Bus.—Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie contented?
Rich.—Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt.
Bus.—Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll wante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, Richard, he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not nowe blame hys doatinge on my sister.
Rich.—No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole, muche more with prynces.
Bus.—If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall? Come, come, be not seveare; let us prate whylst they whysper.
Rich.—Is that good manners?
Bus.—Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe.
Rich.—Come, thou art wanton!
Bus.—As the Bishopp is costyve in hys begging. Twere a myrackle should he aske nothynge. Let me see: does no bodye stande in his way to be removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or does not somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer. Somewhat there must be.
Char. How now, cossen, what says La Busse?