thy nourishment?
Noble _Orlando_, what omynous fatell starre
Ruld thy nativitie that fire must be
Strooke out of Ice to ruyne all thy hopes:
This marriage is their grave.

_Did_. Sir, I may rayse
A broken state by service.

_Bus_. Yes, of the devyll
To whom thou art a factor. Slave, 'tis thou
That hast undoone my father and increast
His evyll inclinatyons. I have seene
Your conference with witches, night-spell knaves,
Connivynge mountebanks and the damned frye
Of cheating mathematicks. And is this
The issue of your closse contryvances[84]?
If in thys p[ro]myst throng of future ill
There may be found a way to anye good
Of brave _Orlando_ the great palladyne,
My constant industry shall tyer the day
And outwatche night but I will fynde it for hym;
And yf to doe hym good--

_Enter La Fue_.

_Fue_. Where's _Didier_?

_Did_. Here, thou contemptyble thynge that never werte
So free as to put on thyne owne ill hatt;
Thou that hast worne thy selfe and a blewe coate
To equall thryddbareness and never hadst
Vertue inough to make thee [be] preferrd
Before aught but a cloak bagge,--what to me?

_Fue_. The wishe of poxe enough to make thee all
One entire scabb. Dost thou abuse thy elders?

_Did_. I cry your reverence mercye, I confes
You are more antique.

_Fue_. Antycke in thy face!
My lord shall knowe.

_Did_. But pray thee let me fyrst
Knowe what my lorde would have me knowe by thee.

_Fue_. I scorne to tell thee or to talke with thee;
And yet a woulde speake with thee,--and yet I will not tell thee;
Thou shalt shortlye knowe thou hadst bene better--
I say no more; though my deserts be hydd
My adge is not, for I neare weare a hatt;
And that shalbe ballast to my complaynte
To make it goe more steadye to thy ruyne.
It shall, dost heare, it shall. [_Exit Fue_.

_Did_. Hence, chollerycke foole,
Thy threats to me are like the kyngs desyer,
As uneffectuall[85] as the gloawormes fyer.

_Loude musique. Enter Charlimayne, Bishop Turpin,
Ganelon, Richard, Theodora, Gabriella, and attendants_.

_Charl_. This musyque is to[o] dull to mix it selfe
With the full Joy I tast. O _Ganelon_,
Teache me a meanes t'expresse the gratytude
I owe thy vertues for thys royall matche,
Whereby me thynks my ice is tournd to fyer,
My earthe to ayre; those twoe base elements
Can challendge nothinge in my composition,
As thou and _Theodora_ now have made me:
For whiche be thou our lorde greate Cunstable.

_Did_.-