(Longe synce by me most fynelye counterfaytt)
Enters hys chambers & hys cabanett
And everye place retyrd.  I am resolvde;
Thoughe I had thousand ways to scape besyde,
Yet I will stay onlye to murther hym. 
Within hys lodginge will I hyde me safe,
And when sleepe lulls hym—­farwell Ganelon! 
He shall not outlive mydnyght:  here Ile lye,
And thoughe I followe nexte thys lorde shall dye.
                                     [Hydes hym.

Enter Ganelon.

Gan.  My plotts are layd most certayne & no fatte
Can interposse betwixte theym:  Didier dyes
And so shall Richarde.  O the wearye thoughts
That keepe a daylie senate in my braynes,
Repeat unto me what I loathe to heare,
A frends disloyaltye.  Be wysser you
That undertake the greate & hallowed leauge
Of frendlye comforte.  Scoole your ryotous bloode
And teache your fancyes Wisdome; be not drawne
With suche a frayle unproffytable thynge
As face or person when you chusse a frende;
Th’are all deceytfull.  Would my funerall rytts
Were as I wishe provyded, to dispeirse
A warnynge by my horryble abuse,
And I would dye to morrowe.  I lament
That such another pyttied foole as I
Should be amongst the liveinge.—­Harke! who knocks?
                                  [Richard knocks. 
Aunswere, what are you?

Rich.  Open to your frende.

Gan.  O my starrs, tys he! can myschiefe thus
Come flyinge to my bossome?—­Sir, I come
To open twoe dores, thys & thy false bossome.
                                    [Stabbs hym.

Rich.  O y’ave slayne me! tell me, cruell Sir,
Why you have doone thys that myne inocent soule
May teache repentance to you—­
          
                                [Dies.

Gan.  Speake it out. 
What, not a worde? dumbe with a littill blowe? 
You are growne statlye, are you? tys even so: 
You have the trycke of mightie men in courte
To speake at leasure & pretend imployment. 
Well, take your tyme; tys not materyall
Whether you speake the resydue behynde
Nowe or at doomes day.  If thy comon sence
Be not yet parted from thee, understande
I doe not cursse[100] thee dyinge, because once
I loved thee dearlye; & collect by that
There is no devyll in me nor in hell
That could have flesht me to thys violent deathe,
Hadst thou beene false to all the worlde but me.—­
But he is nowe past thynkinge on for that,
And were he buryed all were perfytted.

[Didier stepps out.

Did.  What will you say if I become the sexton?

Gan.  That after that thou mayst hang thy selfe ithe bellropps.  —­What makst thou heare?

Did.  I will assuer you, Sir, No legge to your wise lordshypp for my life, Thyngs standinge as they doe.