Chapter VI: Part 6

_Did_. Straunglye, beyond all presydents of greife. Being dead it seemes he loves her ten tymes more Then ere he loved her liveinge (yet that love Outwentt all dottage in th'extreamytie): He will not give her buryall, but in's armes Carryes her up & downe, courts, kysses, toys, Mournes when she maks no answere; often faynes To understande her sylence; sweares that deathe Cannot, nay darre not, hurte suche excellence.

_Orl_. Why, thys is absolute madnes! Where's byshopp _Turpin_? His reverence shoulde persuade hym.

_Did_. So he hathe, But tys in vayne: he heares naught but his passyon.

_Orl_. Why, styll thou heapest uppon me newe misfortunes.

_Did_. But will delyver comforte. For some prooffe Of myne integrytie, knowe I was hyerd By _Ganelon_ to poyson you.

_Rei_. Whatts thys?

_Did_. To which performance I so soothd hys hopes That he beleives tys doone.

_Orl_. And so it had, But that my Fortune knewe my deathe woulde be Toe greate a blessinge for me & remove The object of her envye past her spleene. What wretchednes is thys! haveinge indeede All the worlds mysseryes that have a name, A new one out of pyttie must be founde To adde to infynitts. My heavy cursse, But that't would be a blessynge, shoulde rewarde thee; And for thy disobedyence to thy lorde Ile torture thee, for I will wish thee well.

_Did_. Did ever mans preservatyon plauge [sic] hym thus? Wonder confounds me.

_Rei_. My most worthye cossen, Will you not take advantage of thys plott?

_Orl_. No; what advauntage? the emperour's eares are glewed Gaynst althyngs but hys passyons.

_Did_. Great Sir, no; The vyolence of hys passyon notwithstandinge, Havinge hys deathe-slayne mistres in hys armes, He heares all causes criminall as if She did but slumber by hym.

_Oli_. Tys an offerd meanes To bringe your foe in hatred with the emperour Revyve your hopes.

_Orl_. As cordyalls doe call backe A dyinge man from hys aproachynge peace To make h[im suffer] still the mysseryes Of hys allmost past sycknes. I reffuse it, And by my suffrynge nowe will shewe my selfe Too noble to complayne. I neare coulde fynde Pleasure or ease in others punishment, Or if I were so base to take delighte In the afflyctions of another man My fate would guard me from't, for tys decreed That onlye I of all mankynde shall neare Be master of a hope shall have successe: So all the opposytion I can make Would onlye make my greives rydiculous And dyvorce pyttye from theym. Neare will I. [_Ex. Orlando_.

_Did_. Heres a straunge humor!

_Oli_. I, but let it not Deterre you from hys accusatyon.

_Did_. Ile justefye what I have sayd.

_Rei_. Doe so, And bothe myne entertaynment and rewarde Shall pay thy love and faythe.

[_Ex. all but Didier_.

_Did_. I doe not like Thys entertaynment at the second hande: It looks like barbers physicke, muddylie. Is thys a welcome worthye of the love I have exprest? Had I tooke up hys hauke Or matcht a coatch-horse for hym suche a servyce Had deserved more respect then he gives me. I like a wise man have lefte certayne meanes, For hop't preferments: 'twas dyscreetlye doone And ledd by vertue too. Thys vertue is The scurvyest, harlottryest, undoeinge thynge That ever mixte with rysinge courtyers thoughts. But t'has a cursse. It is impossyble Ere to gett into _Ganelon_ agayne, Havinge not onlye not performd hys will But tould hys purpose. And howe slyghte so ere The earle of _Angeres_ houlds thys accusatyon, T'will be examynd: therefore I must throughe-- But howe? thoughe it be true I cannot prove it By other testymonie then myne owne; And that hys owne denyall will bereave me Of the beleife due to it. Yet will I stand too't styll: To deter vyce heaven gives a power to will.

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Gan_. Y'are well mett.

_Did_. I thanke you.

_Gan_. Th'art a vyllayne.

_Did_. It may be so; your lordshypp can defyne me If you would shewe your readinge or your practyse.

_Gan_. _Orlando_ is retournd.

_Did_. Tys well.

_Gan_. It is; But it had beene better for your perjurd roaugshipp Your harte had gordgd a hauke.

_Did_. Wa, ha ho, man! Your buzarde is a kynde of byrde of prey, Your lordship knowes too, that will feede on all Unable to outflye or to resist, But suche pursued her basenes and her sloathe At once apeare. You understand me, sir?

_Gan_. Nowe a leane castrell[89] ceyze thee? Arte thou flesht? Must naught encounter you but byrds of rapyne?

_Did_. Good, good, you stretche a foule comparysson The best that I have hearde. But be assurd I am no scarabb for a castrells breakfast.

_Gan_. Why, you are growne a desperatt darringe rouge, A roaugue of noyse and clamor, are you not?

_Did_. And in dyspyghte of all your fearfull bells Of greatnes and aucthorytie, will tourne heade, Fly in thye bossome, and so stynge thee then That thou shalt curse thy beinge. [_Exit Didier_.

_Gan_. Thys is well, Exceedinge well: upbrayded by my slave Armed by my trust agaynst me! I coulde nowe Wishe a stronge packthread had stytchd up my lips When I made thys roague inmate of my breast. My seryous counsaylls and's owne servyces He sells like goods at outcryes--"Who gives most?" Oh what dull devyll manadgd my weake braynes When first I trusted hym; Harte, I have made My counsaylls my foes weapons, wherewith he May wound me deeplye. Suer he has reveald My purposse and reward to poyson hym: So I bestryde a myne which to my ruyne Wants but a sparke,--and farewell, _Ganelon_! Nowe the poxe take my harte for trustynge hym! What a brave noble creature were a man ... ... ... ... ... see and so prevent ... ... ... ... ... nay of his slave.

_Enter Richard_.

_Ric_. Health attend you!

_Gan_. O my dearest sweete, Thy presence makes thee master of thy wish; For in it rests my health and happynes. Howe does my best friend? faythe, you look most sadd, And we have bothe full cause. My syster's deathe Hath, like the moone in opposytion, Put out the eie of heaven. But doth the emperour Styll keep her in hys armes.

_Ric_. Yes, styll and styll; Nay with such vyolence love seemes to growe And flourishe most in deathe. _Mesantius_ wrathe, That tyed dead to the livinge, seemes in hym The joy of all man's wishes. Soothe he is Anything now but famous _Charlymayne_.

_Gan_. I cannot blame hym; tis a furye man Can neither tame nor conquer. But, dear frende, Is there no meanes to come to the dead queene Out of the emperours presence?

