(SCENE 4.)

Enter Fernando & Eleonora.

Fer. Cease, Eleonora, cease these needles plaints, Less usefull than thy helpe of hands was at The deed of darkness,—oh, the blackest deed That ever overclouded[29] my felicity! To speake, or weepe thy sorrow, but allayes And quenches anger, which we must now cherish To further iust revenge. How I could wish But to call backe the strength of Twenty yeares!

Ele. That I might be in that unborne againe, sir.

Fer. No, Eleonora, that I were so ennabled With my owne hands to worke out thy wronge Upon that wretch, that villaine, oh, that Ravisher! But, though my hands are palsyed with rage, The Law yet weares a sword in our defence.

Enter Henrico.

Ele. Away, my Lord & Father! see the monster Approaching towards you! who knowes but now He purposeth an assassinate on your life, As he did lately on my Virgin honour?

Fer. Fury, keepe off me!

Hen. What life, what honour meane you? Eleonora, What is the matter? Who hath lost anything?

Ele. Thou impudent as impious, I have lost—

Hen. Doe you call me names?

Ele. The solace of my life, for which—

Hen. A fine new name for a maydenhead!

Ele. May all the curses of all iniured weomen Fall on thy head!

Hen. Would not the curses of all good ones serve? So many might perhaps be borne: but, pray, Tell me what moves you thus? Why stand you soe Aloofe, my Lord? I doe not love to bee Usd like a stranger: welcome's all I looke for.

Fer. What boldnesse beyond madnesse gives him languadge! Nothing but well-bred stuffe! canst see my daughter And not be strooke with horrour of thy shame To th' very heart? Is't not enough, thou Traytour, To my poore Girles dishonour to abuse her, But thou canst yett putt on a divells visour To face thy fact & glory in her woe?

Hen. I would I were acquainted with your honours meaning all this while.

Fer. The forreine Enemy which came to the Citty And twice dancd on the Sea before it, waving Flaggs of defyance & of fury to it, Were nor before nor now this second time So cruell as thou. For when they first were here Now well nigh 40 yeares since, & marched through The very heart of this place, trampled on The bosomes of our stoutest soldiers, The weomen yet were safe, Ladyes were free And that by the especial command Of the then noble Generall: & now being safe From common danger of our enemyes, Thou lyon-like hast broake in on a Lambe And preyd upon her.

Hen. How have I preyd?

Fer. Dost thou delight To heare it named, villaine, th'hast ravisht her.

Hen. I am enough abusd, & now 'tis time To speake a litle for my selfe, my Lord. By all the vowes, the oathes & imprecations That ere were made, studied, or practised, As I have a soule, as she & you have soules, I doe not know, nor can, nor will confesse Any such thing, for all your Circumventions: Ile answer all by Law.

Ele. Oh, my Lord, heare me! By all that's good—

Fer. Peace, Eleonora; I have thought the Course. If you dare justify the accusation You shall to Sherrys, and then before the Judges Plead your owne cause.

Hen. And there Ile answer it.

Fer. There, if you prove the Rape, he shalbe forcd Eyther to satisfy you by marriage Or else to loose his periurd head.

Hen. I am content. And instantly I will away to Sherrys, There to appeale to the high Court of Justice: 'Tis time, I thinke, such slanderous accusations Assayling me; but there I shalbe righted.

Fer. You shall not need to doubt it:—come, Eleonora.

[Exeunt.[30]

Hen. What will become of me in this, I know not: I have a shrewd guese though of the worst. Would one have thought the foolish ape would putt The finger in the eye & tell it daddy! 'Tis a rare guift 'mong many maides of these dayes; If she speed well she'le bring it to a Custome, Make her example followed to the spoyle Of much good sport: but I meane to looke to't. Now, sir, your newes?

Enter Buzzano.

Buz. The most delicious, rare, absolute newes that ere came out of France, sir!

Hen. What's done there? have they forsaken the Divell & all his fashions? banishd their Taylors & Tyrewomen?

Buz. You had a father & a Brother there; & can you first thinke upon the Divell & his Limetwiggs.

Hen. Had, Buzzano? had a father & a Brother there? have I not so, still, Buzzano?

Buz. No, sir, your Elder Brother is—

Hen. What? speake, Buzzano: I imagine, dead.

Buz. Nay, you shall give me something by your leave; you shall pay the poast:—good newes for nothing?

Hen. Here, here, Buzzano; speake quickly, crowne me with the felicity of a younger brother: is he dead, man?

Buz. No, he's come home very well, sir; doe you thinke I goe on dead men's errands.

Hen. Pox on the Buzzard! how he startled my bloud!

Buz. But he is very weary & very pensive, sir; talkes not at all, but calls for his bed;—pray God your Father be not dead!—and desires when you come in to have you his Bedfellow, for he hath private speech with ye.

Hen, Well, sir, you that are so apt to take money for newes, beware how you reflect one word, sillable or thought concerning Eleonora: you knowe what I meane?

Bus. Yes, & meane what you know, sir.

Hen. What's that?

Buz. Ile keepe your Counsaile

Hen. My life goes for it else.

{Exeunt.

Actus Quartus.