[SCENE 3.]

Enter Didier with a letter.

Did. My cares & feares are past, but Ganelons Thys letter woulde revyve if t'were reveald, Nay begett newe ones to hym of suche wayghte That he must synke beneathe theym. Thys I founde (Mongst other thyngs) in haplesse Richards pockett When I interrd hym, subscribd by Ganelon, Whereby's owne hand would leade hym to the blocke Should I discover it; for heres contaynd The kyngs abuse & Gabriellas whoreinge. But I am nowe beforehand: to hym selfe Ile give thys letter; so begett[101] in hym A fyrme beleife of myne integrytie Which nowe goes upryghte, does not halte betweene Preferment & disgrace; for, come what will, I am all Ganelons & wilbe styll.

Enter Ganelon.

And see, he comes. My Lord—

Gan. O Dydier, Resolve me where & howe thou hast disposd The most false bodye of my falsest frende.

Did. The ravenous earthe, that eatts what it hathe fedd, Hathe swallowd it.

Gan. But where? what peice of earthe Couldst thou fynde badd enough to hyde hys bones. If in some flowrye meade th'ast hym interrd The poyson of hys synns will choake the sprynge, And, if thou hast not layd hym deepe enoughe, Corrupt the ayre & cause a generall plauge.

Did. Bothe those are, Sir, prevented by the dytche, Whose deepe banks seeme to be halfe bottomlesse, Where he is layd a rottinge.

Gan. Without all helpe! counsayle in thys were daungerous.

Did. Sir, I was fryer & clarke & all my selfe; None mournd but nyghte, nor funerall tapers bore But erringe starres.

Gan. And they did erre indeed To shewe their lights at hys curst funerall. Did not a dog bewray thee?

Did. Baw, waw, waw! Sir, troble not your selfe With any doute oth' secrecye was usd In actinge your comand. And, Sir, because I will not have it rest within my power At anye tyme to wronge or to traduce Your honour by a probable suspytion, Receyve thys letter which atts buryall I founde in's pockett. Sir, it might concerne you, [Give the letter & Ganelon reads. And deeplye toe, if it should be reveald. —It calls up all hys bloode into hys face And muche dystempers hym.

Gan. Deathe! I am lost in treason: my fordgd hand Hathe whored my liveinge syster & displays All my basse plotts agaynst the emperoure. By heaven tys false, fordgd, false as heresye!

Did. How! a fordgd hand?

Gan. Yes, Didier. When was it dated, trow? Torment! synce my restraynt of libertie! Good gentyll patyence manadge me a whyle, Let me collect. Certaynlye Rychards harte Coulde not but doubte thys charrackter, & in The strengthe of doute he came to me last nyghte To be resolvd; or ells why should he beare Suche daunger in hys pockett? Admyttinge thys, What followes then? Why, if that were the ende Of's vysytatyon, then it needs must followe That thys prevayld not with hym. And what then? Why, then my syster, as all weomen ells, Seeinge her selfe neglected in her lust, Thought any ill way to obtayne it just.

Did. A strange presumptyon.

Gan. Yet a lyttill further. It is resolvd that my systers onlye ende Was to enjoy Rychard unlawfullye: Howe might a fallinge out twyxt hym & me Assyst the ende (for such a thynge she causd)? How? What a dull slave am I! why twas as muche As the untyinge of hys codpeyce poynte, Almost the rem in re! for whyle he stoode Constant to my dyrectyons all was well, But, those abandond, then,—harte! I am madd: I pray thee, Diddier, helpe me to cursse Me & my rashnes, that so curbd my reason I would not heare hym speake but put hym strayght To everlastynge sylence.

Did. No, my lorde, Letts cursse the lust of woman.

Gan. Well rememberd.

Did. And yet there is a heavye one prepard To meete them where they act it in the darke.

Gan. True, Didier, there is so, and from that May penytence want power to rescue theym.

Did. Be there a dearthe of arte to helpe complexion, And for theym many housses of correctyon.

