Orl. Sir, to let passe somethynge without your power
Nowe to be remedyed, I am persuaded
(Thoughe I persuade my selfe to littill purposse)
To tell you of a practyse gainst my life
By Ganelon.
Char. Call hym; you shall be hearde,
You are to me toe pretyous to take wronge.
Yet, nephewe, be advisd, for you doe knowe
That indyrect surmyses more abuse
And in that strange abuse more deeplye wounde
An inocent brest then proves a guyltie one.
Orl. Sir, I best knowe howe muche abusses wounde
An inocent brest: myne keepes a register
With corsives charactred on everye syde
Of the griefe drinkinge pap[er]. But I say,
Were Ganelon here—
Enter Ganelon.
Gan. As he is, my lorde,
To aunswere everye thynge your abusd nature,
The mallyce of thys slave or of the world,
Can charge me with. Speak then the uttermost.
Orl. I say you are a man that haveinge longe
Practysd agaynst myne honor in myne absence
At last didst deale with thys just gentyllman
(For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttie
Be myne afflyction) to poyson me.
Gan. My emperour,
If thys aspertyon may fynde out a way
Thorrowe your easynes to wound myne honor,
Justyce hathe left the earthe.
Char. What say you, Syr? ha!
Did. I say and sweare by all dyvinitie
That can rewarde or punyshe, tys most true
That with a summe of goulde and further hopes
Of future honors he did wynne my promysse
To poyson the greate Palladyne.
Char. Thys is dyrect.