_Ric_. Sir, theres none; He hath her evermore within hys armes, And when a sleepes your syster _Gabriella_ Or the oulde Bishopp _Turpin_ doe attend her.

_Gan_. I, there you name a newe afflyctyon, That syster is an ulcer in my bloode: Howe doe you with her doatinge passyons?

_Ric_. Sleyght them beyond your wishes.

_Gan_. Thou dost amaze me with thy noble vertue, And thence I honor thee. As for that mayd Still let her frantique love receyve repulse And crowne thy contynence; for though I was Content the queene should stray, yet thys[90] I would not have to fall for chrystendome.

_Ric_. You neede not feare me: if not contynence, Yet myne owne will is armour strong enoughe.

_Gan_. I know't; and here she comes.

_Enter Gabriella_.

_Gab_. Brother, God save you!--0 my noble _Richarde_, You make me oulde ithe mornynge of my yeares. Shall styll your winter nypp me?

_Gan_. What doe you meane?

_Gab_. T'express a love thats good and vertuous.

_Gan_. Fye, thys doth stayne your noble modestye.

_Gab_. To tell before you myne affectyon In publique I confes it would make me A subject for taxation.

_Gan_. Anywhere. Come, a must not love you.

_Gab_. Heavens forbydd! And I must tell you, brother, that I darre (And with no other then a syster's spleene) Justifye myne affectyon.

_Gan_. So, And what wants thys of impudence?

_Gab_. As much As you of charytie if your tonge bee A faithfull servant to your mynde.

_Gan_. Tys well: You would be whored (mayd), would you not?

_Ric_. Pray, Forbeare.

_Gab_. Your reprehensyon is unmannerlye, While Ile enduer no longer. Fayre Sir, knowe I will not have my true love circomscrybd Within the lymits of your pollycie, Come, y'are wicked.

_Gan_. Repentance would doe well.

_Gab_. Tys a fytt matche for threescore and ten yeares And at that sober age I meane to wedd it. Yet knowe that my desyers are not so wild But they stay here. Nor will I ever stray Beyond this most loved object.

_Ric_. Say not so: It never can retourne your recompence. Vertue, my soules dower, which is now contrackt And richlie to be marryed unto heaven Shall ever keepe me from affectyon: Beleve it, madam, I will never love.

_Gab_. Then have false hopes raysd me to th'topp of all Onlye to forme my ruyne in my fall.

_Gan_. Nay, no more fallinge. Come, my noble frende; And, ladye, cherishe not these whorishe longings.

[_Exe. Gan. Rich_.

_Gab_. Not cherrishe them? yes, blowe them into flames Create as the full desyers that warme my bloode. What, am I younge, fruytfull, and somewhat fayre, And shall my pleasures beare the servyle yoake Of hys strycte rules and so chayne up my blood In manackles of ice? Fyrst Ile dare All pangs make men thynke of mortallytie, But I will love hym; yes, I will love hym styll And so be servd both in my lust and will.

_Enter Charlimayne with the queene in his armes,
Turpin, La Busse_.

_Turp_ ... ... Sir, let me perswade ... ... Thys dottage ore the deade is monstrous, Nor suits youre greatnes nor your gravitie.

_Char_. No more; He that perswades me from thys loved embrace Is my most mortall enemye, and here I sweare Ile hate hym to destructyon. O, _Gabriella_, come; thy syster sleepes A longe, longe slumber, but she is not deade; Goodnes can never perishe, and if so Yet deathe shall not devyde us. Why, I have Not full so many mynuts to survyve As one pore breathe may reccon, and shall I For that short space forgett her? No we'll stay And close our loves both in one monument.

_Turp_. Was never seene suche an affectyon!

_Char_. Come, _Gabriella_, let us sett her downe; And seate her easylie, doe not hurt my queene; The downie breathe that sweepes alongst the meads, Kissinge the gentyll flowers that sweeten hym, Are stormes and tempests to her tenderness: [_They place the dead bodye in a chayre_. No ayre shall blow uppon her. Happye soule! Indeede I dearelye love thee, for I see The rose and lyllie sprynginge in thy cheeks Fresher than ever. Deathes imortal sythe Dare not offend thy branches: O, thou arte A thynge beyond mortall corruptyon.

_Buss_.--What will a make of her?

_Turp_.--Even what his fancye pleases.

_Char_. If she be dead howe sweete a thynge is deathe, Howe riche, howe gloryous and unmatchable! And howe much follye is in fearfull man [_Sitts by her_. To flye from that which is so amyable! Deare, give me leave to touche thee and imprinte My soule uppon theise rubyes. All the fame And garlands I have woone throughe Chrystendome, The conquests I have made of _Fraunce_, of _Spayne_, Of _Ittalie, Hungarie, Germanie_, Even to the uttmost east poynt, placd with thee Are toys of worthlesse valewe. Here's my crowne, And but for thys I were not _Charlymayne_.

_Turp_. Alas, tys she maks hym not _Charlymayne_!

_Char_. Comaund some musique. Everye man departe,

[_Exe. Bus. and attend[ants]. Soft musique_.

But _Turpin_ and my sister. Heavye sleepe Presses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete, Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my rest Shall but like softe ayre gentlye cover thee. [_Sleepes on her bosome_.

_Turp_. What, madam? is he salve a sleepe?

_Gab_. Most soundlye, Sir: sadnes from hys soule Hath charmd hys sence with slumber.

_Turp_. Then, if it please your goodnes to withdrawe And fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watche And call you at hys wakynge.

_Gab_. Willinglye. [_Ex. Gabriella_.

_Turp_. I have not seene so stronge a fytt as thys, It is beyond all fevers; for thys feynde, Thys most mallygnant spyrritt called love, Raynes in him above wonder, nay above Th'accounte of learnynge or experyence. I've reade in younger studyes there are charmes, Spells and devysses to comand men's harts; That charracters and imadges and scrolles Can even bynd the soule to servytude. It may be that's wrought on the emperoure. I know the hate of _Ganelon_ to be A myne of all deceytfull polycie, And thys affectyon thus unnaturall, Can but have such a father. Suer Ile trye, If I can fynde the carryage. Pardon me, deathe, That I thys once ryffell thy treasurye. Theres nothynge heare conceald but deathe and colde And emptye sylence, no companyon. What, shall I then leave of? My harte says noe; Ile yet breake ope another cabanett. Nay, I must parte your lipps; the mouthe, they say, Harbors most oft weomen's corruptyons: You cannot byte me, madam. Ha, whats thys? A rynge! A very curyous rynge, a dayntye ringe Hydd underneathe her tonge. Blesse me, fate! Somethynge depends uppon it: what it is I will aprove and be the treasurer.