Gan. And if it be possyble o let the Bedle Not with theire money but hys owne whypp medle, And lashe theym soundlye.

Did. No, thats not so good: May all theire soundnes tourne toth poxes foode.

Gan. May constables to cadges[102] styll comend theym And theire knowne foes, age & ill cloathes attend theym.

Did. May they want skyll to banyshe theire breathes stynke, And onlye Barbers potyons be their drynke. May theire sore wast theire lynnen into lynte For medlinge with other stones then flynte.

Gan. And to conclude thys hartylie breathd cursse; Theire lives beinge monstrous, let theire ends be worsse.

Did. Amen.

Enter Gabriella.

Gab. Amen to what?

Did. Faythe, madam, a was prayinge for hys syster.

Gan. O you are wellcome.—Worthye frend, withdrawe.— [Exit Didier. Nowe my rare pollytycke syster, what will please you?

Gab. My rare ingenyous brother, why doe you aske?

Gan. Ile tell thee, woman, & observe it well, Thou shalt remayne the porest wretche alyve, The most forsaken of delight & pleasure That ever breathd a myserable life, If I may knowe what pleasses you. Beware And answere wiselye: you are leaveinge nowe All that hathe tyckld your insatyatt bloode, When you resolve my questyon: I will strypp Your sweete contents of to the naked soule Before you parte. Doe you laughe? by heaven I will.

Gab. What brave exployts youle doe uppon the sodayne!

Gan. If you account theym so tys well, tys well.

Gab. Fye, fye, what moves you to thys froward wellcome?

Gan. Calst it allreadye frowarde? shallowe foole, I should salute thee with my daggers poynte And never make thys parley; but I'me kynde, And youle confes it when you reade that letter. You knowe the charackter & the whole scope Ere you peruse one worde, I make no questyon. But reade it, doe, that whyle you seeme to reede You may make readye for another worlde. Why doe you studye? flatter not your selfe With hope of an excusse.

Gab. You are not madd!

Gan. Yes, foorsoothe, I will confes my selfe emptye of sence, Dealinge with suche a wyttie sparke as you. Theres no comparysson: a sparke, sayd I? I meant a bonefyer made of wytt & lust; One nourryshes another. Have you doone? Does any thynge you reade allay your coldnes.

Gab. You thynke thys letter myne?

Gan. I doe indeede, And will with horror to thy wanton thoughts Make thee confes it, that thy soule beinge easd May fly away the sooner.

Gab. What you—

Gan. Fond woman, doe not trust me, there is deathe And undyssembld ruyne in my words. Make your prayrs quycklye.

Gab. I protest unto you, As I have contyence & a soule to save—

Gan. That's a fantastycke oathe; proceede, proceede.

Gab. I did not wryte thys letter nor have seene Richard synce it was wrytten: what was doone He & my mother wrought it.

Gan. Shall I beleive you? are you vertuous?

Gab. Examyne but the ende & then adjudge me.

Gan. Then my suspytyon proves a false conceyte, And I am wondrous glad to have it so Because it proves you honest. I am nowe Agayne resolvd that Richard was a vyllayne, And therefore am I gladd agayne, because He hathe what he deservd & has no more.

Gab. He did deserve your seryous contempt And is rewarded with it.

Gan. And with deathe.

Gab. Ha! oh is he murderd then?

Gan. Does that amaze you? Yes I have murderd hym & it becomes The gloryous parte of conquerynge my selfe, To say hereafter, when I would relate A storye worth attentyon, that thys hande, Thys constant ryght hand, did deliver me In spyghte of dottage & my naturall pittye.

Gab. O you are falne into the bloodyest cryme That ever tyrant threatned.

Gan. Idle feare.

Gab. Come, y'are a vyllayne & most bloodye slave, One that your spotted synns make odyous, For Rychard was all good & vertuous. Dispayre nowe maks me honest & Ile speake Truthe with true testymonye, for here it comes.

