Will she blowe out?

_Ber_. Sir, y'are unmannerlie
To stay and question me: I must be gone.

_Bus_. Take my harte with you.

_Ber_. He whose harte and tonge
Runne one selfe course shall seldome fynde the way
To a preferrment.

_Bus_. Sfoote, doe you thynke your love
Such a preferrment? nay then, fare you well.

_Ber_. Vyllanous man! [_Ex. Bertha_.

_Bus_. Well, now unto my father whom I knowe
Hates me but for my goodnes; and althoughe
I cannot blame the Empresse, yet on hym
Ile vent myne honest spleene, and he shall knowe
Vertue at porest hath yet one advocate,
Though muche too meane to helpe her.--See, a comes.

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Gan_. The Empresse and younge _Richard_ are in league,
Arme knytt and harte knytt with the fervencye
That no joy can exceede. Heaven blesse the mixture!
--But stay; whose thys? O my curyous sonne,
What newse with you, Sir?