I would beleive a myght doo't: onlye I
Shall never master a dejected slave.

_Rei_. Indeede tys but your passyon so perswads you.

_Oli_. Be not fantastyque; that which we perswade
Hathe bothe an eassye and a certayne way,
Nor can it yeild to you a syngle joye
But muche redoobled sweetnes. And behould
Here comes the newe made marquesse.

_Enter Richard_.

Good sweete lorde,
Give my free speche suer passadge.
... ... ... ... ...

_0l_. Foote! thys newe pyle of honor walks as if
A would knocke patts with heaven.

_Rich_. Tys not unlike
Your owne true pryde dothe make you speculous.

_Rei_. Tys farre shorte of youre sweete harte _Ganelons_.

_Rich_. Sir, hees a noble gentyllman.

_Oli_. A Baboone,
A verye windye caske of emptynes.