Hen.  No, I am well againe; thankes, my best love.  Come, let us walke and talke; I had a fancy, But ’tis no matter:—­Buzzano!

    Enter Buzzano.

Buz.  Did you call?

Hen.  Yes, the Balme here—­

Buz.  What shall I doe with it?

Hen.  Lay it up safe; ’tis good for a greene wound But mines a blacke one:—­and d’you heare, sirra, Draw up the bridge, give entrance unto none.

Buz.  All my fellowes are abroad, sir; there’s nobody at home but I.

Hen.  No matter, let none enter; were my father Brought with a whirlwind backe, he finds all shutt Till I have done.

Buz.  Well, sir;—­madam, all this is that you should not b’ afraid:  you now see what a kind man he is,—­he will suffer none to enter but himselfe. [Exit.

Ele.  If all this proceed out of your care of me, how much am I bound to acknowledge you.  Sir, methinkes you minde me not.

Hen.  Yes, I doe nothing else but thinke of thee, & of my father, too, Don Pedro.

Ele.  Ha!  I hope he’s well.

Hen.  I wish he were returned, my Eleonora, for both our sakes.

Ele.  The same wish I, sir.

Hen.  That then our Joys, which now like flowers nippd
With frost, hang downe the head as if the stalkes
Could not sustaine the toppes, they droope to much;—­
At his returne th’art mine.

Ele.  I am yours now In holyest Contract.

Hen.  That’s the ground we build on: 
Faith, since allready the foundation’s layd,
Let’s work upon’t.  Y’are mine, you say, allready—­
Mine by all tearmes of Law, & nothing wanting
But the possession:  let’s not then expect
Th’uncertainety of a returne from France,
But be all one ymediately.

Ele.  I understand you not.

Hen.  Since y’are a Tree reservd for me what now
Should hinder me from climbing?  All your apples
I know are ripe allready; ’tis not stealth,
I shall rob nobody.

Ele.  You’le not be a divell?

Hen.  No, I will but play the man with you:  why, you know ’tis nothing.

Ele.  Will you enforce mine honour? oh, Henrico,
Where have you left your goodnesse? sure you cannot
Be so ignoble, if you thinke me worthy
To be your wife at least, to turne Eleonora
Into a whore.

Hen.  Pish! some hungry Landlords would have rent before
The Quarter day,—­I doe no more:  by faire meanes
Yield up your fort; the Tenement is mine owne
And I must dwell in’t.

Ele.  My feares pointed wrong: 
You are no enemy, no wolfe; it was
A villaine I disturbed:  oh, make me not
Find in your presence that destruction
My thoughts were so affrighted with.