Runne one selfe course shall seldome find the way
To a preferment. Nowe the courte is growne
As strange a beast as the thronged multytude,
Dyffers not from the rabble, onlye tys
The upper house.

_Ber_. Why will you be a lymbe
Of such a beast?

_Bus_. Faythe, onlye for sporte sake.

_Gab_. I rather thynke to make it more deformd.

_Buss_. Be not so bytter, ladye. Howe can I,
Though I shoulde onlye studye vanytie,
Be seene amongst so manye that out-glosse me
In everye severall follye.

_Ber_. Yet littill _Richard, Aimons_ youngest sonne,
Is suche a man your envye cannot taxe hym.

_Gab_. Mallyce with all her poysons cannot wounde
Hys faire deserved reputatyon.

_Bus_. Sytts the wynde there?

_Gab_. Yes, syr, and blowes me hence
In quest of hym I doe so much affecte. [_Ex. Gabriella_.

_Ber_. Stay, Ile goe with you.