Enter Oliver. 
                              What arte thou?

Oli One that will prove you Rychard is a cowarde.

Gan.  Good darringe tonge, be not toe desperatt.  He was your deare frend, was he not?

Oli Yes, had he not beene pretyous unto you, But hys muche faythe to you did make me hate hym, And he had felt it had he darrd th’incounter.

Gan.  Pray, no more, & worthy Sir, be boulde
To say here stands the most afflycted soule
That ever felt the mysseryes of byrthe. 
Make me beleive my plaugs are infynett
That I may so desyer to leave my fleshe
And be deliverd from theym.  Wherefore, looke you: 
It is my mother & my systers deade,
I was theire murtherer; goe tell the worlde: 
That paper will give satisfactyon.

[Oliver taks the letter & reads.

Enter Didier.

O you are wellcome; are you an offycer? 
The captayne of the guard, I thynke.  Come on: 
Be not affrayd, arest me, Ile submytt. 
Nor doe reproatche my vallor; I have darrd
As much as he that durst affront the gods,
But greife hathe staynd me.

Did.  What meane you, Sir?  Why I am Didier.

Gan.  That buryed Richard?  Oh, Didier,
I was a barbarous wretche in kyllinge hym. 
Digg up his bodye, brynge it hyther, goe: 
Hys wounds will fall a bleedinge & the syghte
Will soften my conjealed bloode, for nowe
Me thynks I am not passyonate.  But stay,
Let all sweete rest preserve hym:  I will thynke
Howe reelinge in the anguyshe of hys wounds
I would not heare hym when a was about
To teache repentance, and that onlye thought
Shall melt me into cynders.  I am like
The needye spendthryfte nowe, that an inforcst
To make my wants knowne where I must not hope
To gett releife.  Releife? tys a vague hope
And I will banyshe the conceyte.  Come hyther,
Looke uppon thys & wonder yet a littill
It was my handyworke, yet nothynge neare
The synne of kyllinge Richarde.

Oli.  Have you then slayne the noblest worthye Richard?

Gan.  Yes, by the false illussyons of theise twoe.

Oli.  A guarde within there!

    [Enter a guard & apprehends Ganelon & Didier.

Gan.  Fayth, it will not neede,
I knowe my ende of journey.  For hys deathe
I murderd theise:  thys temporyzinge knave
Buryed him last nyght; all I can aleadge
Agaynst hym is concealment of the murther.

Did.  Tys come about:  twas allways in my mynde Nothynge should hange me, beinge naught by kynde.

Oli.  Bringe theym away.  Treason so greate as thys Was never seene synce man had power to wishe.

[Exe. with the dead Bodyes.

[SCENE 4.]

Enter Charlimayne, Turpin, Eudon & Attendants.