I drede no daunger, I dawnce all in delyte; 1510 My name is Magnyfycence, man most of myght. Hercules the herdy, with his stobburne clobbyd mase, That made Cerberus to cache, the cur dogge of hell, And Thesius, that[834] prowde was Pluto to face, It wolde not become them with me for to mell: For of all barones bolde I bere the bell, Of all doughty I am doughtyest duke, as I deme; To me all prynces to lowte man be sene.[835] Cherlemayne, that mantenyd the nobles of Fraunce, Arthur of Albyan, for all his brymme berde, 1520 Nor Basyan the bolde, for all his brybaunce, Nor Alerycus, that rulyd the Gothyaunce by swerd, Nor no man on molde can make me aferd. What man is so maysyd with me that dare mete, I shall flappe hym as a fole to fall at my fete. Galba, whom his galantys garde for agaspe, Nor Nero, that nother set by God nor man, Nor Vaspasyan, that bare in his nose a waspe, Nor Hanyball agayne Rome gates that ranne, Nor yet Cypyo,[836] that noble Cartage wanne, 1530 Nor none so hardy of them with me that durste crake, But I shall frounce them on the foretop, and gar them to quake. _Here cometh in COURTLY ABUSYON, doynge reuerence and courtesy._ _Court. Ab._ At your commaundement, syr, wyth all dew reuerence. _Magn._ Welcom, Pleasure, to our magnyfycence. _Court. Ab._ Plesyth it your grace to shewe what I do shall? _Magn._ Let vs here of your pleasure to passe the tyme withall. _Court. Ab._ Syr, then with the fauour of your benynge sufferaunce To shewe you my mynde myselfe I wyll auaunce, If it lyke your grace to take it in degre. _Magn._ Yes, syr, so good man in you I se, 1540 And in your delynge so good assuraunce, That we delyte gretly in your dalyaunce. _Court. Ab._ A, syr, your grace me dothe extole and rayse, And ferre beyond my merytys ye me commende and prayse; Howe be it, I wolde be ryght gladde, I you assure, Any thynge to do that myght be to your pleasure. _Magn._ As I be saued, with pleasure I am supprysyd Of your langage, it is so well deuysed; Pullyshyd and fresshe is your ornacy. _Court. Ab._ A, I wolde to God that I were halfe so crafty, 1550 Or in electe vtteraunce halfe so eloquent, As that I myght your noble grace content! _Magn._ Truste me, with you I am hyghly pleasyd, For in my fauour I haue you feffyd and seasyd. He is not lyuynge your maners can amend; Mary, your speche is as pleasant as though it were pend; To here your comon, it is my hygh comforte; Poynt deuyse all pleasure is your porte. _Court. Ab._ Syr, I am the better of your noble reporte; But, of your pacyence vnder the supporte, 1560 If it wolde lyke you to here my pore mynde— _Magn._ Speke, I beseche thé, leue nothynge behynde.