(For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttie
Be myne afflyction) to poyson me.

_Gan_. My emperour,
If thys aspertyon may fynde out a way
Thorrowe your easynes to wound myne honor,
Justyce hathe left the earthe.

_Char_. What say you, Syr? ha!

_Did_. I say and sweare by all dyvinitie
That can rewarde or punyshe, tys most true
That with a summe of goulde and further hopes
Of future honors he did wynne my promysse
To poyson the greate Palladyne.

_Char_. Thys is dyrect.

_Gan_. A dyrect vyllanye!
If suche proofes may prevayle gaynst any man,
Any such slave, discarded for's badd life,
May make hys former master forfayte hys;
You may in ten days hange up all your nobles
And yet have lawe for't. But if any man
(Thys slave except), although hys synns would make
The sunne put on a cloud to shame his syghte
And the grasse wither with his loathed ...,
Will justefye thys accusatyon,
Ile remayne destitute of all replye.