[SCENE I.]

Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Souldiers, Attendants.

Orl. O that my cursse had power to wounde the starres That with a more then envyous aspect Thus racke me & my fortunes! marryed? I coulde allmost brable with destenye For giveinge thys curst maryadge holye forme. And suer it errd in't: tys no gordyon knott That tyes suche a disparytie together. But what will not soothd prynces? theire hye blood A flatterye drawes toth lees, and more corrupte Then a disease thats kyllinge. Nowe must I, Like to an Argosie sent rychlye fourthe, Furnisht with all that mighte oppose the winds And byde the furye of the sea-gods rage, Trusted with halfe the wealthe a kyngdome yeilds, Havinge, insteade of addinge to her store, Undoone her selfe and made a thousand pore; Meanlye retourninge without mast or helme, Cable or anchor, quyte unrygd, unmand, Shott throughe and throughe with artefyciall thunder And naturall terror of tempestuous stormes, Must (that had beene the wonder of the worlde And loved burthen of the wanton seas) Be nowe a subject fytt for all mens pytties And like to such, not cared for a jott, … … … … … must lye by & rott: And so must I.

Rei. His dottage maks hym thynke Hym selfe so happye in thys cursed matche That when the newse of your successe aryved (Thoughe cladd in laurell and fayrest victorie) He had no eare for't, all his powers beinge fylled With a suppossed joy conceyvd in her.

Oli. He has not dealt like Charlimayne t'expose You to the horror of a cyvill warre, And, whylst your loyaltye made glorious way To hys wisht ends of conquest, thus to crosse Your fayre successyon.

Orl. Twas a speedinge plott To sende me into Spayne, whylst Ganelon Tooke the ryght course; yet, if I had beene here, The envyous destenye that dothe attende On all my undertakings, would have made My best meanes uslesse to have hynderd it. For not the cooninge of slye Ganelon, Charlimayne's dottage, nor her wytchinge eie (To whom I nowe must be obedyent) Can challendge any share in my disgrace; But myne owne fortune that did never smyle But when it gave me a full cause to cursse. And were the way to my successyon free As when I lefte the courte, yet gaynst all sence And possybyllitie somethynge suer woulde sprynge From my meare fate to make another kynge: So, torrent-like, my fortune ruynes all My rights of byrthe and nature.

Rei. You have doone ill To soothe hys adge unto thys vyolence.

Oli. With penytence tys confest, consyderinge Preventyon hathe quyte fledd us, & no way's Lefte eyther for revendge or remedye.

Orl. I am the verye foote-ball of the starres, Th'anottomye [sic] of fortune whom she dyssects With all the poysons and sharpe corrosyves Stylld in the lymbecke of damde pollycie. My starres, my starres! O that my breath could plucke theym from their spheares So with theire ruyns to conclude my feares.

Enter La Busse.

Rei. Smoother your passions, Sir: here comes his sonne— A propertie oth court, that least his owne Ill manners should be noted thynks it fytt In pollycie to scoffe at other mens. He will taxe all degrees and think that that Keepes hym secure from all taxation.

Orl. Y'are deceyved; it is a noble gentylman And hated of his father for hys vertues.

Bus. Healthe and all blessings[87] wherewith heaven and earthe May comforte man, wayte on your excellence!

Orl. Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrs Can ere be heard to my desyred good, I am not so voyde of humanitie But I will thanke your love.

Rei. Pray, sir, what newse Hath the court lately been deliverd of?

Bus. Such as the gallimaufry that is found In her large wombe may promise: he that has The fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrte And knows no shyfte for't: none but journeymen preists Invay agaynst plurallytie of liveings And they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are without The remedye of sugar candye for't. Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gott Hurlye burlye, snatcht with like greedynes, I & allmost disjested too as soone.

Oli. I, but in sober sadness whatts done there?

Bus. Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes, For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngs To mere confussyon: nothing there hath forme But that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorte Vice only thrives and merryt starves in courte.

Rei. What of the maryadge of your noble aunte Our fayre eied royall empresse?

Bus. Trothe, I wonderd, Sir, You spoke of that no sooner, yet I hope None here are jealyous that I brought one sparke To kyndell that ill flame.

Orl. No, of my trothe, I know thee much too honest; but how fares The Empresse now, my dear exequetresse?

Bus. Sir, as a woman in her case may doe; Shee's broughte [to] bedd.

Rei. What, has she a chylde, then?

Bus. I, my Lord.

Orl. A Sonne!

Bus. Mys-fortune hath inspyrd you, Sir; tys true.

Orl. Nay when my fortune faylls me at a pynche I will thynke blasphemy a deede of merrytt. O harte, will nothing breake the?

Rei. Tis most straunge.

