_Gan_. Yes, by the false illussyons of theise twoe. _Oli_. A guarde within there! [_Enter a guard & apprehends Ganelon & Didier_. _Gan_. Fayth, it will not neede, I knowe my ende of journey. For hys deathe I murderd theise: thys temporyzinge knave Buryed him last nyght; all I can aleadge Agaynst hym is concealment of the murther. _Did_. Tys come about: twas allways in my mynde Nothynge should hange me, beinge naught by kynde. _Oli_. Bringe theym away. Treason so greate as thys Was never seene synce man had power to wishe. [_Exe. with the dead Bodyes_. [SCENE 4.] _Enter Charlimayne, Turpin, Eudon & Attendants_. _Char_. What pageants thys that on the fallowd lands Crosses me everye way? I cannot goe But styll he meets me full jumpe. _Tur_. Beleve me, Sir. I have not seen an antycke more disguysed. A gallopps ore the newe plowde lands as fast As twere a comon hye way, yet no speeche Can make hym to forsake theym. _Eud_. Nay, whats more, The beast he rydds on is not usuall, Tys neyther horsse nor asse, and yet a beast Nymble & fytt for burthen. _Char_. _Eudon_, goe Bydd hym dismounte & as he loves hys life Presentlye come before us. I will knowe [_Ex. Eudon_. The ende of thys straunge purposse. Suer there must Some secrett hange uppon it! thyngs doone thus Are seldome jests, unlesse jests seryous. _Enter Eudon & Busse, leading in twoe lymes Byrtha & a Spaniell, hymselfe cladd all in nett_. O tys _La Busse_; I've founde hys stratagem.-- Nowe, Sir, y'are wellcome; whence growes thys dysguyse? _Bus_. Sir, from the fayre protectyon of your grace And satisfactyon of your vowe; which doone, Bouldlye I hope I may voutsafe to begge My fathers deare deliverance. _Char_. Noble sonne, What wouldst thou doe hadst thou a noble father! But come, sir, synce you putt me to the test, Resolve the doute: your fathers pardoned When you shall meet me uppon no hye way. _Bus_. Which even nowe I did: the fallowe lands, Newe plowed & tylld are free from passengers. _Char_. Tys graunted; but your selfe, Sir, must not ryde Of horse nor mare nor asse, & yet the beast An usuall thynge for burthen. _Bus_. Suche is myne, A Mule, that is the bastard breede betwyxte An asse & mare, & onlye fytt for labor. _Char_. But, sir, you must be neyther cloathed nor naked. _Bus_. Nor am I, myghtie Sir: thys pore thynne nett Nor leaves me nakt nor yet dothe cover me. _Char_. You prettylie orereache me; but you must Bringe in your hand the faythfullst frend you challenge. _Bus_. Thys is he, my faythfull trustye spanyell, The verye typpe & truthe of true affectyon. _Char_. But with hym must be joynd your greatest enemye. _Bus_. They are not farre assunder: a curst wife Is evermore mans worst aflyctyon, And shee that outgoes myne in bytternes May fryght the whole worlde.