Enter Eldegrade.

We twoe contryved & wrytt these charracters, By Heaven we did; twas onlye we that spreade The poyson of debate & stryfe betwyxt you. On us, base man, tourne thy most bloodye edge, For thou hast slayne the noblest inocent.

Gan. Thyne owne invockt cursse ceaze thee,

[He runns at Gab., and Elde. stepps between?, & he kills both.

Gab. Thys should have ceazd me sooner; let me dye. Thy pardon, Richard: love thats too vyolent Is evermore with some straunge myscheifs spentt. [Dies.

Eld. Foule desperatyon ceaze thee, & whats worsse Dye with thy mothers last breathd heavye cursse. [Dyes.

Gan. They have left a darknes so extreame behynde I cannot fynde a prayre to blesse theire soules. See here then, polytycke creature, subtyll man, Here see thy myscheife. Irreligious foole, That makst it contyence onlye when thou leavest Synns of preferment unaccomplyshed, Thou that repynst agaynst thy starrs & lucke When heaven prevents the bassnes of thy gayne; Littill thynkst thou wherefore thy gaynes will serve, Nor wherefore thy close pollycie should fayle Tyll thou forsakst it, & then, wretched clay, Thou fyndst a horsse & dogge thy betters: they Dye unperplext with sence of dyinge, thou Seest what thy sence abhorrs thy falts allowe. I feele thee comeinge, my distracted chaunge, Like an ill-favord hangman: pray thee strike, Aproatche & doe thyne offyce.

Enter Oliver. What arte thou?

Oli One that will prove you Rychard is a cowarde.

Gan. Good darringe tonge, be not toe desperatt. He was your deare frend, was he not?

Oli Yes, had he not beene pretyous unto you, But hys muche faythe to you did make me hate hym, And he had felt it had he darrd th'incounter.

Gan. Pray, no more, & worthy Sir, be boulde To say here stands the most afflycted soule That ever felt the mysseryes of byrthe. Make me beleive my plaugs are infynett That I may so desyer to leave my fleshe And be deliverd from theym. Wherefore, looke you: It is my mother & my systers deade, I was theire murtherer; goe tell the worlde: That paper will give satisfactyon.

[Oliver taks the letter & reads.

Enter Didier.

O you are wellcome; are you an offycer? The captayne of the guard, I thynke. Come on: Be not affrayd, arest me, Ile submytt. Nor doe reproatche my vallor; I have darrd As much as he that durst affront the gods, But greife hathe staynd me.

Did. What meane you, Sir? Why I am Didier.

Gan. That buryed Richard? Oh, Didier, I was a barbarous wretche in kyllinge hym. Digg up his bodye, brynge it hyther, goe: Hys wounds will fall a bleedinge & the syghte Will soften my conjealed bloode, for nowe Me thynks I am not passyonate. But stay, Let all sweete rest preserve hym: I will thynke Howe reelinge in the anguyshe of hys wounds I would not heare hym when a was about To teache repentance, and that onlye thought Shall melt me into cynders. I am like The needye spendthryfte nowe, that an inforcst To make my wants knowne where I must not hope To gett releife. Releife? tys a vague hope And I will banyshe the conceyte. Come hyther, Looke uppon thys & wonder yet a littill It was my handyworke, yet nothynge neare The synne of kyllinge Richarde.

Oli. Have you then slayne the noblest worthye Richard?

Gan. Yes, by the false illussyons of theise twoe.

Oli. A guarde within there!

[Enter a guard & apprehends Ganelon & Didier.

Gan. Fayth, it will not neede, I knowe my ende of journey. For hys deathe I murderd theise: thys temporyzinge knave Buryed him last nyght; all I can aleadge Agaynst hym is concealment of the murther.

Did. Tys come about: twas allways in my mynde Nothynge should hange me, beinge naught by kynde.

Oli. Bringe theym away. Treason so greate as thys Was never seene synce man had power to wishe.

[Exe. with the dead Bodyes.