Eld. Then perishe in your dullnes. Nay, sir, more; It was hys earnest suyt to the emperoure To be dyvorst your presence: I can prove it.
Gab. And I that he by secret charmes hathe sought To make spoyle of myne honor, but in vayne Doe I complayne where theres no profyttinge.
Fue. In the way of ordynarye curtesye I doe salute you, & notwithstandinge my greatnes grace you to give you thys, &, ladye, you thys. [Gives letters.
Gan. Why, howe nowe? what motyons thys? Is the knave falne out with hys five sences.
Fue. Ganelon, no, but in love with my knowne vertues.—Hould, theres your yarde [gives hys coate] & a halfe of somers wearynge. Frends we mett, frends we parte: if you please me I may prayse you, if you seeke me you may fynd me, a loves littill that loves longe; and so I leave you to the tuytion.
Gan. Heyday, the knaves lunatycke! syrha sott … … … … …
[Fue.] … … Tys daungerous for your shynns; take heede of my[schief]. Favorytts are not without their steccados, imbrocados & pun[to]-reversos[96]. No more but so: you have no honor, no offyce, littill land, lesse money, least wytt. Y'are a pore man & I pyttie you. When next you see me tys in the emperours bossome.
[Ex. La Fue.
Gan. Whats thys? scornd of my drudge, mockt & abusd? Foote! I will throwe my dager after hym.
Eld. But thys is nothynge to the heape of scornes Will flowe on you hereafter. What says your letter?