Eld.  But thys is nothynge to the heape of scornes Will flowe on you hereafter.  What says your letter?

Gan.  Ile tell you presentlye.

Eld.  What a madd tyrant is mans stronge beleife! 
Makinge hym hunte hys proper myschiefe fourthe,
Takinge delight in desperatyon. 
O theres no foe to our credulytie.

Gan.  O mother, yes; Aimons youngest sonne
Richards a slave above credulytie. 
Why, alls confyrmd here underneathe hys hande;
A dothe not blussh to write to me a hathe
All honors that I challendge; good sweet, looke,
                                [Eldegrad reads. 
Read & recorde a vyllayne.  What speaks youres?

Gab.  No lesse than I imagynd, fearfull seidge
Agaynst my name & honor.
                                 [Ganelon reads.

Eld.—­So, it taks;
Thys polytycke trycke, wenche, hathe set up the walle
Of stronge partytyon twixt theym.  Hence theire loves
Shall never meete agayne.

Gan.  O monstrous vyllayne, wouldst thou make her whore? 
I tell you, shallowe braynd unfaythfull hynde,
Th’adst better have kyst Juno in a cloude
And beene the dadd to Centaurs.

Eld.  Save your wrathe:  Tys fytt that nowe your wisdome governe you.

Gan.  Mother, it shall; I am not yet past all Recoverye.

    Enter La Busse.

Nowe, sir, what newes at courte?

Bus.  Strange & unwholsome; you are still in fallinge; Alls given your frend to be your enemye.

Gan.  I knowe the full relatyon.  You did not seeke By basse ways my repryvall?

Bus.  God forbydd!  I spoake but what myght suyte your noblenes.

Gan.  What aunswere made the emperoure?

Bus.  That when I shall
Meete hym uppon a way was never usde
By horse nor man, & I myselfe to ryde
Neyther on horse, mare, asse, & yet the beast
An usuall thynge for burthen, & withall
Come neyther nakd nor cloathed, & doe bringe
My greatest frend & greatest enemye,
You then shall have hys favor, not before.

Gan.  A myght in one worde playnlye have sayd “never” And saved much cyrcomstance.  What sayd Richard?

Bus.  Faythe, seemd to speake, but utterd nothynge.

Elde.  Why that exprest hym bravelye.

Gan.  A thynks me fallinge & avoyds my swindge
Least I should fall on hym, nor helps me forwarde
To dryve away the feare of douted ruyne. 
Even thus doe beasts avoyde the shaken tree
And browze uppon the twygs that gave them shelter. 
Myce be more sotyable; they keepe the house
Tyll everye roome be fyerd about theire eares,
But frends will vanyshe at reporte of daunger. 
Where shall I fyxe my trust?  My woes are nowe
Beyond my synns, yet Ile nor bend nor bowe.