_Gan_. Sir, I am just of your opynion I; For what extreame beast but a foolishe curre Would envye that which he hym selfe dispyses? Be not offended, Sir, thoughe symple I Can live in peace at home with hungrye leeks And never curse my planettes. I can leape With more actyvitie then yesterday.--_Capers_. Does thys offend you, Sir? _Orl_. Exceedinglye. _Rei_. Were you thus nymble ever from a boy? _Gan_. No, in good faythe it taks me of the sodayne. _Oli_. Your harte is lighter then it needs, I doute. _Gan_. Yes, and your heade is lighter then your heeles. _Bus_. It is the honor of hys gravitie Not to be shaken with rydiculous winds Of envye or of scandall. Good Sir, thynke His resolutyons nowe his champyons. _Gan_. Syrha, no more; you shall goe home with me And learne to laughe at fortune; I have there A worthye matche and vertuous wife for thee And she shall pyle up all your flatterye: The courte hath no use for it.--Sir, methought You talkt of lightnes, did you not? _Orl_. Yes, that your heade is lighter then your heeles. _Gan_. It is, I thanke my starres; howe can it chuse, Beinge disburdend of so manye feares, So much attendance and so manye synnes By losse of my late offyces? I am bounde (My contyence knowes it well) to blesse your lordshipp If you or others moved the emperour To my displaceinge. I am nowe unloaded Of all the wayghtie cares that did oppresse me, And shall I not discover what I am. A nymble and a newe borne quyet man. [_Capers_.] --Does thys offend you? _Enter Turpin_. _Tur_. Where's lorde _Richard_? _Rich_. Here, reverend Sir. _Tur_. Hys majestie comands you uppon payne Of life and your aleagance that from hence You never more conversse with _Ganelon_ Eyther by letter, speeche or complyment. No not so much as see hym; and withall You must imediatlye attend his hyghnes. _Rich_. I am hys servant. [_Ex. Tur., Rich_. _Gan_. Tyll nowe I neare felt thunder, I am strooke To deathe with mans soft languadge. Come away: Tyll nowe I neare saw trulye a sadd day. [_Ex. Can., La Busse_. _Orl_. Wherefore did the angrye emperour Degrade thys merrye lorde? To pleasure me, Did he not, cossen? _Rei_. Yes, to satisfye The wronge he did in plottinge of your deathe. _Orl_. He did so, righte, but tys as fruytlesse all As catchynge of the moone: tys past mans power To take away my cursse of destenye. _Oli_. Tys that opynion multyplyes your cursse. _Orl_. Had any man but such a slave as I Look't to have tryumphd in hys base dejection And he should have beene glutted with hys fortunes, Whylst I and all the projects I can make Cannot (with fortunes leave) gett a good dreame. _Rei_. Doe not so blame your fortunes, worthye cossen: You have in many actyons prosperd well.