[SCENE 3.]
Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver.
Orl. Pray, thee, good coosse, perswade not my beleife;
I cannot stoope[97] the harte of Ganelon.
My crosse unhappye fortune hathe decreed
A never shalbe conquerd; any ells,
Should a but vowe to conquer 50 worlds,
I would beleive a myght doo't: onlye I
Shall never master a dejected slave.
Rei. Indeede tys but your passyon so perswads you.
Oli. Be not fantastyque; that which we perswade
Hathe bothe an eassye and a certayne way,
Nor can it yeild to you a syngle joye
But muche redoobled sweetnes. And behould
Here comes the newe made marquesse.
Enter Richard.
Good sweete lorde,
Give my free speche suer passadge.
… … … … …
0l. Foote! thys newe pyle of honor walks as if A would knocke patts with heaven.
Rich. Tys not unlike Your owne true pryde dothe make you speculous.
Rei. Tys farre shorte of youre sweete harte Ganelons.