Rich.—­No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole[s], muche more with prynces.

Bus.—­If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall?  Come, come, be not seveare; let us prate whylst they whysper.

Rich.—­Is that good manners?

Bus.—­Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe.

Rich.—­Come, thou art wanton!

Bus.—­As the Bishopp is costyve in hys begging.  Twere a myrackle should he aske nothynge.  Let me see:  does no bodye stande in his way to be removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or does not somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer.  Somewhat there must be.

Char.  How now, cossen, what says La Busse?

Bus.  Marrye, my lorde, I say if you should give half the libertye of begginge to a courtyer of myne acquayntance that you gave to the Byshopp, you would be beggd out of your whole kyngdome in a cople of mynuts.

Char.  Like enough, for thy acquayntance are foule beggarlye companyons; yet would thy father had thy vertue.—­But, sweete frend, Assure thy selfe th’ast fyxte my resolutyon As fyrme as destenye, and I will give All satisfactyon to the Palladyne.

Tur.  It wilbe royall in you.

    Enter Ganelon.

Char.  Kysse me, sweete.—­O you are wellcome; stand up.  And howe does thys retyred life agree With Ganelon?

Gan.  As Ganelon with it,
Most desolatlye, sir.  I have induerd
Subjection to my fate since last I sawe you;
In all which haplesse bondage I have gaynd
[Not one] howers comforte tyll twas dooblye yearnd
Synce fyrst I knewe what sleepe and wakinge mente
I never slepte in quyett nor awakt
But with a hartye wishe to sleepe my last. 
Not a pore simple jest hathe made me smyle
Tyll I had payd the tribute of my cares
Over and over.  Fortune has opposd
My naturall blessings and my wishest ends;
Those verye honors which my byrthright claymes
Have cost me more vexatyon to preserve
Than all the numerous tyttells of a kynge
Purchasd with plauge and famyne; yet in all
My days of sorrowe I was styll to learne
A suffrynge of that impyous accounte
Which nowe afflycts me.

Char.  O you are conynge.

Tur.  Yes, and may teach the worlde to counterfayte.

    Enter Orlando, Reinaldo and Oliver.

But here comes the earle of Angeres.

Char.  Nephewe, y’are discontented and I woulde Give all rights to your honor, which did cause Me latelye thus to send for you.

Orl.  Tys true,
You sent unto me, sir, and I obayd
And came:  but then, Sir, what became of me? 
You sente me presentlye away for Spayne. 
Nay, never frowne, I doe remember thys
As well methynks as if it hapned nowe.