suche an affectyon manadge you,
Tys not the man or sexe that causes it
But the styll groweinge vertues that inhabytt
The object of your love.

_Gan_. Tys orrackle, most happye pryncelye _Richard_,
Thou youngest and thou fayrest braunch of _Aimon_;
And thy still growing vertues have made thee
The object of that love. When first I sawe thee
(Though but with a meare cursorye aspecte)
My soule did prompt me that so fayre a forme
Could not but be the myne of manye vertues.
Then mysser-like I sought to ope the myne
And fynde the treasure, whereuppon I wanne
Your inmost frendshipp, which with joy attaynd
In seekinge for a sparke I found a flame,
Whose rychnes made me admyratyons slave
And staggerd me with wonder.

_Rich_. Good sweete lorde,
Forbeare thy courtshypp, our acquayntance is
Too oulde, & as I hope frendshypp too fyrme
To be nowe semented.

_Gan_. True, my best freinde;
And thoughe I wante arythmatycke to counte
My treasure in thee, pray thee give me leave
To joy in my posession of suche blysse
To which all honours in our _Fraunce_ compaird
Were as a rushe mongst manye myllions shared.

_Rich_. Sir, thoughe I knowe there is nothynge in me
Able to give a flattery hope to thryve
In the most abject slave to it that courts,
And therefore cannot doute it in your selfe,
Yet I beseeche you talke of somethynge elles
Or I shall growe unmannerlye & leave you:
Myne owne prayse is my torture.

_Gan_. Heaven forbydd
Yf I shoulde torture hym I love so muche,
Beyond expression! And synce this offends thee
Ile speake of that shall please my noblest _Rycharde_.

_Rich_. Your pleasure & your honorable ends
Are bounds beyond which I have no delighte.

_Gan_. If from thys marydge there myght sprynge a sonne,
Which is myne ende, my honors would knowe none,
But like a ryver that receyves his name
Or fyrst oryginall from some mountayns foote,
Begyns a syngle streame, but at last growes
To have no bounds but what it could oreflow--
But tys impossyble.

_Rich_. Improbable;
For snowe and fyer can hardlye generate.

_Gan_. But whyle the snowe lyes on a mountayns topp,
Consumeinge with the heat which comfortts all
Excepte it selfe, the fyer may be blowne
Into a second flame.

_Rich_. I graunte you that--

_Gan_. Posytion and request; or elles I perishe.

_Rich_. What meanes my _Ganelon_?

_Gan_. Faythe to be playne
And not to wrong the love, which I have founde
Ever in thee, with any further doute,