parte
Your life is forfayte. Away!

_Gan_. I doe obay
Your Majestye.
[_Exe. Gan., La Busse_.

_Orl_. Is thys a punishment?

_Rei_. Tys a disgrace, best cossen.

_Did_. And noble bloode
Hathe more sence of disgrace then wounds.

_Orl_. Hence, slave!
By heaven a does rewarde hym for hys synne.
Was ever man like me unfortunate?
Not see the courte! why tys the greatest favor
In a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasd
T'have sent me to deathe we had bothe beene easd.

_Enter Turpin_.

_Char_. O my deare sweete! where has my best frend beene?
My joy of life, my ages comforter!
Indeede I've had a tedyous mysse of thee.

_Tur_. What meanes your majestie?

_Char_. I meane to live for ever on thy necke
And bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares.
O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge,
Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosse
When the bright sonne dothe kysse it.

_Orl_. Ha, whats thys?

_Tur_. I am your pore weake servant, an oulde man,
That have but onlye prayrs to pleasure you.

_Char_. Thou art all butye, spyces and perfume,
A verye myne of imortallytie.
Theise hayres are oth complexion of the skye,
Not like the earthe blacke browne and sullyed.
Thou hast no wrinckles: theise are carracters
In which are wrytt loves happiest hystorye.
Indeede I needs must kysse theym, faythe I will.
[_Kisses Turpin_.

_Orl_.--Wonder when wilt thou leave me? thys is straunge.

_Rei_.--Nay, farre above my readinge.

_Orl_.--Upon my life!
The ould men will not ravyshe one another?

_Tur_. Deare Sir, forbeare; see howe theise prynces scorne
Thys toe much wanton passyon.

_Char_. They are joys
Toe good for theym to wyttness. Come, my sweete;
We will in private measure our delights
And fyll our wishes bryme full. _F[r]aunce_ is thyne,
And he is but disloyall dare repyne.

[_Ex. Char., Turp_.

_Orl_. This visyon I must followe; when Charles growes thus
The whole worlde shaks: thys comett's omynous.

[_Ex. all but Didier_.

_Did_. I am a polyticke coxcombe: honestye
And contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake truthe
I neare usd eyther mearlye for it selfe.
Hope, the last comforte of eche liveinge man,
Has undoone me. What course shall I take now?
I am worsse then a game; both syds have lost me.
My contyence and my fortunes keepe me fytt
For an