Orl. No more, keepe backe the rest,
For I can read misfortunes in your browes.
Vengeance consume theise projects! they are basse,
And bassnes ever more doth second theym;
The noble youthe smyle at our follyes, nay,
Scornes the base languadge that you uttered,
Which is by thys tyme with the emperoure.
O twas a speedinge way to doe us shame!
Rei. Take truce with passyon: I dare bouldlye sweare There is some other mysterye.
Oli. At worst
Ile make it for our purposse every way
And even kill the soule of Ganelon.
With talkinge of the cowardyse, so that you
Houlde patyence for a mynute.
Orl. Patyence!
Preache it to cynicks or greene sycknes gyrles
That have not blood enough to make a blushe
Or forme an acte might cause one. I have longe
Like to a reelinge pynetree shooke the earthe
That I was rooted in, but nowe must fall
And be no longer the fatts tennys ball.
Rei. Come be more temperd, you shall see from thys
Sprynge pleasure that you wishe for. Olyver
Shall instantlye upbrayd false Ganelon
With Rychards muche unworthynes.
Oli. Thats decreed
For in such tearms I meane to sett hym fourthe
As shall even burst hys gall with agonye:
Nay, it shall make hym never darre t'apeare
Where men resorte, or knowe ought but hys feare.
Orl. You have lardge promysses, but acts as slowe As dyalls hands that are not seene to goe.
[Exeunt.
[SCENE 3.]
Enter Didier with a letter.