Giles.  Then what do you up yonder at the marrying this morning?

Old man.  Oh, I do take me to those places where there be burying or marriage, for the hearts of folk at these seasons be warmed and kinder, like.  And ’tis bread and meat as I gets then.  Food be thrown out to the poor old dog what waits patient at the door.

Giles. [Looks intently at him for a moment.] See here, old master.  I would fain strike a bargain with you.  And ’tis with a handful of golden pieces that I will pay your service.

Old man.  Anything to oblige you, my young lord.

Giles. [To George.] Take out a handful from the bag of gold.  And you, John, give him some of the silver.

[George and John untie their bags and take out gold and silver.  They twist it up in a handkerchief which they give to the old man.]

Old man.  May all the blessings of heaven rest on you, my lord, for ’tis plain to see that you be one of the greatest and finest gentlemen ever born to the land.

Giles.  My good friend, you’re wrong there, I was a poor country lad, but I had the greatest treasure that a man could hold on this earth.  ’Twas the love of my cousin Millie.  And being poor, I was put from out the home, and sent to seek my fortune in parts beyond the sea.

Old man.  Now, who’d have thought ’twas so, for the looks of you be gentle born all over.

Giles.  “Come back with a bushel of gold in one hand and one of silver in t’other” the old farmer said to me, “and then maybe I’ll let you wed my daughter.”

Old man.  And here you be comed back, and there lie the gold and the silver bags.

Giles.  And yonder is Millie given in marriage to another.

George.  ’Taint done yet, master.

John.  ’Tisn’t too late, by a long way, master.

Giles. [To old man.] And so I would crave something of you, old friend.  Lend me your smock, and your big hat and your staff.  In that disguise I will go to the farm and look upon my poor false love once more.  If I find that her heart is already given to another, I shall not make myself known to her.  But if she still holds to her love for me, then —

George.  Go in the fine clothes what you have upon you, master.  And even should the maid’s heart, be given to another, the sight of so grand a cloth and such laces will soon turn it the right way again.

John.  Ah, that’s so, it is.  You go as you be clothed now, master.  I know what maids be, and ’tis finery and good coats which do work more on the hearts of they nor anything else in the wide world.

Giles.  No, no, my lads.  I will return as I did go from yonder.  Poor, and in mean clothing.  Nor shall a glint of all my wealth speak one word for me.  But if so be as her heart is true in spite of everything, my sorrowful garments will not hide my love away from her.