you two travellers. I, you. Are you not big enough to bear Your bats upon your necks, But you must trail them along the streets? Base minded peasants, worthless to be men, What, have you bones and limbs to strike a blow, And be your hearts so faint, you cannot fight? Wertenberg not for shame, I would shrub your shoulders well, And teach you manhood against another time. Thou speakest Like and honest quiet fellow. But hear you me, In spite of all the swains Of Dradford town, bear me your staves upon your necks, Or to begin withal, I'll baste you both so well, You were never better basted in your lives. What, have you any more? Call all your town forth, cut, and longtail. A pot you slave, we will have and hundred. Here, Will Perkins, take my purse, Fetch me a stand of Ale, and set in the Market place, That all may drink that are athirst this day, For this is for a free to welcome Robin Hood To Bradford town. Here Robin, fit thou here: for thou art the best man This, if please your majesty. With all my heart, my Lord, I give consent. What will your majesty do? I beseech your grace, grant me one thing. Then let me live and die a yeoman still: So was my father, so must live his son. For 'tis more credit to men of base degree, To do great deeds, than men of dignity. I beseech your grace pardon me, It passes my skill. Then let king James make good Those towns which he hath burned upon the borders, Give a small pension to the father less, Whose father's he caused murdered in those wars, Put in pledge for these things to your grace, And so return. King James, are you content. Sirrah, I thought no less, when the other morning, You rose so early to go to your wenches. Sir, I had thought you had gone about my honest business. It well done: now sir, go and survey my fields: If you find any cattle in the corn, to pound with them. Why what care I? A poor man that is true, Is better then and Earl, if he be false: Traitors reap no better favours at my hands. Why my Lord, measure me but by your self: Had you a man had served you long, And herd your foe misuse you behind your back, And would not draw his sword in your defence, You would cashere him. Much more, king Edward is my king: And before I'll hear him so wronged, I'll die within this place, And maintain good whatsoever I have said. And if I speak not reason in this case, What I have said I'll maintain in this place. Tell me sweet love, how camest thou from thy Father's? And where is Wily now? Jenkin, come hither: Go to Bradford, And listen out your fellow Wily. Come, Bettris, let us in, And in my cottage we will fit and talk. Well, did she meet you there? What, did she grant? What, was it gold? What was it? No, who? Came he by? Thou clown, didst thou set his horse upon Thy cloak? A prize, what is it? King Edwards better, rebel, thou liest. Stay, my Lords, let us parley on these broils: Not Hercules against two, the proverb is, Nor I against so great a multitude. Had not your troops come marching as they did, I would have stopped your passage unto London: But now I'll fly to secret policy. I my Lord, considering me one thing, You will leave these arms and follow your good king. Who knocks there? Pray give your man leave to lead me fort Loose gentle Lords, but not by good king Edward: A baser man shall give you all the foil. Momford, thou liest, never was I traitor yet; Only devised this guile to draw you on, For to be combatants. Now conquer me, and then march on to London: Least you be torn in pieces with she devils: Mistress Bettris, once, twice, thrice. O is this no cunning? Sirrah, the biggest limbs have not the stourest hearts. Were you as good as Robin Hood, and his three merry men, I'll driven you back the same way that you came. Be you men, you scorn to encounter me all at once, But be you cowards, set upon me all three, And try the Pinner what he dares perform. Proud dapper Jack, vail bonnet to The bench, That represents the person of the King; Or sirrah, I'll lay thy head before thy feet.