Turp. Alas, tys she maks hym not Charlymayne!
Char. Comaund some musique. Everye man departe,
[Exe. Bus. and attend[ants]. Soft musique.
But Turpin and my sister. Heavye sleepe
Presses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete,
Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my rest
Shall but like softe ayre gentlye cover thee.
[Sleepes on her bosome.
Turp. What, madam? is he salve a sleepe?
Gab. Most soundlye, Sir: sadnes from hys soule Hath charmd hys sence with slumber.
Turp. Then, if it please your goodnes to withdrawe And fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watche And call you at hys wakynge.
Gab. Willinglye. [Ex. Gabriella.
Turp. I have not seene so stronge a fytt as thys,
It is beyond all fevers; for thys feynde,
Thys most mallygnant spyrritt called love,
Raynes in him above wonder, nay above
Th'accounte of learnynge or experyence.
I've reade in younger studyes there are charmes,
Spells and devysses to comand men's harts;
That charracters and imadges and scrolles
Can even bynd the soule to servytude.
It may be that's wrought on the emperoure.
I know the hate of Ganelon to be
A myne of all deceytfull polycie,
And thys affectyon thus unnaturall,
Can but have such a father. Suer Ile trye,
If I can fynde the carryage. Pardon me, deathe,
That I thys once ryffell thy treasurye.
Theres nothynge heare conceald but deathe and colde
And emptye sylence, no companyon.
What, shall I then leave of? My harte says noe;
Ile yet breake ope another cabanett.
Nay, I must parte your lipps; the mouthe, they say,
Harbors most oft weomen's corruptyons:
You cannot byte me, madam. Ha, whats thys?
A rynge!
A very curyous rynge, a dayntye ringe
Hydd underneathe her tonge. Blesse me, fate!
Somethynge depends uppon it: what it is
I will aprove and be the treasurer.
Enter Gabriella.