_Bus_. Thou sayst well; The thought of honor is a perfect greene, And greene is good for th'eie syghte. Syllie man, Arte growne fantastycke in thy latter days? Trust me, I thought thou rather couldst have wisht To feele thyne eies bournt out into their socketts Then thus to live and see the blacke disgrace That will approatche, and soone, if thou darest live. And yet you looke for dygnitie! oh madnes! What, haveinge fyrst beene cheated of thy wealthe, Darest thou againe be cheated of thy witt,-- And thynke so poor a lord as is my father, The most dyspysd forsaken _Ganelon_, Can propp thy mynde,[82] fortune's shame upon thee! Wayte with a trencher, goe learne policye; A servingman at dynner tyme will teach thee To give attendance on the full-fedd gueste, Not on the hungry sharke; and yet you thynke To feede on larke by serving my poore father! _Did_. Nothing but larke, _La Busse_? Yes, mightie surloyns. _Bus_. Your lorde and master would be gladd of halfe. Pyttied companion, spare thy feeble eies, Looke not for honor least thou loose thy syghte. Such followers as thou, that would repayre A broken state by service, may be lyckned To shypwrackt marchants that will rather seeke To catche a rotten board or to be cast Uppon some frozen Ile then perish quycklie. But thou perhapps seekst voluntary pennance, Meaninge to perishe in a frozen clyme Because thou hast abused thy former blessings; Thy gameinge humor hath beene like a fyer. _Did_. Why? because my money burnte in my pursse tyll I left it? _Bus_. No, but because it taught the furyous way To blasphemye and curses which have kyndled A desperatt fyer in thee to play and loose, So that although thou purchase letteres patente To begge in all the provynces of _Fraunce_, Pretendinge that thy state was lost by fyer, Yet thou wouldst dye a beggar. _Did_. If I dye Before my letters pattente be expyred, Howe can I chuse (though I repayre my state)? But leaveing thys and you to the pore hope Of other mens and perhaps my cast cloathes, I tell thee, syllie creature, I am nowe Spreadinge my wings and mountinge to a heyghte From whence I will with scorne beholde such thyngs As all th'ambityon thou art master of Can never make thee hope or wish to be. And for my fortunes past, which you so much Esteeme and present [sic] wouldst doe reverence toe, I vallewe theym at thys! and for the like Would not bestowe the labor of amen To any good man's wishes. The laboringe clouds Insteade of vapours have exhald from earthe A blessing for me, and about this tyme (By the full revolution of my starres) Should rayne it down uppon me. _Bus_. Tushe. _Did_. Observe, First heare me, know the meanes and when y'ave doone Fall downe and worshypp. Thys same verye day, Nay thys most fortunate mynute, the emperoure, The great, th'unconquered mightie _Charlimayne_, Is marryed to the syster of my lorde To your most fayre-eied aunte, rare _Theodora_. [_Florish. A crye within "God save Theodora the Empresse_!" You heare thys?