SCENE III.--_In Westmoreland.

_Enter_ MUSGROVE _and_ CUDDY.

_Cud._ Now, gentle father, list unto thy son, And for my mother's love, That erst was blithe and bonny in thine eye, Grant one petition that I shall demand.

_Mus._ What is that, my Cuddy?

_Cud._ Father, you know the ancient enmity of late Between the Musgroves and the wily Scots, Whereof they have oath Not to leave one alive that strides a lance. O father, you are old, and, waning, age unto the grave: Old William Musgrove, which whilom was thought The bravest horseman in all Westmoreland, Is weak, and forc'd to stay his arm upon a staff, That erst could wield a lance. Then, gentle father, resign the hold to me; Give arms to youth, and honour unto age.

_Mus._ Avaunt, false-hearted boy! my joints do quake Even with anguish of thy very words. Hath William Musgrove seen an hundred years? Have I been fear'd and dreaded of the Scots, That, when they heard my name in any road,[301] They fled away, and posted thence amain, And shall I die with shame now in mine age? No, Cuddy, no: thus resolve I, Here have I liv'd, and here will Musgrove die. [_Exeunt._