_Enter Gabriella_.

_Gab_. Howe nowe, my Lorde? awaks the emperour?

[_Char. stirrs_.

_Turp_. I sawe him move even now: agayne he styrrs. Good sweete, excuse me: when a dothe awake I will retourne imedyatlye. [_Exit Turp_.

_Gab_. I will.

_Char_. Hey ho! Who waytts without? dothe nobodye attend? ... ... pleasure ... ... ... ... ... Ha! Woman's attendaunce? in the name of chaunge When did _Charles_ use such frayltie? Men at armes Did ever guarde me: am I now forsooke?

_Enter Richard, La Busse and attendants_.

O you are wellcome. Ha! what creature's thys? Deathe coopeld to my bossome, to my chayre? What traytor shewd thys embleme? Why my age Did neare forgett mortallytie, nor hathe The wantonst thought in prynces made me looke Beyond the hower of deathe. Let me viewe her.

_Rich_.--Here's a chaunge; he wilbe _Charles_ agayne.

_Bus_.--Why, thys maks althyngs more myraculous.

_Char_. Tys the dead Empresse! In the name of healthe Who plact her bodye here?

_Rich_. Onlye your maiestye, From strengthe of whose imbrace not anye tonge Had power to drawe her.

_Char_. Gentyll coosse, Doe not take judgment from me: in my mynde Was never fyxte a frantycke passyon. But more of that hereafter: take it hence And let the ladyes guarde it tyll it be Interrd with publique sollempe obsequy.

[_Attendants, La Busse and Gab. carie away the dead_.

Where is Orlando my renowned nephewe?

_Rich_. Without, attendinge your hye pleasure.

_Char_. Good coosse, intreate hys presence that hys face May blesse an ould man's eie sight. O tys he [_Exit Rich_. Hathe brought to _Fraunce_ her wishes in suche wreathes Of uncompared conquests that it bends With weaknes of requyttall. Here he comes!

_Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Richard and Didier,
Attend[ants]_.

O my best souldier, wellcome! I growe younge With thynkinge of thy gloryes. Wellcome, coosse, Wellcome, renowned _Oliver_, wellcome all! But thou, myne eagle, wellcome as my healthe! Th'ast brought me peace, the braunche of hapynes.

_Orl_. The good that I have doone, Sir, is without me And I partake not of it, but within me I bringe and beare more mysseryes then would Unpeople your whole kyngdome.

_Char_. Whats the matter?

_Orl_. Sir, to let passe somethynge without your power Nowe to be remedyed, I am persuaded (Thoughe I persuade my selfe to littill purposse) To tell you of a practyse gainst my life By _Ganelon_.

_Char_. Call hym; you shall be hearde, You are to me toe pretyous to take wronge. Yet, nephewe, be advisd, for you doe knowe That indyrect surmyses more abuse And in that strange abuse more deeplye wounde An inocent brest then proves a guyltie one.

_Orl_. Sir, I best knowe howe muche abusses wounde An inocent brest: myne keepes a register With corsives charactred on everye syde Of the griefe drinkinge pap[er]. But I say, Were _Ganelon_ here--

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Gan_. As he is, my lorde, To aunswere everye thynge your abusd nature, The mallyce of thys slave or of the world, Can charge me with. Speak then the uttermost.

_Orl_. I say you are a man that haveinge longe Practysd agaynst myne honor in myne absence At last didst deale with thys just gentyllman (For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttie Be myne afflyction) to poyson me.

_Gan_. My emperour, If thys aspertyon may fynde out a way Thorrowe your easynes to wound myne honor, Justyce hathe left the earthe.

_Char_. What say you, Syr? ha!

_Did_. I say and sweare by all dyvinitie That can rewarde or punyshe, tys most true That with a summe of goulde and further hopes Of future honors he did wynne my promysse To poyson the greate Palladyne.

_Char_. Thys is dyrect.

_Gan_. A dyrect vyllanye! If suche proofes may prevayle gaynst any man, Any such slave, discarded for's badd life, May make hys former master forfayte hys; You may in ten days hange up all your nobles And yet have lawe for't. But if any man (Thys slave except), although hys synns would make The sunne put on a cloud to shame his syghte And the grasse wither with his loathed ..., Will justefye thys accusatyon, Ile remayne destitute of all replye.

_Char_. Nephewe, what other proofe have you?

_Orl_. Your majestie sees all, And the thyrde parte of that product gaynst me Or gaynst another man (for anye ellse) Would be enoughe.

_Rei_. Why, in suche casses, where basse pollycie Works on the lives of prynces, God forbydd But one mans oathe should stand for testymonye.

_Oli_. Espetyallye where cyrcumstances leade Dyrectlye to the poynte he aymethe at. All _Fraunce_ dothe knowe he hates the Palladyne.

_Ric_. In soothe I doe not thynke so. Envyes tonges Are sharpe and manye, and they ever cleave Most to'th oppressed, oft to'th inocent.

_Rei_. Doe not deceyve your selfe out of your love. Brother, tys knowne he is most treacherous.

_Bus_. Worthy _Reinaldo_, carrye better thoughts: My father is your servant, and dothe love you.

_Rei_. Would a loved vertue as I knowe you doe, I then would honor hym. Uppon my life In thys he is most guyltye.

_Char_. Come, no more. There is some cyrcomstance but no due proofe, And from that grounde my nephewe shall perceyve Howe dearlye I doe pryze him. _Ganelon_, Hencefourthe you never more shall see the courte: Yare banysht thence. You have a cuntrye house, Let that receyve you: when you thence departe Your life is forfayte. Away!

_Gan_. I doe obay Your Majestye. [_Exe. Gan., La Busse_.

_Orl_. Is thys a punishment?

_Rei_. Tys a disgrace, best cossen.

_Did_. And noble bloode Hathe more sence of disgrace then wounds.

_Orl_. Hence, slave! By heaven a does rewarde hym for hys synne. Was ever man like me unfortunate? Not see the courte! why tys the greatest favor In a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasd T'have sent me to deathe we had bothe beene easd.

_Enter Turpin_.

_Char_. O my deare sweete! where has my best frend beene? My joy of life, my ages comforter! Indeede I've had a tedyous mysse of thee.

_Tur_. What meanes your majestie?

_Char_. I meane to live for ever on thy necke And bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares. O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge, Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosse When the bright sonne dothe kysse it.

_Orl_. Ha, whats thys?

_Tur_. I am your pore weake servant, an oulde man, That have but onlye prayrs to pleasure you.

