Indeede I dearelye love thee, for I see
The rose and lyllie sprynginge in thy cheeks
Fresher than ever. Deathes imortal sythe
Dare not offend thy branches: O, thou arte
A thynge beyond mortall corruptyon.

_Buss_.--What will a make of her?

_Turp_.--Even what his fancye pleases.

_Char_. If she be dead howe sweete a thynge is deathe,
Howe riche, howe gloryous and unmatchable!
And howe much follye is in fearfull man [_Sitts by her_.
To flye from that which is so amyable!
Deare, give me leave to touche thee and imprinte
My soule uppon theise rubyes. All the fame
And garlands I have woone throughe Chrystendome,
The conquests I have made of _Fraunce_, of _Spayne_,
Of _Ittalie, Hungarie, Germanie_,
Even to the uttmost east poynt, placd with thee
Are toys of worthlesse valewe. Here's my crowne,
And but for thys I were not _Charlymayne_.

_Turp_. Alas, tys she maks hym not _Charlymayne_!

_Char_. Comaund some musique. Everye man departe,

[_Exe. Bus. and attend[ants]. Soft musique_.

But _Turpin_ and my sister. Heavye sleepe