_Gan_. Whats thys? scornd of my drudge, mockt & abusd? Foote! I will throwe my dager after hym. _Eld_. But thys is nothynge to the heape of scornes Will flowe on you hereafter. What says your letter? _Gan_. Ile tell you presentlye. _Eld_. What a madd tyrant is mans stronge beleife! Makinge hym hunte hys proper myschiefe fourthe, Takinge delight in desperatyon. O theres no foe to our credulytie. _Gan_. O mother, yes; _Aimons_ youngest sonne _Richards_ a slave above credulytie. Why, alls confyrmd here underneathe hys hande; A dothe not blussh to write to me a hathe All honors that I challendge; good sweet, looke, [_Eldegrad reads_. Read & recorde a vyllayne. What speaks youres? _Gab_. No lesse than I imagynd, fearfull seidge Agaynst my name & honor. [_Ganelon reads_. _Eld_.--So, it taks; Thys polytycke trycke, wenche, hathe set up the walle Of stronge partytyon twixt theym. Hence theire loves Shall never meete agayne. _Gan_. O monstrous vyllayne, wouldst thou make her whore? I tell you, shallowe braynd unfaythfull hynde, Th'adst better have kyst _Juno_ in a cloude And beene the dadd to Centaurs. _Eld_. Save your wrathe: Tys fytt that nowe your wisdome governe you. _Gan_. Mother, it shall; I am not yet past all Recoverye. _Enter La Busse_. Nowe, sir, what newes at courte? _Bus_. Strange & unwholsome; you are still in fallinge; Alls given your frend to be your enemye. _Gan_. I knowe the full relatyon. You did not seeke By basse ways my repryvall? _Bus_. God forbydd! I spoake but what myght suyte your noblenes. _Gan_. What aunswere made the emperoure? _Bus_. That when I shall Meete hym uppon a way was never usde By horse nor man, & I myselfe to ryde Neyther on horse, mare, asse, & yet the beast An usuall thynge for burthen, & withall Come neyther nakd nor cloathed, & doe bringe My greatest frend & greatest enemye, You then shall have hys favor, not before. _Gan_. A myght in one worde playnlye have sayd "never" And saved much cyrcomstance. What sayd _Richard_? _Bus_. Faythe, seemd to speake, but utterd nothynge. _Elde_. Why that exprest hym bravelye. _Gan_. A thynks me fallinge & avoyds my swindge Least I should fall on hym, nor helps me forwarde To dryve away the feare of douted ruyne. Even thus doe beasts avoyde the shaken tree And browze uppon the twygs that gave them shelter. Myce be more sotyable; they keepe the house Tyll everye roome be fyerd about theire eares, But frends will vanyshe at reporte of daunger. Where shall I fyxe my trust? My woes are nowe Beyond my synns, yet Ile nor bend nor bowe. [_Exeunt_. [SCENE 3.] _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver_.