Grandmother.  Ah, ’tis so with she.  She baint no tame mouse what creeps from its hole along of t’others and who do go shuffle shuffle, in and out of the ring, mild as milk and naught in the innards of they but the squeak.

Susan. [Defiantly.] ’Twas my dance gained his lordship’s praise—­so there, fine madam.

Lady Millicent.  Your dance?  Who are you then?

Alice.  A gipsy wench, mistress, who minds the goats and pigs for one of they great farms.

Grandmother.  Have a care for that tongue of yours, madam waiting maid.  For I know how to lay sommat upon it what you won’t fancy.

Lady Millicent. [Coming up to Susan and laying her hand on her arm.] Now tell me your name, my girl.

Susan.  They call me Princess Royal.

Lady Millicent.  O that must be in jest.  Why, you are clothed in rags, poor thing.

Susan. [Shaking herself free.] I’d sooner wear my own rags nor the laces which you have got upon you.

Lady Millicent.  Now why do you say such a thing?

Susan.  ’Twas in these rags as I danced in the wood that day, and ’tis by these rags as my lord will know me once more.

Lady Millicent.  Listen, I will cover you in silk and laces, Princess Royal.

Alice.  Susan is the maid’s name.

Susan.  I don’t want none of your laces or silks.

Lady Millicent.  And feed you with poultry and cream and sweetmeats.

Susan.  I want naught but my crust of bread.

Lady Millicent.  I’ll fill your hands with gold pieces.

Grandmother.  Do you hear that, Sue?

Susan. [Doggedly.] I hear her well enough, Gran.

Lady Millicent.  If you’ll teach me your dance against May Day.  Then, I’ll clothe myself much after your fashion and dance upon the green with the rest.

Susan.  I’ll not learn you my dance.  Not for all the gold in the world.  You shan’t go and take the only thing I have away from me.

Lady Millicent. [Angrily.] Neither shall a little gipsy wretch like you take my love from me.  We were as good as promised to each other at our christening.

Alice.  Don’t put yourself out for the baggage, madam.  His lordship would never look on her.

Grandmother.  Gold, did you say, mistress?

Lady Millicent.  Gold?  O yes—­an apron full of gold, and silver too.

Grandmother.  Do you hear that, Susan?

Susan. [Doggedly.] I’ll not do it for a King’s ransom.

Grandmother.  You will.  You’ll do it for the sake of poor old Gran, what’s been father and mother to you—­and what’s gone hungered and thirsty so that you might have bread and drink.