Ber.  And from thys mercye I will new create In me a spyrrytt full of humblenes.

    Enter La Fue in gallantrye.

Fue.  Roame there & uncover, gentyllmen.  I that am myne owne gentyllman usher am the best gentyllman in Fraunce at thys present.  Give place & avoyde these.

Bus.  What meanes the peasant? syrha, are you madd?

Fue.  Yes, and I were halfe nakt as you are.  Roame I say!—­O my sweete harte, I will [Offers to kisse Charli.] kysse thy whyte lipps in the syght of thys whole assemblye.

Char.  Avaunte, I say! what meanes thys lunatycke.

Tur.  Pore sott howe hees deceyvd! th’inchauntments vanyshed.—­ Syrha learne better manners.

Fue.  How! syrha to my greatnes!  I am not in case to carrye your tokens.  Ould man, you had better manners when last I lefte you.—­Come, sweete love, I will love thee without more intreatye.  Let us withdrawe & in pryvate rumynat our selves together.

Char.  Is there no whypps for knaves are impudent?  Thys sawcynes will make your skynne [to] smarte.

Fue.  Away, away!  Y’are an ould man & should be wyse.  I tell you I was not in love with you tyll you doated on me; to drawe me into a fooles paradysse[104] & there leave me is not an honest man’s parte nor a good chrystyans.

Char.  What kynde of madnes call you thys? for shame!  Shall I be torturd with hym?

Tur.  Tys but a rude grosse weaknes, which anon Ile shoe at full unto your majestie.

Fue.  Come, sweete Charles, I knowe thou lovest me, & love will creepe where it cannot goe.  Come, letts condole together.

Char.  Yes, if I like your example.  Goe presentlye And give him fortye lashes:  make hym bleede Soundlye, away with hym!

Fue.  Howe, howe, how! fortye lashes! so I shall bleede to deathe.  Call you that soundlye?  Foote!  I am sicke with thought on’t.

Char.  Away with hym!  And if a prate, see that you dooble them:  Away!

Fue.  Well I will never trust the wooeinge of a great man whylst I live agayne:  & they be as false to weomen as to men they have sweete eeles to hould by.

Char.  Yet has a leave to prate?

Tur.  Away with hym, —­But on your lives give hym no punyshment.

[Ex.  Fue. & guard.

Char.  I have not seene a madnes of thys nature: 
But let him smarte for’t.—­Eudon, give comand
That Ganelon attend me presentlye. 
But, stay—­
What sollemp sound is thys?  I am prevented.

[Dead marche.]—­Funeral sounde.  Enter Orlando,
Reinaldo leading Ganelon, Oliver, Didier; two
herses, one with Eldegr. & Gab., the other Richard.

The cause of thys?