take
But cannot, for my starrs will have it thus.

_Char_. You wronge your fortunes and convert theire good
Into a stronge disease.

_Orl_. So pray you tourne me then into an hospytall,
I have a straunge disease. But, gratyous Sir,
Littill thought I, when I departed hence
And conquerd you all Spayne, to tourne diseasd.

_Char_. Be patyent, and Ile undertake the cuer.

_Orl_. Oh I should shame your physsycke, though indeede
Tys the kyngs evyll I am trobled with,
But such a rare kyngs evyll that I feare
My chyldrens chyldren wilbe taynted with't.

_Rei_.--A touches hym most bouldlye.

_Oli_.--Even to the quycke of hys last maryadge.

_Orl_. Beleive't, my sycknes is like the disease
Which runns styll in a blood, nay more extreame,
For frends and kyndred bothe must feele my cursse:
But what good man can well escape a cursse
When Emperours, that should be absolute,
Will take advyse from everye shyftinge sycophant?

_Gan_. Mallyce and factyon could have sayd no more.

_Orl_. Are you then guyltie of advyse, my lorde?

_Gan_. Sir, if the kynge accuse me I submytt.

_Char_. I must accuse you bothe, but punnyshe one,
You, _Ganelon_, I meane: there dothe belonge
Unto your fault muche more then banishment.
I heare discharge you of all offyces,
Honors and tyttells or whatere exceeds
The slender name of a pore gentyllman.
Besyds I fyne you out of your estate
At fortye thousand crownes, and never hence
To see the courte, but live thence banyshed.
Nephewe, this may suffyce you; if't be light
Ile lay more burthens on hym.--Come, best frende.

_Orl_. Sir, I desyer no mans miserye.

[_Ex. Cha., Turp_.

_Gan_. Then welcome once agayne my libertie!
Nowe, my sweete frend, may I discourse with thee
And utter my dystractyon; only nowe
Can I retayne thee fullye in my bossome.
Before I was devyded in my selfe,
The emperour and the state did clayme a parte;
But all my frendshypp nowe is undisturbd
And onlye thou shalt have what manye had,
My best imployments and my whole desyers.

_Rich_. You are a juell fytter for the State,
And I feare what will followe. Sure th'emperoure,
Has loosend everye pearle about hys crowne
In loosinge you, the glorye of hys kingdome.

_Gan_. No, no, he shall complayne that wantinge me
He wants his refudge, and my glorye then
Shalbe to scorne hys favors whylst my thoughts
Onlye take pleasure in a perfytt frende,
Which is your selfe, that onlye ... to me
.