_Fue_. Nowe must I be coy by all meanes.--Trulye for myne owne parte I
must love by dyscretyon, and discretyon tells me I ought not to love an
oulde man, for ould men must needs be ingratfull.

_Char_. Why, deare sweete?

_Fue_. Because they can never live to rewarde benefytts.

_Tur_.--Bytter knave.

_Char_. O doe not feare; my bountye shall exceede
The power of thyne askynge; thou shalt treade
Uppon the heads of prynces. Bowe, you lords,
And fall before thys saynte I reverence.

_Tur. Rich. Did_. Honors to hym the emperor doth honor!

_Fue_. Aryse, my good subjects; onlye for that roauge there the first
acte of my chronickle shalbe hys hanginge.

_Did_. O be not angrye with your humble servante:
I ever did adore you,

_Fue_. Yes like the meales that thou hast devourd halfe chewd for
greedynes. But revendge comes nowe gallopinge.

_Char_. Who hathe displeasd my dearest? name hys name,
The verye breathe shall blast hym; onlye, sweete,
Love me & have thy wishes.