a barbarous wretche in kyllinge hym.
Digg up his bodye, brynge it hyther, goe:
Hys wounds will fall a bleedinge & the syghte
Will soften my conjealed bloode, for nowe
Me thynks I am not passyonate. But stay,
Let all sweete rest preserve hym: I will thynke
Howe reelinge in the anguyshe of hys wounds
I would not heare hym when a was about
To teache repentance, and that onlye thought
Shall melt me into cynders. I am like
The needye spendthryfte nowe, that an inforcst
To make my wants knowne where I must not hope
To gett releife. Releife? tys a vague hope
And I will banyshe the conceyte. Come hyther,
Looke uppon thys & wonder yet a littill
It was my handyworke, yet nothynge neare
The synne of kyllinge _Richarde_.

_Oli_. Have you then slayne the noblest worthye _Richard_?

_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