_Char_. Thou art all butye, spyces and perfume, A verye myne of imortallytie. Theise hayres are oth complexion of the skye, Not like the earthe blacke browne and sullyed. Thou hast no wrinckles: theise are carracters In which are wrytt loves happiest hystorye. Indeede I needs must kysse theym, faythe I will. [_Kisses Turpin_.

_Orl_.--Wonder when wilt thou leave me? thys is straunge.

_Rei_.--Nay, farre above my readinge.

_Orl_.--Upon my life! The ould men will not ravyshe one another?

_Tur_. Deare Sir, forbeare; see howe theise prynces scorne Thys toe much wanton passyon.

_Char_. They are joys Toe good for theym to wyttness. Come, my sweete; We will in private measure our delights And fyll our wishes bryme full. _F[r]aunce_ is thyne, And he is but disloyall dare repyne.

[_Ex. Char., Turp_.

_Orl_. This visyon I must followe; when Charles growes thus The whole worlde shaks: thys comett's omynous.

[_Ex. all but Didier_.

_Did_. I am a polyticke coxcombe: honestye And contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake truthe I neare usd eyther mearlye for it selfe. Hope, the last comforte of eche liveinge man, Has undoone me. What course shall I take now? I am worsse then a game; both syds have lost me. My contyence and my fortunes keepe me fytt For anye ill. Successe may make all fayre; He that for naught can hope should naught dispayre.

[_Exit_.

_Actus Tertius_.

(SCENE I.)

_Enter Eldegrad and Gabriella_.

[_Eld_.] ... ... ... it is not possyble ... ... ... ... ... The smoothe face of the wanton lovelye _Richard_ Should promise more true fortytude in love Then tourne a recreant to perswatyons.

_Gab_. Why, mother, you have seene the course of thyngs, The smale assurance and the certayne deathe, The meare deceytfull scope and shadowed ruyns That are most conynglie knytt up in pleasures; And are you styll to learne or will you trust A lovelye face with all your good beleife? My dutye checks myne anger, or I should--

_Eld_. What should you?

_Gab_. Give your tast a bytternes.

_Eld_. I pray thee, doe; bytter thyngs expell poyson; See if my follyes may be purdgd a littill.

_Gab_. Spleene shall not taynte my goodnes So muche as to account your errors follyes; But, I proteste, were you another woman, I should be bouldlye seryous and tell you That all the wytts of chrystendome are spente In stryppinge the corrupted harte of smoothnes: And yet you thynke a smoothe perswadinge boy Beares all hys daunger in hys cheeke and eie! Shall weomen trust a sweete and courtlye face When they themselves deceyve most by the face? Why serves our owne dissemblinge arte if we Cannot suspect when others doe dissemble?

_Eld_. True, daughter; love is like the weassell that went into the meale-chamber; it comes in a littill chyncke no bygger then our eie syghte, but haveinge a whyle fedd on imagynatyon dreames sonnetts to the tune of syghes and heyhos; it growes plumpe and full of humor; it asks a crannye as bygg as a conye borrowe to gett out agayne.

_Gab_. And wherefore then should I trust in the face? Mother, tys true your sonne, my cruell brother, The toe much wise, toe subtyll _Ganelon_, Onlye withdrawes _Richards_ affectyon. Even to my selfe a swore a should not love me; And who that knowes hym, knowes he is not ledd By the charme of hys voyce onlye?

_Eld_. Trust me, wenche, Twas tyrannye to speake so; but in thys Where lyethe our preventyon?

_Gab_. Onlye thus: You must by all meanes styrre dissentyon Twixte _Rychard_ and my brother, tourne their loves To mortall hate and emulatyon; Which but effected, _Richard_ suer will love Bee't but alone to crosse hys enemye.

_Eld_. Content thy selfe, gyrle. There is not the malytious creature nowe liveinge, no, not a venemous and craftie stepdame, nor a tale-carr[y]inge, truthe-pervertinge gossypp cann make theire seedes of enmytie poyson the love of parentts, husbands, neighbours or good fellowshypp sooner or more effectuallye then I will crosse theire frendshypp. But to better purpose--

_Gab_. Peace, no more: here comes the aged byshopp The kyngs inamord darlinge.

_Enter Turpin_.

_Tur_. Best ladye, well encounterd: howe runns chaunce With your deare sonne, my good lord _Ganelon_?

_Eld_. Better then envye wishes, gratyous sir. Lost from the courte he left behynde hym there All cares and all vexatyons: nowe he sleepes, Eats, drynks and laughes, and, but when he dothe sweate, Moves not hys hatt tyll bedd tyme; dothe not fawne, Nor croutche, nor crynge, nor startche his countenance; Is not tane up with other mens affayres But onlye looks to's owne comodytie.

_Tur_. Hys chaunge was passynge happye then, it seemes.

_Gab_. Bothe for hymselfe and hys; for, greate sir, nowe He onlye wayts on hys partycullar, Seeks from a cuntrye comonwealth to rayse All hys to cuntrye fortunes; which, they say, Is safest, surest, and least envyed.

_Tur_. Why, prettie Ladye, you'le not leave the courte?

_Eld_. Yes, gratyous lorde; I'me sent to bringe her thence. Our pore retyred famylie must plante Theire braunches in the broade ayre, not be plashd[91] Or propt agaynst the walls of pallaces.

_Tur_. I doe comend your tempers, but, madam, tys Hys highnes pleasure, for some spetyall ende Onlye to hym reveald, that instantlye Your sonne repayre to'th courte, which I intreate You will imparte unto hym.

_Eld_. Most willinglie; Yet suer I knowe hys harte [is] settled there Which to the courte is a contrarye spheare.

[_Ex. Eldegr. and Gab_.

_Tur_. Howe prettylie theise weomen can dissemble! ... ... ... ... ... O tys a foule and damned sorcerye And maks the best of wisdome and of men, Of fame and fortytude, more loosse then ayre, Foolishe as idyotts, basse as cowardysse. Why I am even rackt with complyment And torturde past all suffrance; age nor sexe Houlde difference in thys incantatyon. But I will trye it further, harke a comes; Nowe must I passe the pike of lunacye.

_Enter Charlimayne, La Busse and Richard_.

_Char_. Come, come, my dearest; wherefore doe you starve My quycke desyers with your so cruell absence? I pray thee tender my declyninge age, Stande allways neare that I may never faynte; For thou inspyrst in me more strengthe and life Then mightie nature when she made me younge.

_Tur_. Sir, I have allways beene your humblest servante.

_Char_. O you dyssemble fynelye!

_Tur_. I protest, sir.

