thee tender my declyninge age,
Stande allways neare that I may never faynte;
For thou inspyrst in me more strengthe and life
Then mightie nature when she made me younge.

_Tur_. Sir, I have allways beene your humblest servante.

_Char_. O you dyssemble fynelye!

_Tur_. I protest, sir.

_Char_. Nay, then I may beleive you flatter me,
But say thou dost and seeme to love me dearelye,
For I confess, as freelye as I love,
One littell sparke of thee outbuys my kyngdome;
And when my kyngdomes gone pray what am I?
A pore decrepyd mysserable thynge
That needs no greater plauge then adge and wrinckles.

_Tur_. Indeed your passyon is toe vyolent.
I doe adore you next to dietie [sic]
And will lay downe my life for you to treade on.

_Char_. Oh[92] nowe religion teache me to beleive
Another god, or I must forfayte heaven
And worshypp what I see, thys happy creature.
Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my sence
From knowinge what I feele, for I am weake:
Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on thee
Who bryngst my captive soule to libertie.
Chuse then a fytt rewarde, examyne all,
All my domynions and authoryties;
Thynke what may please thee, make a full request
Or I shall growe a burthen to thy favors.

_Tur_. What shall I aske, that in your favours have
All that I can desyer?

_Char_. Nay, aske me somethynge:
Come, tell't in myne eare?

_Bus_. What thynke you, lorde?
Has any favrytt all he can desyer.

_Rich_. Yes, and a be contented.

_Bus_.--Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie
contented?

_Rich_.--Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt.

_Bus_.--Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll
wante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, _Richard_,
he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde
loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not nowe
blame hys doatinge on my sister.

_Rich_.--No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole[s],
muche more with prynces.

_Bus_.--If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave
majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall? Come, come, be not seveare;
let us prate whylst they whysper.

_Rich_.--Is that good manners?

_Bus_.--Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to
pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe
pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe.

_Rich_.--Come, thou art