Hen.  We shall have such adoe now!

Ele.  Your fathers house will prove no castle to mee
If you at home doe wound mee.  ’Twas an Angell
Spoke in you lately not my Cheeke should bee
Made pale with feare.  Lay not a lasting blush
On my white name:—­No haire should perish here
Was vowed even now:—­Oh let not a blacke deed,
And by my sworne preserver, be my death
My ever living death. Henrico, call
To mind your holy vowes; thinke on our parents,
Ourselves, our honest names; doe not kill all
With such a murthering piece.  You are not long
T’expect, with the consent of men and angells,
That which to take now from me will be losse
A losse of heaven to thee.  Oh, do not pawne it
For a poore minutes sin.

Hen.  If’t be a worke, madam, of so short time,
Pray let me beg a minutes privacy;
’Twill be soone done.

Ele.  Yes, but the horrour of
So foule a deed shall never:  there’s layd up
Eternity of wrath in hell for lust: 
Oh, ’tis the devill’s exercise! Henrico,
You are a man, a man whom I have layd up
Nearest my heart:  in you ’twill be a sin
To threaten heaven & dare that Justice throw
Downe Thunder at you.  Come, I know you doe
But try my vertue, whether I be proofe
Against anothers Battery:  for these teares—­

Hen.  Nay, then I see you needs will try my strength: 
My bloud’s on fire, I boyle with expectation
To meete the pleasure and I will.
                                  [He forces her in.

Ele.  Helpe, helpe!

Enter Buzzano.

Buz.  Helpe? what nightingale was that? did one cry out for helpe? there’s no Christian soule in the house but they two & my selfe; and ’twas not mine, I know by the smallnes of the voice; twas some woman cryde out, & therefore can be none but my young Lady,—­it was she as sure as I am hungry; he’s with her.  But why, having one man did she cry out for more? oh, our Spanish ovens are not heated with one Bavyn.[23] Well, I must say nothing; my young Cocke has bene treading.  Ile tread softly & see what they doe:—­but, see!

    Enter Henrico & Eleonora, loose haired and weeping.

Hen.  What doe you looke after?

Buz.  Why, sir, I looke after a voyce that appeard to me even now, crying “helpe,”—­a very small one.

Hen.  If what thou seest or heard’st be ever muttered by thee Though in thy sleep, villaine, Ile pistol thee.

Buz.  Hum, it will not be safe to dreame of a knave shortly.  Are you so good at a gun? if you use this too often your birding piece will scarce carry a yard levell.

Hen.  Come, dresse your hayre up & be wise at last:  No more, I have done.

Buz.  So I thinke in my conscience,—­he hath done with her.