_Char_. Nay, then I may beleive you flatter me, But say thou dost and seeme to love me dearelye, For I confess, as freelye as I love, One littell sparke of thee outbuys my kyngdome; And when my kyngdomes gone pray what am I? A pore decrepyd mysserable thynge That needs no greater plauge then adge and wrinckles.

_Tur_. Indeed your passyon is toe vyolent. I doe adore you next to dietie [sic] And will lay downe my life for you to treade on.

_Char_. Oh[92] nowe religion teache me to beleive Another god, or I must forfayte heaven And worshypp what I see, thys happy creature. Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my sence From knowinge what I feele, for I am weake: Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on thee Who bryngst my captive soule to libertie. Chuse then a fytt rewarde, examyne all, All my domynions and authoryties; Thynke what may please thee, make a full request Or I shall growe a burthen to thy favors.

_Tur_. What shall I aske, that in your favours have All that I can desyer?

_Char_. Nay, aske me somethynge: Come, tell't in myne eare?

_Bus_. What thynke you, lorde? Has any favrytt all he can desyer.

_Rich_. Yes, and a be contented.

_Bus_.--Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie contented?

_Rich_.--Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt.

_Bus_.--Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll wante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, _Richard_, he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not nowe blame hys doatinge on my sister.

_Rich_.--No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole[s], muche more with prynces.

_Bus_.--If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall? Come, come, be not seveare; let us prate whylst they whysper.

_Rich_.--Is that good manners?

_Bus_.--Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe.

_Rich_.--Come, thou art wanton!

_Bus_.--As the Bishopp is costyve in hys begging. Twere a myrackle should he aske nothynge. Let me see: does no bodye stande in his way to be removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or does not somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer. Somewhat there must be.

_Char_. How now, cossen, what says _La Busse_?

_Bus_. Marrye, my lorde, I say if you should give half the libertye of begginge to a courtyer of myne acquayntance that you gave to the Byshopp, you would be beggd out of your whole kyngdome in a cople of mynuts.

_Char_. Like enough, for thy acquayntance are foule beggarlye companyons; yet would thy father had thy vertue.--But, sweete frend, Assure thy selfe th'ast fyxte my resolutyon As fyrme as destenye, and I will give All satisfactyon to the Palladyne.

_Tur_. It wilbe royall in you.

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Char_. Kysse me, sweete.--O you are wellcome; stand up. And howe does thys retyred life agree With _Ganelon_?

_Gan_. As _Ganelon_ with it, Most desolatlye, sir. I have induerd Subjection to my fate since last I sawe you; In all which haplesse bondage I have gaynd [Not one] howers comforte tyll twas dooblye yearnd Synce fyrst I knewe what sleepe and wakinge mente I never slepte in quyett nor awakt But with a hartye wishe to sleepe my last. Not a pore simple jest hathe made me smyle Tyll I had payd the tribute of my cares Over and over. Fortune has opposd My naturall blessings and my wishest ends; Those verye honors which my byrthright claymes Have cost me more vexatyon to preserve Than all the numerous tyttells of a kynge Purchasd with plauge and famyne; yet in all My days of sorrowe I was styll to learne A suffrynge of that impyous accounte Which nowe afflycts me.

_Char_. O you are conynge.

_Tur_. Yes, and may teach the worlde to counterfayte.

_Enter Orlando, Reinaldo and Oliver_.

But here comes the earle of _Angeres_.

_Char_. Nephewe, y'are discontented and I woulde Give all rights to your honor, which did cause Me latelye thus to send for you.

_Orl_. Tys true, You sent unto me, sir, and I obayd And came: but then, Sir, what became of me? You sente me presentlye away for _Spayne_. Nay, never frowne, I doe remember thys As well methynks as if it hapned nowe.

_Char_. Your memoryes toe blame; you doe mistake.

_Orl_. O that I could mistake or never thynke Uppon thys daylie terror to my sence. Sir, tys a thyng I labour to mystake But cannot, for my starrs will have it thus.

_Char_. You wronge your fortunes and convert theire good Into a stronge disease.

_Orl_. So pray you tourne me then into an hospytall, I have a straunge disease. But, gratyous Sir, Littill thought I, when I departed hence And conquerd you all Spayne, to tourne diseasd.

_Char_. Be patyent, and Ile undertake the cuer.

_Orl_. Oh I should shame your physsycke, though indeede Tys the kyngs evyll I am trobled with, But such a rare kyngs evyll that I feare My chyldrens chyldren wilbe taynted with't.

_Rei_.--A touches hym most bouldlye.

_Oli_.--Even to the quycke of hys last maryadge.

_Orl_. Beleive't, my sycknes is like the disease Which runns styll in a blood, nay more extreame, For frends and kyndred bothe must feele my cursse: But what good man can well escape a cursse When Emperours, that should be absolute, Will take advyse from everye shyftinge sycophant?

_Gan_. Mallyce and factyon could have sayd no more.

_Orl_. Are you then guyltie of advyse, my lorde?

_Gan_. Sir, if the kynge accuse me I submytt.

_Char_. I must accuse you bothe, but punnyshe one, You, _Ganelon_, I meane: there dothe belonge Unto your fault muche more then banishment. I heare discharge you of all offyces, Honors and tyttells or whatere exceeds The slender name of a pore gentyllman. Besyds I fyne you out of your estate At fortye thousand crownes, and never hence To see the courte, but live thence banyshed. Nephewe, this may suffyce you; if't be light Ile lay more burthens on hym.--Come, best frende.

_Orl_. Sir, I desyer no mans miserye.

[_Ex. Cha., Turp_.

_Gan_. Then welcome once agayne my libertie! Nowe, my sweete frend, may I discourse with thee And utter my dystractyon; only nowe Can I retayne thee fullye in my bossome. Before I was devyded in my selfe, The emperour and the state did clayme a parte; But all my frendshypp nowe is undisturbd And onlye thou shalt have what manye had, My best imployments and my whole desyers.

_Rich_. You are a juell fytter for the State, And I feare what will followe. Sure th'emperoure, Has loosend everye pearle about hys crowne In loosinge you, the glorye of hys kingdome.

_Gan_. No, no, he shall complayne that wantinge me He wants his refudge, and my glorye then Shalbe to scorne hys favors whylst my thoughts Onlye take pleasure in a perfytt frende, Which is your selfe, that onlye ... to me ... ... enoughe to caper ... ... ...

_Orl_. What meanes he by theise frantycke sygnes of myrthe? Cossen _Reinaldo_, cossen _Oliver_, Why does he growe thus guyddie?

_Gan_. What says the emperours nephewe? does he grudge That I should take a pore content in shame? Your envye will discredite you, my lorde. Gentyllmen, have you not hearde of _Aesopps_ dogge That once lay snarlinge in the oxes maunger?

