The youth is valyent, feare deters hym not.

_Oli_. Suer as deathe, our plott is all disclosd.
And that there was no meanynge in the feighte,
But onlye to withdrawe him from hys frend
On whom he doats toe dearlye.

_Rei_. Suer tys so,
And it will vexe the noble palladyne
Above the heyghte of madnes; nay, beleiv't
T'will chaunge opynion to a constant faythe
Of hys extreame mysfortunes. See a comes.

_Enter Orlando_.

_Orl_. Howe now, my lords? howe speede your noble plotts?
What, have you woone younge _Richard_ from hys frend?
Tell me whose eloquence hathe doone the deede
And I will honor hym.

_Oli_. He hathe forborne th'incounter, and in that
Hathe drownd us in amazement: we suppose
Our plotts discoverd.

_Orl_. No more, keepe backe the rest,
For I can read misfortunes in your browes.
Vengeance consume theise projects! they are basse,
And bassnes ever more doth second theym;
The noble youthe smyle[s] at our follyes, nay,
Scornes the base languadge that you uttered,