(SCENE 3.)

Enter Don Pedro, reading a Letter, & Manuell.

Man. Dear sir, let me have power to recall Your graver thoughts out of this violent storme Of passion that thus oerwhelmes your mind. Remember what you are, and with what strength, What more then manly strength, you have outworne Dangers of Battaile, when your warlike lookes Have outfac'd horrour.

Pedro. Oh, my son, my son, Horrour it selfe upon the wings of Death, Stretcht to the uttermost expansion Over the wounded body of an Army, Could never carry an aspect like this, This murthering spectacle, this field of paper Stucke all with Basiliskes eyes. Read but this word, 'The ravisht Eleonora!'—does't not seeme Like a full cloud of bloud ready to burst And fall upon our heads?

Man. Indeed you take too deepe a sence of it.

Pedro. What? when I see this meteor hanging ore it? This prodigy in figure of a man, Clad all in flames, with an Inscription Blazing on's head, 'Henrico the Ravisher!'

Man. Good sir, avoid this passion.

Pedro. In battailes I have lost, and seene the falls Of many a right good soldier; but they fell Like blessed grayne that shott up into honour. But in this leud exploit I lose a son And thou a brother, my Emanuell, And our whole house the glory of her name: Her beauteous name that never was distayned, Is by this beastly fact made odious.

Man. I pray, sir, be your selfe and let your Judgement Entertaine reason: From whom came this Letter?

Pedro. From the sad plaintiffe, Eleonora.

Man. Good; And by the common poast: you every weeke Receiving letters from your noble frendes Yet none of their papers can tell any such tidings.

Pedro. All this may be too, sir.

Man. Why is her father silent? has she no kindred, No frend, no gentleman of note, no servant Whom she may trust to bring by word of mouth Her dismall story.

Pedro. No, perhaps she would not Text up his name in proclamations.

Man. Some villaine hath filld up a Cup of poyson T'infect the whole house of the Guzman family; And you are greedyest first to take it downe.

Pedro. That villaine is thy brother.

Man. Were you a stranger Armd in the middle of a great Battalion And thus should dare to taxe him, I would wave My weapon ore my head to waft you forth To single combatt: if you would not come, Had I as many lives as I have hayres,[28] I'de shoot 'em all away to force my passage Through such an hoast untill I met the Traytour To my dear brother.—Pray, doe not thinke so, sir.

Pedro. Not? when it shall be said one of our name (Oh heaven could I but say he were not my son!) Was so dishonorable, So sacrilegious to defile a Temple Of such a beauty & goodnes as she was!

Man. As beauteous is my brother in his soule As she can be.

Pedro. Why dost thou take his part so?

Man. Because no dropp of honour falls from him But I bleed with it. Why doe I take his part? My sight is not so precious as my brother: If there be any goodnes in one man He's Lord of that; his vertues are full seas Which cast up to the shoares of the base world All bodyes throwne into them: he's no drunkard; I thinke he nere swore oath; to him a woman Was worse than any scorpion, till he cast His eye on Eleonora: and therefore, sir, I hope it is not so.

Pedro. Was not she so?

Man. I doe not say, sir, that she was not so, Yet women are strange creatures; but my hope Is that my brother was not so ignoble. Good sir, be not too credulous on a Letter: Who knowes but it was forgd, sent by some foe, As the most vertuous ever have the most? I know my Brother lov'd her honour so As wealth of kingdoms could not him entice To violate it or his faith to her. Perhapps it is some queint devise of theirs To hast your journey homeward out of France, To terminate their long-desired marriage.

Pedro. The language of her letter speakes no such comfort, But I will hasten home; &, for you are So confident as not to thinke his honour Any way toucht, your good hopes be your guide Auspiciously to find it to your wish. Therefore my counsaile is you post before, And, if you find that such a wrong be done, Let such provision instantly be Betwixt you made to hide it from the world By giving her due nuptiall satisfaction, That I may heare no noise of't at my comming. Oh, to preserve the Reputation Of noble ancestry that nere bore stayne, Who would not passe through fire or dive the mayne?

[Exeunt.