Thys letter sente me by my dearest frende
Like spells and witchcraft dothe amaze my brayne.
He urdges me to love where a dothe knowe
I can by no meanes fancye; yet tys so,
Our safties doe compell it, & to that
I must of force bowe, teachinge my harde harte
To seme most softe when tys most hard[e]ned.
Enter Turpin.
Tur. Where is pryncelye Richard?
Ric. Here, reverend lorde.
Tur. The kynge comands your presence, O deare Sir, I am orejoyd in your most brave advauncments. Why, you are now the fayrest stare[94] in Fraunce.
Rich. I doe not understand your reverence.
Tur. The emperour will make my meanyng
playne. ... ... ... day Cunstable of Fraunce,
Countye Poyteirs, marquysse of Sallun,
And grand le seignior of the ordnance.
Ric. Theise are the dignities of noble Ganelon!
Tur. But these shall all be Richards.
Ric. Heaven forbydd! I will not weare the garments of my frende.
Tur. O doe not say so; they are forfayted roabs And never did become hys policie.
Ric. Good Sir, be charytable.
Tur. Indeede I am, But thys dothe least concerne me. Sir, I knowe The emperoure expects you.
Enter La Fue.
Ric. I will attend hym.—O y’are
happylie mett.
My urgent busynes maks my languadge shorte:
Comend me to thy master, give hym thys, [Gives
letters and money.
Thys to the fayrest Gabrielle; thys
Your selfe may drynke at your best leasure. [Ex.
Richard.
Fue. Why, so thys goulde has made my choller as colde as snowe watter. I had thought to have whysteld hym a braule[95] for makinge me daunce attendance. Waytinge on courtyers is like knocking at greate mens gatts in dynner tyme: well may a man make a noyse but hunger & hard fare keepes the porter deafe styll. Tys scurvie passinge scurvye in good sadnes.
Tur. Now, Mounseir La Fue, you are of the retyred familye.
Fue. Tyerd famylie? No, we are not tyerd, yet we may be wearye, and yet he that spurrs me for a tyerd jade I may chaunce kycke hym in the dark.
Tur. Come, your anger mistaks: I said retyred.
Fue. I hate words I understand not: be that eyther tyers or retyers me may chaunce cursse his journey.
Tur. Styll so angrye? di[d]st never take physsycke?
Fue. P[er]a[dve]nter I have, p[er]a[dve]nter I have not.
Tur. By all meanes doe; choller will kyll thee ells. But to my purposse: heares gould, comend me to thy master and give him thys token from me. [Gives the ringe. You see howe thynges runne; hys frend has all hys honors.