_Orl. Rei. Oli_. What then?

_Gan_. He was an arrant peevyshe curre, Nothynge but so; and I protest syncerlye I would have hangd that dogge (had he beene myne) Althoughe a lyonnesse had beene hys dame.

_Orl_. Your dogs comparysons a saucye foole.

_Gan_. Sir, I am just of your opynion I; For what extreame beast but a foolishe curre Would envye that which he hym selfe dispyses? Be not offended, Sir, thoughe symple I Can live in peace at home with hungrye leeks And never curse my planettes. I can leape With more actyvitie then yesterday.--_Capers_. Does thys offend you, Sir?

_Orl_. Exceedinglye.

_Rei_. Were you thus nymble ever from a boy?

_Gan_. No, in good faythe it taks me of the sodayne.

_Oli_. Your harte is lighter then it needs, I doute.

_Gan_. Yes, and your heade is lighter then your heeles.

_Bus_. It is the honor of hys gravitie Not to be shaken with rydiculous winds Of envye or of scandall. Good Sir, thynke His resolutyons nowe his champyons.

_Gan_. Syrha, no more; you shall goe home with me And learne to laughe at fortune; I have there A worthye matche and vertuous wife for thee And she shall pyle up all your flatterye: The courte hath no use for it.--Sir, methought You talkt of lightnes, did you not?

_Orl_. Yes, that your heade is lighter then your heeles.

_Gan_. It is, I thanke my starres; howe can it chuse, Beinge disburdend of so manye feares, So much attendance and so manye synnes By losse of my late offyces? I am bounde (My contyence knowes it well) to blesse your lordshipp If you or others moved the emperour To my displaceinge. I am nowe unloaded Of all the wayghtie cares that did oppresse me, And shall I not discover what I am. A nymble and a newe borne quyet man. [_Capers_.] --Does thys offend you?

_Enter Turpin_.

_Tur_. Where's lorde _Richard_?

_Rich_. Here, reverend Sir.

_Tur_. Hys majestie comands you uppon payne Of life and your aleagance that from hence You never more conversse with _Ganelon_ Eyther by letter, speeche or complyment. No not so much as see hym; and withall You must imediatlye attend his hyghnes.

_Rich_. I am hys servant.
[_Ex. Tur., Rich_.

_Gan_. Tyll nowe I neare felt thunder, I am strooke To deathe with mans soft languadge. Come away: Tyll nowe I neare saw trulye a sadd day.

[_Ex. Can., La Busse_.

_Orl_. Wherefore did the angrye emperour Degrade thys merrye lorde? To pleasure me, Did he not, cossen?

_Rei_. Yes, to satisfye The wronge he did in plottinge of your deathe.

_Orl_. He did so, righte, but tys as fruytlesse all As catchynge of the moone: tys past mans power To take away my cursse of destenye.

_Oli_. Tys that opynion multyplyes your cursse.

_Orl_. Had any man but such a slave as I Look't to have tryumphd in hys base dejection And he should have beene glutted with hys fortunes, Whylst I and all the projects I can make Cannot (with fortunes leave) gett a good dreame.

_Rei_. Doe not so blame your fortunes, worthye cossen: You have in many actyons prosperd well.

_Orl_. Good, doe not studye how to flatter me; I am in althyngs most unfortunate. Witnes my fyrst love to _Angellica_, ... ... ... my cursse ... ... ... My manye shypwracks, my halfe combattings, Charmes and inchauntments or whatever ells Can breake the harte of resolutyon.

_Rei_. What say you to your conquests?

_Orl_. Tut, in thosse Fortune did never medle: honor there Served in her person, not by substytute. Instead of which pore blessinge not a day Hathe hapned synce without some mysserye. Wheres now my hope of byrthrighte, where all _Fraunce_? Drownd in the cradle of a chamber groome. And now, just now, resolveinge to aflycte That myserable lorde, he doth dispyse Me & hys shame, because in me it lyes. By heaven I will release hym!

_Rei_. Nothinge so: Pray leave thys angrye moode and followe me; Ile add a torment to hys mysserye.

[_Exe_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Eudon, Eldegrade, Bertha & Gabrielle_.

_Eud_. Ile sooner shrynke back when my lifes assaulted Then when my promyse shalbe claymd (good madam). I promysd to your lorde that _Bertha_ here, My daughter, should be marryed to hys sonne, And Ile perform't; for onlye to that ende I've brought her nowe.

_Eld_. And, Sir, tis noblye doone; I knowe the matche is more desyred by hym Then the kyngs favors, which at thys tyme he Is laboringe to recover, but's retourne I knowe wilbe most sodayne.

_Eud_. Weele attend it.

_Gab_. Hey hoe.

_Ber_. Why syghes thou, frende?

_Gab_. Not at your joys but myne afflyctyons. Your in a good way, _Bertha_, ryde spurrd on, May come unto your journey: I must tyre, Theres not a swytche or prycke to quycken me.

_Ber_. Yes, when younge _Rychard_ hunts your purlue ground. Come, I doe know you will not chaunge your ryder.

_Gab_. Not if a would fall to hys exercyse.

_Ber_. Th'art styll thy selfe (all madnes).--But no more; Here comes your brother.

_Enter Ganelon, La Busse_.

_Eud_. Healthe to my noble lorde!

_Gan_. You wishe me my worst enemye, yet, Sir, Tys wellcome since you wishe it. O I am At thys tyme nothynge but extreame disgrace.

_Eud_. Shake you for that? Why, noble lorde, you knowe Disgrace is ever like the greate assay Which turnes imperfytt mettalls into fume And shewes pure gould to have an absolute valewe Because it styll remayns unchaungable Disgrace can never scarre a good mans sence, Tys an undaunted harte shoes Innocence: Shame in a guyltie man (like wounds & scratches In a corrupted fleshe) may ranckell deepe, Good mens dishonors heale before they weepe.

_Gan_. Pray thee, noble _Eudon_, save thy selfe, And come not neare me; I am pestilent.

_Eud_. I doe not feare infection.

_Gan_. I knowe tharte noble & a man of warre, One that hathe feard no mortall wound so muche As to be recond fearfull; but the cause, The cause of my dull ruyne must affryghte you You have not flynte enoughe to arme your soule Agaynst compassyon; & that kylls a souldior. Let me have roame to breathe at lardge my woes And talke alone, least the proceedinge ayre That easeth me beget in you a payne. Leave me, pray leave me: my rude vyolence Will halfe distract your spyrrytts, my sadd speeche Like such a noyse as drownds all other noyse Will so afflyct your thoughts & cares on me That all your care besyde must be neglected. My tyme of patyence is expyrd; pray leave me.