Orl. Straunge? Why, if she had been spayd And all mankynd made Euenucks, yet in spyghte My ill fate would have gotten her with chylde— Of a son, too. Hencefourthe let no man That hathe a projecte he dothe wishe to thryve Ere let me knowe it. My mere knowledge in't Would tourne the hope't successe to an event That would fryghte nature & make patyence braule With the most pleasinge objecte.

Bus. Sir, be at peace; Much may be found by observatyon.

Orl. Th'arte bothe unfriendlie & uncharytable. Thys observation thou advysest to Would ryvett so my thoughts uppon my fate That I should be distrackt. I can observe Naughte but varyetye of mysseries Crossynge my byrthe, my blood and best endevours. I neare did good for any but great Charles, And the meare doing that hath still brought forth To me some plague too heavye to be borne, But that I am reservd onlye to teach The studyed envye of mallignant starrs. If fortune be blynde, as the poetts houlde, It is with studyinge myne afflictions; But, for her standing on a roullinge stone, Theire learninge faylls them, for she fixed stands And onlye against me.

Rei. Move hym no further; But if your observatyon can fynde out A coneinge in the carryadge of theise ills That may be questioned, Ile thanke your love, And be your servant: pray be inquisitive.

Orl. Inquiseytive? for what? my miseryes Requyer no searche, they playnlye shewe themselves, And in theire greatnes crowne what made them greate. The power of Fortune, which by theym beinge crownd Doth tyrannize uppon me.

Enter Didier.

Did. Healthe attend Thys honord presence! may your wellcome home Retayne proportion with those worthye deeds Whereby y'ave yearn'd all wellcome.

Orl. What is he?

Did. Howe ere my dutye and best wishes shall Ever attend you, and those wishes be Putt into acte to doe you anye servyce.

Bus. Thart a grosse flatterer, and knowe there is More sympathye betwixte mere contraryes Then twixte thy words and wishes.

Did. Then your knowledge Has no true ryghte doone to it, beinge so greate To be so littill famed. I never hearde That you ere did or durst knowe any thynge But dynner tyme & coronatyon day, The tylters collours & theire pages suytts, But to theire Empresas[88] you styll gave up An Ignoramus.

Bus. Th'art a parasytte; Thou & thy fortunes wayte uppon my father And like an evyll aungell make hym doe Those fearful thyngs I tremble to delyver. Therefore the love which thou protestest here Can be at best but fayn'd & beares more shewe Of treacherye then zeale.

Did. How say you by that?

Orl. Ganelon's servant! Will it not suffyce The mallyce of my starres to presse me downe With a most pondrous wayghte of injuryes But they must keepe me wakinge with the syghte O' th'authors on't, to myxe my sufferings With heate and anger? Syrha, howe dare you Upbrayd me with your presence? or doe you thynke My wrongs and fortune have made me so tame That I am a fytt subject for your spleene, Your trencher envye & reverssyon rage? Or arte so greate an Infydell to doute My mischeifes snayle-pacst that thou spurst on newe In full carryere uppon me?

Did. I disclayme Ganelons servyce other then to serve Your worthye ends, which is the onlye end Whertoe I ere seemd hys.

Bus. Monstrous deceytfull vyllayne!

Orl. Impossyble! I cannot be so happye, & if thou Beare but the least affectyon to my cause, Thy fortunes like thy trenchers wilbe chaungd To a sordyd foulenes that will loathe thy nature.

Did. For that no matter, I darre fortunes worst In ryghte of vertue; & if you'le be pleased Thys screane may be removed that keepes away All comfortable heate from everye man Which he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shall Confyrme you I am yours.

Orl. He shall not goe, Nor can I hope successe in any thynge (More then my sworde), & muche lesse be confyrmed.

Oli. Pray, sir, withdrawe.

Rei. Althoughe I thynke thys fellowe meanes no good We may dyscover & prevent hys ill: Pray leave us, sir.

Bus. I will; but yet beware That fellowe. [Exit La Busse.

Did. I fyrst desyre To be beleived my love & utmost servyce Are vowed unto your greatnes, to which beleife The hazard of my life throughe all the daungers That ever fryghted weake mortallytie, Shalbe an instygation. Fyrst, Sir, knowe The empresse is departed.

Orl. Whyther! to hunt worsse fortunes then I suffer?

Did. Sir, she is deade, a fever shooke her bloode After her chyld bedd sycknes, & of it She dyed last mornynge.

Rei. Wonderful!! what newse of her younge sonne?

Did. It lyves & is a pryncelye littill one, Lewis the gentyll calld, a hopefull infante.

Oli. But smale hope of the emperours righte to it.

Orl. Howe taks hys majestye the empresse deathe?

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.