ayne_.

_Gan_. I cannot blame hym; tis a furye man
Can neither tame nor conquer. But, dear frende,
Is there no meanes to come to the dead queene
Out of the emperours presence?

_Ric_. Sir, theres none;
He hath her evermore within hys armes,
And when a sleepes your syster _Gabriella_
Or the oulde Bishopp _Turpin_ doe attend her.

_Gan_. I, there you name a newe afflyctyon,
That syster is an ulcer in my bloode:
Howe doe you with her doatinge passyons?

_Ric_. Sleyght them beyond your wishes.

_Gan_. Thou dost amaze me with thy noble vertue,
And thence I honor thee. As for that mayd
Still let her frantique love receyve repulse
And crowne thy contynence; for though I was
Content the queene should stray, yet thys[90]
I would not have to fall for chrystendome.

_Ric_. You neede not feare me: if not contynence,
Yet myne owne will is armour strong enoughe.

_Gan_. I know't; and here she comes.

_Enter Gabriella_.

_Gab_. Brother, God save you!--0 my noble _Richarde_,
You make me oulde ithe mornynge of my yeares.
Shall styll your winter nypp me?

_Gan_. What doe you meane?

_Gab_. T'express a love thats good and vertuous.

_Gan_. Fye, thys doth stayne your noble modestye.

_Gab_. To tell before you myne affectyon
In publique I confes it would make me
A subject for taxation.

_Gan_. Anywhere.
Come, a must not love you.

_Gab_. Heavens forbydd!
And I must tell you, brother, that I darre
(And with no other then a syster's spleene)
Justifye myne affectyon.

_Gan_. So,
And what wants thys of impudence?

_Gab_. As much
As you of charytie if your tonge bee
A faithfull servant to your mynde.

_Gan_. Tys well:
You would be whored (mayd), would you not?

_Ric_. Pray, Forbeare.

_Gab_. Your reprehensyon is unmannerlye,
While Ile enduer no longer. Fayre Sir, knowe
I will not have my true love circomscrybd
Within the lymits of your pollycie,
Come, y'are wicked.

_Gan_. Repentance would doe well.

_Gab_. Tys a fytt matche for threescore and ten yeares
And at that sober age I meane to wedd it.
Yet knowe that my desyers are not so wild
But they stay here. Nor will I ever stray
Beyond this most loved object.

_Ric_. Say not so:
It never can retourne your recompence.
Vertue, my soules dower, which is now contrackt
And richlie to be marryed unto heaven
Shall ever keepe me from affectyon:
Beleve it, madam, I will never love.

_Gab_. Then have false hopes raysd me to th'topp of all
Onlye to form