_Eld_. Ithe name of wonder, sir, what dothe afflyct you.

_Eud_. You boare your banyshment most brave tyll nowe.

_Gan_. I did, & could as quyetlye endure To be exposd uppon the publique scaffold To all myne enemyes contempt, but nowe I'me more then banysht, all my honors lost, My wealthe, my places everye one the kyngs; I hardlye am a pryvate gentyllman. And more then thys, my onlye dearest frend, My _Richard_, I must never see agayne.

_Gab_.--Excellent newse! hould, there Ile honor thee.

_Eud_. Why, all thys is a tryfell; suche a blast As should not move a weake reede. Come, I love Your selfe and not your fortunes: pray forgett em. See, I have brought my daughter, and desyer The matche betwixt us may be consumate.

_Gan_. O you are noble that can pyttie scorne! And werte not for my frends losse all the rest I should loosse like my shadowe.

_Eld_. I, and hym, When I have toulde you myne intelligence. Come, hees not halfe so good as you imagine.

_Gan_. Goe, y'are a woman, and that styll implyes Can be malytious.--But are you then resolvd To match with myne ill fortunes?

_Eud_. Sir, I am.

_Gan_. What says fayre _Bertha_?

_Ber_. That my free will dothe bynde My love to his comandment.

_Gan_. Then take her, boy; we wilbe hencefourthe frends, And howsoever crosses come & goe Ile leave thee cloathes inowe for winter tyme.

_Bus_. Sir, I am bound to you & to my mistress, And will so arme my servyce with delighte That, madam, you shall counte thys maryadge yoake The onlye lyst of pleasure.

_Ber_. Thats my hope: Bate me the pleasure, and, beleive it, Sir, I shall crye out oth bargayne.

_Bus_. Feare me not.

_Gan_. Come, we will have thys maryage sollempnyzd, In which I meane to feighte with agonye And shoe the worlde I can cast honors of More easlye then my garments. Wisdome & thought Most precious ever when tys dearest bought.

[_Exe. all but Gab_.

_Gab_. Suer thys should be the day of _Valentyne_ When everye byrd dothe coople, onlye I Pore forlorne turtle, haveinge lost my mate, Must dye on a bare braunche. Wytt defend me! Youthe & my pleasures will not suffer it. I've here contryved a letter to my frende In myne ill brothers name. It may worke Somethynge to gayne my wishes; at the worst It cannot make me more then I am accurst. And heres my messenger.--

_Enter La Fue_.

Howe nowe Mounseir _Fue_? Whyther gost thou in suche a sweatinge passyon?

_Fue_. O, Madam, sweatynge is goode for the itche, and the rascall _Didier_ haveing playd the roague with my lord ist possyble but I should itche to be about hys eares when I see the knaves countenance? Therefore to avoyde troble I affect sweatinge.

_Gab_. Why, thou dost not see hym nor art thou licklye.

_Fue_. O by all meanes I cannot mysse the devyll. Why, I am goeing to the courte, Madam, & the knave wilbe in everye corner, _Didier_ I meane, by all meanes; so that if I doe not sweate I shall scratche the skynne from myne elbowes.

_Gab_. Then to further your sweatinge take paynes with thys letter; tell noble _Richard_, the sonne of _Aimon_, your master sente it, but doe not tell your master I imployd you. Take this rewarde and deale wiselye.

_Fue_. As wisely as my blewe coate will suffer me.

[_Exe_.

_Act 4_.

[SCENE I.]

_Enter Richard readinge a letter_.

_Rich. [Read] Myne enemyes have labord much, but my worst afflyctyon is thy lamented absence which may endanger us alyke. There is no means to prevent all evyls but the injoyinge of my sister Gabriella: therefore force in thy selfe an affectyon. She may otherwise growe discontent and trooble us with her mallyce. Therefore preserve thy selfe and me together, who am thy best on earthe: Ganelon_.

Thys letter sente me by my dearest frende Like spells and witchcraft dothe amaze my brayne. He urdges me to love where a dothe knowe I can by no meanes fancye; yet tys so, Our safties doe compell it, & to that I must of force bowe, teachinge my harde harte To seme most softe when tys most hard[e]ned.

_Enter Turpin_.

_Tur_. Where is pryncelye _Richard_?

_Ric_. Here, reverend lorde.

_Tur_. The kynge comands your presence, O deare Sir, I am orejoyd in your most brave advauncments. Why, you are now the fayrest stare[94] in _Fraunce_.

_Rich_. I doe not understand your reverence.

_Tur_. The emperour will make my meanyng playne. ... ... ... day Cunstable of _Fraunce_, Countye _Poyteirs_, marquysse of _Sallun_, And grand le seignior of the ordnance.

_Ric_. Theise are the dignities of noble _Ganelon_!

_Tur_. But these shall all be _Richards_.

_Ric_. Heaven forbydd! I will not weare the garments of my frende.

_Tur_. O doe not say so; they are forfayted roabs And never did become hys policie.

_Ric_. Good Sir, be charytable.

_Tur_. Indeede I am, But thys dothe least concerne me. Sir, I knowe The emperoure expects you.

_Enter La Fue_.

_Ric_. I will attend hym.--O y'are happylie mett. My urgent busynes maks my languadge shorte: Comend me to thy master, give hym thys, [_Gives letters and money_. Thys to the fayrest _Gabrielle_; thys Your selfe may drynke at your best leasure. [_Ex. Richard_.

_Fue_. Why, so thys goulde has made my choller as colde as snowe watter. I had thought to have whysteld hym a braule[95] for makinge me daunce attendance. Waytinge on courtyers is like knocking at greate mens gatts in dynner tyme: well may a man make a noyse but hunger & hard fare keepes the porter deafe styll. Tys scurvie passinge scurvye in good sadnes.

_Tur_. Now, Mounseir _La Fue_, you are of the retyred familye.

_Fue_. Tyerd famylie? No, we are not tyerd, yet we may be wearye, and yet he that spurrs me for a tyerd jade I may chaunce kycke hym in the dark.

_Tur_. Come, your anger mistaks: I said retyred.

_Fue_. I hate words I understand not: be that eyther tyers or retyers me may chaunce cursse his journey.

_Tur_. Styll so angrye? di[d]st never take physsycke?

_Fue_. P[er]a[dve]nter I have, p[er]a[dve]nter I have not.

_Tur_. By all meanes doe; choller will kyll thee ells. But to my purposse: heares gould, comend me to thy master and give him thys token from me. [_Gives the ringe_. You see howe thynges runne; hys frend has all hys honors.

