Or thou mayst looke and never fynde the way.

_Did_. Howe can myne eies fayle when so fayre a marke
As honor lyes before me?

_Bus_. Thou sayst well;
The thought of honor is a perfect greene,
And greene is good for th'eie syghte. Syllie man,
Arte growne fantastycke in thy latter days?
Trust me, I thought thou rather couldst have wisht
To feele thyne eies bournt out into their socketts
Then thus to live and see the blacke disgrace
That will approatche, and soone, if thou darest live.
And yet you looke for dygnitie! oh madnes!
What, haveinge fyrst beene cheated of thy wealthe,
Darest thou againe be cheated of thy witt,--
And thynke so poor a lord as is my father,
The most dyspysd forsaken _Ganelon_,
Can propp thy mynde,[82] fortune's shame upon thee!
Wayte with a trencher, goe learne policye;
A servingman at dynner tyme will teach thee
To give attendance on the full-fedd gueste,
Not on the hungry sharke; and yet you thynke
To feede on larke by serving my poore father!

_Did_. Nothing but larke, _La Busse_? Yes, mightie surloyns.

_Bus_. Your lorde and master would be gladd of halfe.
Pyttied companion, spare thy feeble eies,
Looke not for honor least thou loose thy syghte.