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.