_Tur_. I doe comend your tempers, but, madam, tys Hys highnes pleasure, for some spetyall ende Onlye to hym reveald, that instantlye Your sonne repayre to'th courte, which I intreate You will imparte unto hym. _Eld_. Most willinglie; Yet suer I knowe hys harte [is] settled there Which to the courte is a contrarye spheare. [_Ex. Eldegr. and Gab_. _Tur_. Howe prettylie theise weomen can dissemble! ... ... ... ... ... O tys a foule and damned sorcerye And maks the best of wisdome and of men, Of fame and fortytude, more loosse then ayre, Foolishe as idyotts, basse as cowardysse. Why I am even rackt with complyment And torturde past all suffrance; age nor sexe Houlde difference in thys incantatyon. But I will trye it further, harke a comes; Nowe must I passe the pike of lunacye. _Enter Charlimayne, La Busse and Richard_. _Char_. Come, come, my dearest; wherefore doe you starve My quycke desyers with your so cruell absence? I pray thee tender my declyninge age, Stande allways neare that I may never faynte; For thou inspyrst in me more strengthe and life Then mightie nature when she made me younge. _Tur_. Sir, I have allways beene your humblest servante. _Char_. O you dyssemble fynelye! _Tur_. I protest, sir. _Char_. Nay, then I may beleive you flatter me, But say thou dost and seeme to love me dearelye, For I confess, as freelye as I love, One littell sparke of thee outbuys my kyngdome; And when my kyngdomes gone pray what am I? A pore decrepyd mysserable thynge That needs no greater plauge then adge and wrinckles. _Tur_. Indeed your passyon is toe vyolent. I doe adore you next to dietie [sic] And will lay downe my life for you to treade on. _Char_. Oh[92] nowe religion teache me to beleive Another god, or I must forfayte heaven And worshypp what I see, thys happy creature. Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my sence From knowinge what I feele, for I am weake: Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on thee Who bryngst my captive soule to libertie. Chuse then a fytt rewarde, examyne all, All my domynions and authoryties; Thynke what may please thee, make a full request Or I shall growe a burthen to thy favors. _Tur_. What shall I aske, that in your favours have All that I can desyer? _Char_. Nay, aske me somethynge: Come, tell't in myne eare? _Bus_. What thynke you, lorde? Has any favrytt all he can desyer. _Rich_. Yes, and a be contented. _Bus_.--Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie contented? _Rich_.--Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt. _Bus_.--Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll wante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, _Richard_, he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not nowe blame hys doatinge on my sister. _Rich_.--No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole[s], muche more with prynces.