But thys dothe least concerne me. Sir, I knowe
The emperoure expects you.

_Enter La Fue_.

_Ric_. I will attend hym.--O y'are happylie mett.
My urgent busynes maks my languadge shorte:
Comend me to thy master, give hym thys, [_Gives letters and money_.
Thys to the fayrest _Gabrielle_; thys
Your selfe may drynke at your best leasure. [_Ex. Richard_.

_Fue_. Why, so thys goulde has made my choller as colde as snowe watter.
I had thought to have whysteld hym a braule[95] for makinge me daunce
attendance. Waytinge on courtyers is like knocking at greate mens gatts
in dynner tyme: well may a man make a noyse but hunger & hard fare
keepes the porter deafe styll. Tys scurvie passinge scurvye in good
sadnes.

_Tur_. Now, Mounseir _La Fue_, you are of the retyred familye.

_Fue_. Tyerd famylie? No, we are not tyerd, yet we may be wearye, and
yet he that spurrs me for a tyerd jade I may chaunce kycke hym in the
dark.

_Tur_. Come, your anger mistaks: I said retyred.

_Fue_. I hate words I understand not: be that eyther tyers or retyers me
may chaunce cursse his journey.

_Tur_. Styll so angrye? di[d]st never take physsycke?