With heate and anger? Syrha, howe dare you
Upbrayd me with your presence? or doe you thynke
My wrongs and fortune have made me so tame
That I am a fytt subject for your spleene,
Your trencher envye & reverssyon rage?
Or arte so greate an Infydell to doute
My mischeifes snayle-pacst that thou spurst on newe
In full carryere uppon me?

_Did_. I disclayme
_Ganelons_ servyce other then to serve
Your worthye ends, which is the onlye end
Whertoe I ere seemd hys.

_Bus_. Monstrous deceytfull vyllayne!

_Orl_. Impossyble!
I cannot be so happye, & if thou
Beare but the least affectyon to my cause,
Thy fortunes like thy trenchers wilbe chaungd
To a sordyd foulenes that will loathe thy nature.

_Did_. For that no matter, I darre fortunes worst
In ryghte of vertue; & if you'le be pleased
Thys screane may be removed that keepes away
All comfortable heate from everye man
Which he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shall
Confyrme you I am yours.

_Orl_. He shall not goe,