[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?

Char. Cossen, no more; I know your modesty. … … … your languadge; hees my foe That next solycytts me for Ganelon.

Bus. O doe not make me, sir, be impyous, For shoulde your breathe crushe me to attomyes, Yet whylst my memorye can call hym father I must invocke you for hym.

Char. Which to prevent Take my last resolutyon, & from it Swearve not in thyne alleagance: when thou shalt Meete me uppon a way was never usd By horse nor man, and thou thy selfe dost ryde On neyther horsse, mare, asse, & yet thy beast An usuall thynge for burthen, thou thy selfe Neyther uncloathd nor naked, & shalt brynge Thy greatest frend & greatest enemye Coopld for thy companyons; then I vowe To doe thy father honor, but tyll then My mallyce hangs about hym.—Come, coossen, attend us.

[Exe. Char., Rich.

Bus. Then dye, pore Ganelon. When I shall meete The kynge on no hye way, when I shall ryde Uppon no beast & yet a beast of burthen, Be neyther nakt nor cloathed, in my hande My greatest frende & greatest enemye; And but then get his favor. There is no sphynxe That can absolve thys ryddell: well, tys decreed Ile breake my brayne but Ile performe the deede.

Did. Sir, would it were in me to helpe your fortune.

Bus. It was in you to bringe us to thys fortune. But I am charmd from anger: onlye thus My father badd me tell you that he hathe Not many howers to live, & dothe desyer To parte in peace with all men, even with you Whom he hathe nowe forgiven hartylie; And if you please to vissytt him you may Fynde love without captitulatyon [sic].

Did. Sir, Ile attend hym. [Ex. La Busse. Yet I've heard a tale Of a feirce snake that wounded by a swayne Rememberd it for twentye yeares together And at the last revendgd it; so may he. I, but another tale tells of an asse Which haveinge throwne hys cruell ryder wente In pyttie to the surgeon, who recurd The sycklie man & reconcyld the asse. Why may not Ganelon be like the asse And thys fayre messadge like the curynge surgeon? Ile trye it; synce Orlando is unsuer, Tys Ganelon from whence may come my cure.

[Ex. Didier.