_Fue_. And you had talkd thus before y'ad never tyerd me.

_Tur_. Stay, goe not yet, here comes the emperoure.

_Fue_. Mas, Ile have a syghte on hym.

_Enter Charlimayne, Richard, Didier_.

_Char_. Doe not perswade me; cossen, you shall weare The honors I have given; what was _Ganelons_ Onlye belongs to _Rychard_, he shall weare theym.

_Rich_. But without ease or comforte.--Good my lorde, You have a power in hys hyghnes love Beyond power to interprett: pray you begge Hys grace will ease thys burthen.

_Char_. Nor he nor any creature on the earthe Hath power in me beyond the rule of wisdome.

_Tur_. Not nowe, I knowe; that charme is altered. --Sweete lorde, I darre not lymytt kings affectyons. You have no honors but you merrytt theym.

_Char_. Ha! Wonder, howe dost thou houlde me! noble sence, Doe not forsake my reason. Good sweete lords, What excellent thynge is that, that, that, that thynge That is beyond discryption? knowe you hym?

_Fue_.--Hath spyed me and comends me: I may mounte.

_Tur_. Tys a dyspysed groome, the drudge of _Ganelon_.

_Char_. Tys the best forme of man that ere I sawe. Let me admyre hym.

_Tur_.--The ringe dothe hould hys vertue everye where, In weomen, men & monsters.

_Rich_.--Whence growes thys? Madnes to it is wisdome.

_Char_. Why, tys a bodye made by symetree And knytt together with more arte & care Then mathematycks cyrckles. _Durers_ rules Are perfytted in hym. Why, theirs a face Figurd with all proportyons! browe & eie, Rounde cheeke & lypp, a nose emperyall, And everye feature ells of excellence!

_Fue_. Alas I am but a grosse servyngman, yet vertue will sparkell.

_Char_. Why, theres a hande that aunswers to hys foote!

_Fue_. I & a true one toe, or bourne it ells.

_Char_. A legge and necke of one cyrcompherence, A waste that is no hygher then hys thye, And all parts ells of stronge proportyon. I am inchaunted with thys vyssyon.

_Did_.--In hells name what behould's hys majestie To doate uppon thys rascall!

_Fue_. It was a scurvye thynge in nature that she did not tourne mans eies inwarde. Why, had I seene as much as the emperoure I myghte have been a monarke by thys time. I will growe proude.

_Char_. O thou the onlye sweetnes of my soule, Give me but leave to touche thee, let my hand (Chast loves most bashful messenger) presume [To stro]ake theise flowers that in thy lovelie [chee]kes Flouryshe like somer garlands. In soothe my soule Loves thee beyond relatyon; for thee I doate And dye in thyne affectyon. Come, Ile make Thee greater then all _Fraunce_, above the peres, The proudest he that breathes shall thynke hym blest To do thee servyce, and esteeme it heaven To be thyne ape in imytatyon.

_Fue_. Nowe must I be coy by all meanes.--Trulye for myne owne parte I must love by dyscretyon, and discretyon tells me I ought not to love an oulde man, for ould men must needs be ingratfull.

_Char_. Why, deare sweete?

_Fue_. Because they can never live to rewarde benefytts.

_Tur_.--Bytter knave.

_Char_. O doe not feare; my bountye shall exceede The power of thyne askynge; thou shalt treade Uppon the heads of prynces. Bowe, you lords, And fall before thys saynte I reverence.

_Tur. Rich. Did_. Honors to hym the emperor doth honor!

_Fue_. Aryse, my good subjects; onlye for that roauge there the first acte of my chronickle shalbe hys hanginge.

_Did_. O be not angrye with your humble servante: I ever did adore you,

_Fue_. Yes like the meales that thou hast devourd halfe chewd for greedynes. But revendge comes nowe gallopinge.

_Char_. Who hathe displeasd my dearest? name hys name, The verye breathe shall blast hym; onlye, sweete, Love me & have thy wishes.

_Fue_. Well, I am contented to love you; and why? For nothing but because you are an oulde man.

_Char_. Why, tys the onlye tye of faythfulines: Age is the onlye object of the harte, And by's experyence onlye hathe aspyrd Toth heyght of all perfectyon.

_Fue_. True, for I'll stande too't an oulde man is able to see more, doe more, & comand more then any young man in Chrystendome.

_Char_. Prove it, my sweete; thou arte myne advocate.

_Fue_. Why, a sees more, through spectackles which make everye thynge apeare bygger than it is; does more, for a never lights from hys horse but hees readye to pull the sadle after hym; and for comandment he may call twentye tymes to hys servant ere he have hys will once performed.

_Rich_.--Sfoote, the knave dothe abuse hys hyghnes groslye.

_Tur_.--Tut, not at all when't cannot be dyserned.

_Char_. Why, I doe nowe doate on thyne excellence. Thys witts unparaleld.

_Did_.--True, except a man searche the Idyotts hospytall.

_Char_. Thou never shalt goe from me.

_Fue_. O yes, by all meanes. Shall my master say I ranne away like a rascall? No, you shall give me leave to take my leave. That ceremonye performd, I'm yours tyll doomes day.

_Char_. I cannot live without thee.

_Fue_. Ile not stay a day at furthest.

_Char_. I darre denye thee nothynge. Kysse & goe: Thynke how I languyshe for thee.

_Fue_. And I will condole in recyprocall kyndnes.

_Char_. Bishopp, attend my dearest.

_Tur_. Greate Sir, I was toe impudent even nowe To trooble you with my token; good Sir, please To give it me agayne: a meaner man Shall serve my humble messadge.

_Fue_. Bishopp, I doe voutsafe it; theres thy ringe.
[_Gives him the ringe_.

_Tur_.--And you agayne a basse most scurvye thynge.

[_Exe. Turp., Fue_.

_Enter La Busse_.

_Char_. Howe nowe, _La Busse_? What newse from _Ganelon_?

_Bus_. Suche as can come from sorrowe: he is all Wretchednes and mysfortune, and in me Speaks to your sacred goodnes to be pleasd Voutsafe to call your fayre dove to your fyst (Mercye I meane) that may abate the stroake Of your sharpe eagle justyce, and you will Be wrytt the best of prynces.

_Char_. Come, no more: Your fathers sentence is irrevocable.

_Bus_. Yet, gratyous Sir, sende hym hys honors backe And for those fewe pore howers he hathe to breathe Let hym injoy those deare companyons.

_Char_. You are the good sonne of an evyll man And I comend your vertue, but thys suyte Is past all restytution: to thys prynce I've given all your father governed.

_Rich_. Which, royall sir?