Oli.  He hathe forborne th’incounter, and in that
Hathe drownd us in amazement:  we suppose
Our plotts discoverd.

Orl.  No more, keepe backe the rest,
For I can read misfortunes in your browes. 
Vengeance consume theise projects! they are basse,
And bassnes ever more doth second theym;
The noble youthe smyle[s] at our follyes, nay,
Scornes the base languadge that you uttered,
Which is by thys tyme with the emperoure. 
O twas a speedinge way to doe us shame!

Rei.  Take truce with passyon:  I dare bouldlye sweare There is some other mysterye.

Oli.  At worst
Ile make it for our purposse every way
And even kill the soule of Ganelon. 
With talkinge of the cowardyse, so that you
Houlde patyence for a mynute.

Orl.  Patyence! 
Preache it to cynicks or greene sycknes gyrles
That have not blood enough to make a blushe
Or forme an acte might cause one.  I have longe
Like to a reelinge pynetree shooke the earthe
That I was rooted in, but nowe must fall
And be no longer the fatts tennys ball.

Rei.  Come be more temperd, you shall see from thys
Sprynge pleasure that you wishe for. Olyver
Shall instantlye upbrayd false Ganelon
With Rychards muche unworthynes.

Oli.  Thats decreed
For in such tearms I meane to sett hym fourthe
As shall even burst hys gall with agonye: 
Nay, it shall make hym never darre t’apeare
Where men resorte, or knowe ought but hys feare.

Orl.  You have lardge promysses, but acts as slowe As dyalls hands that are not seene to goe.

[Exeunt.

[SCENE 3.]

Enter Didier with a letter.

Did.  My cares & feares are past, but Ganelons
Thys letter woulde revyve if t’were reveald,
Nay begett newe ones to hym of suche wayghte
That he must synke beneathe theym.  Thys I founde
(Mongst other thyngs) in haplesse Richards pockett
When I interrd hym, subscribd by Ganelon,
Whereby’s owne hand would leade hym to the blocke
Should I discover it; for heres contaynd
The kyngs abuse & Gabriellas whoreinge. 
But I am nowe beforehand:  to hym selfe
Ile give thys letter; so begett[101] in hym
A fyrme beleife of myne integrytie
Which nowe goes upryghte, does not halte betweene
Preferment & disgrace; for, come what will,
I am all Ganelons & wilbe styll.

    Enter Ganelon.

And see, he comes.  My Lord—­

Gan.  O Dydier, Resolve me where & howe thou hast disposd The most false bodye of my falsest frende.

Did.  The ravenous earthe, that eatts what it hathe fedd, Hathe swallowd it.

Gan.  But where? what peice of earthe
Couldst thou fynde badd enough to hyde hys bones. 
If in some flowrye meade th’ast hym interrd
The poyson of hys synns will choake the sprynge,
And, if thou hast not layd hym deepe enoughe,
Corrupt the ayre & cause a generall plauge.