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.