You have no honors but you merrytt theym.

_Char_. Ha!
Wonder, howe dost thou houlde me! noble sence,
Doe not forsake my reason. Good sweete lords,
What excellent thynge is that, that, that, that thynge
That is beyond discryption? knowe you hym?

_Fue_.--Hath spyed me and comends me: I may mounte.

_Tur_. Tys a dyspysed groome, the drudge of _Ganelon_.

_Char_. Tys the best forme of man that ere I sawe.
Let me admyre hym.

_Tur_.--The ringe dothe hould hys vertue everye where,
In weomen, men & monsters.

_Rich_.--Whence growes thys?
Madnes to it is wisdome.

_Char_. Why, tys a bodye made by symetree
And knytt together with more arte & care
Then mathematycks cyrckles. _Durers_ rules
Are perfytted in hym. Why, theirs a face
Figurd with all proportyons! browe & eie,
Rounde cheeke & lypp, a nose emperyall,
And everye feature ells of excellence!

_Fue_. Alas I am but a grosse servyngman, yet vertue