Ric. Heaven forbydd! I will not weare the garments of my frende.
Tur. O doe not say so; they are forfayted roabs And never did become hys policie.
Ric. Good Sir, be charytable.
Tur. Indeede I am, But thys dothe least concerne me. Sir, I knowe The emperoure expects you.
Enter La Fue.
Ric. I will attend hym.—O y'are happylie mett.
My urgent busynes maks my languadge shorte:
Comend me to thy master, give hym thys, [Gives letters and money.
Thys to the fayrest Gabrielle; thys
Your selfe may drynke at your best leasure. [Ex. Richard.
Fue. Why, so thys goulde has made my choller as colde as snowe watter. I had thought to have whysteld hym a braule[95] for makinge me daunce attendance. Waytinge on courtyers is like knocking at greate mens gatts in dynner tyme: well may a man make a noyse but hunger & hard fare keepes the porter deafe styll. Tys scurvie passinge scurvye in good sadnes.
Tur. Now, Mounseir La Fue, you are of the retyred familye.
Fue. Tyerd famylie? No, we are not tyerd, yet we may be wearye, and yet he that spurrs me for a tyerd jade I may chaunce kycke hym in the dark.
Tur. Come, your anger mistaks: I said retyred.