_Gan_. If from thys marydge there myght sprynge a sonne,
Which is myne ende, my honors would knowe none,
But like a ryver that receyves his name
Or fyrst oryginall from some mountayns foote,
Begyns a syngle streame, but at last growes
To have no bounds but what it could oreflow--
But tys impossyble.

_Rich_. Improbable;
For snowe and fyer can hardlye generate.

_Gan_. But whyle the snowe lyes on a mountayns topp,
Consumeinge with the heat which comfortts all
Excepte it selfe, the fyer may be blowne
Into a second flame.

_Rich_. I graunte you that--

_Gan_. Posytion and request; or elles I perishe.

_Rich_. What meanes my _Ganelon_?

_Gan_. Faythe to be playne
And not to wrong the love, which I have founde
Ever in thee, with any further doute,
My love would have thee call a kynge thy sonne
And gett him of my sister. Startst thou backe?
Come, I doe knowe thou lovest her with thy soule
And has syght for her often. Now enjoy,
And doe not stande amazd: if thou refuse,