_Enter Turpin_.

_Tur_. Where is pryncelye _Richard_?

_Ric_. Here, reverend lorde.

_Tur_. The kynge comands your presence, O deare Sir,
I am orejoyd in your most brave advauncments.
Why, you are now the fayrest stare[94] in _Fraunce_.

_Rich_. I doe not understand your reverence.

_Tur_. The emperour will make my meanyng playne.
... ... ... day Cunstable of _Fraunce_,
Countye _Poyteirs_, marquysse of _Sallun_,
And grand le seignior of the ordnance.

_Ric_. Theise are the dignities of noble _Ganelon_!

_Tur_. But these shall all be _Richards_.

_Ric_. Heaven forbydd!
I will not weare the garments of my frende.

_Tur_. O doe not say so; they are forfayted roabs
And never did become hys policie.

_Ric_. Good Sir, be charytable.

_Tur_. Indeede I am,