.. ... enoughe to caper ... ... ...

_Orl_. What meanes he by theise frantycke sygnes of myrthe?
Cossen _Reinaldo_, cossen _Oliver_,
Why does he growe thus guyddie?

_Gan_. What says the emperours nephewe? does he grudge
That I should take a pore content in shame?
Your envye will discredite you, my lorde.
Gentyllmen, have you not hearde of _Aesopps_ dogge
That once lay snarlinge in the oxes maunger?

_Orl. Rei. Oli_. What then?

_Gan_. He was an arrant peevyshe curre,
Nothynge but so; and I protest syncerlye
I would have hangd that dogge (had he beene myne)
Althoughe a lyonnesse had beene hys dame.

_Orl_. Your dogs comparysons a saucye foole.

_Gan_. Sir, I am just of your opynion I;
For what extreame beast but a foolishe curre
Would envye that which he hym selfe dispyses?
Be not offended, Sir, thoughe symple I
Can live in peace at home with hungrye leeks
And never curse my planettes. I can leape
With more actyvitie then yesterday.--_Capers_.
Does thys offend you, Sir?

_Orl_. Exceedinglye.

_Rei_. Were you thus nymble ever from a boy?

_Gan_. No, in good faythe it taks me of the sodayne.

_Oli_. Your harte is lighter then it needs, I doute.

_Gan_. Yes, and your heade is lighter then your heeles.

_Bus_. It is the honor of hys gravitie
Not to be shaken with rydiculous winds
Of envye or of scandall. Good Sir, thynke
His resolutyons nowe his champyons.

_Gan_. Syrha, no more; you shall goe home with me
And learne to laughe at fortune; I have there
A worthye matche and vertuous wife for thee
And she shall pyle up all your flatterye:
The courte hath no use for it.--Sir, methought
You talkt of lightnes, did you not?

_Orl_. Yes, that your heade is lighter then your heeles.

_Gan_. It is, I thanke my starres; howe can it chuse,
Beinge disburdend of so manye feares,
So much attendance and so manye synnes
By losse of my late offyces? I am bounde
(My contyence knowes it well) to blesse your lordshipp
If you or others moved the emperour
To my displaceinge. I am nowe unloaded
Of all the wayghtie cares that did oppresse me,
And shall I not discover what I am.
A nymble and a newe borne quyet man. [_Capers_.]
--Does thys offend you?

_Enter Turpin_.

_Tur_. Where's lorde _Richard_?

_Rich_. Here, reverend Sir.

_Tur_. Hys majestie comands you uppon payne
Of life and your aleagance that from hence
You never more conversse with _Ganelon_
Eyther by letter, speeche or complyment.
No not so m