_Orl_. Good, doe not studye how to flatter me; I am in althyngs most unfortunate. Witnes my fyrst love to _Angellica_, ... ... ... my cursse ... ... ... My manye shypwracks, my halfe combattings, Charmes and inchauntments or whatever ells Can breake the harte of resolutyon. _Rei_. What say you to your conquests? _Orl_. Tut, in thosse Fortune did never medle: honor there Served in her person, not by substytute. Instead of which pore blessinge not a day Hathe hapned synce without some mysserye. Wheres now my hope of byrthrighte, where all _Fraunce_? Drownd in the cradle of a chamber groome. And now, just now, resolveinge to aflycte That myserable lorde, he doth dispyse Me & hys shame, because in me it lyes. By heaven I will release hym! _Rei_. Nothinge so: Pray leave thys angrye moode and followe me; Ile add a torment to hys mysserye. [_Exe_. [SCENE 2.] _Enter Eudon, Eldegrade, Bertha & Gabrielle_. _Eud_. Ile sooner shrynke back when my lifes assaulted Then when my promyse shalbe claymd (good madam). I promysd to your lorde that _Bertha_ here, My daughter, should be marryed to hys sonne, And Ile perform't; for onlye to that ende I've brought her nowe. _Eld_. And, Sir, tis noblye doone; I knowe the matche is more desyred by hym Then the kyngs favors, which at thys tyme he Is laboringe to recover, but's retourne I knowe wilbe most sodayne. _Eud_. Weele attend it. _Gab_. Hey hoe. _Ber_. Why syghes thou, frende? _Gab_. Not at your joys but myne afflyctyons. Your in a good way, _Bertha_, ryde spurrd on, May come unto your journey: I must tyre, Theres not a swytche or prycke to quycken me. _Ber_. Yes, when younge _Rychard_ hunts your purlue ground. Come, I doe know you will not chaunge your ryder. _Gab_. Not if a would fall to hys exercyse. _Ber_. Th'art styll thy selfe (all madnes).--But no more; Here comes your brother. _Enter Ganelon, La Busse_. _Eud_. Healthe to my noble lorde! _Gan_. You wishe me my worst enemye, yet, Sir, Tys wellcome since you wishe it. O I am At thys tyme nothynge but extreame disgrace. _Eud_. Shake you for that? Why, noble lorde, you knowe Disgrace is ever like the greate assay Which turnes imperfytt mettalls into fume And shewes pure gould to have an absolute valewe Because it styll remayns unchaungable Disgrace can never scarre a good mans sence, Tys an undaunted harte shoes Innocence: Shame in a guyltie man (like wounds & scratches In a corrupted fleshe) may ranckell deepe, Good mens dishonors heale before they weepe. _Gan_. Pray thee, noble _Eudon_, save thy selfe, And come not neare me; I am pestilent. _Eud_. I doe not feare infection.