Gan. I doe obay Your Majestye. [Exe. Gan., La Busse.
Orl. Is thys a punishment?
Rei. Tys a disgrace, best cossen.
Did. And noble bloode Hathe more sence of disgrace then wounds.
Orl. Hence, slave!
By heaven a does rewarde hym for hys synne.
Was ever man like me unfortunate?
Not see the courte! why tys the greatest favor
In a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasd
T'have sent me to deathe we had bothe beene easd.
Enter Turpin.
Char. O my deare sweete! where has my best frend beene? My joy of life, my ages comforter! Indeede I've had a tedyous mysse of thee.
Tur. What meanes your majestie?
Char. I meane to live for ever on thy necke
And bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares.
O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge,
Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosse
When the bright sonne dothe kysse it.
Orl. Ha, whats thys?