A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II | Page 6

pelted to death with Oranges and Lymons.
Ten. Here comes Don Fernando. What newes?
Enter Fernando with Eleonora.
Fer. Assured danger, gentlemen, for all our men Already are in a palsye and doe flye They know not whither. They are _English_: The Citty's allmost desperate.
Ten. _Don John_, come with me And helpe to encourage the remayning soldiers.
Fer. New supply shall quickly cheare you hearts.-- _Henrico_!
Hen. Sir?
Fer. In this confusion, when a thousand feares Present themselves & danger with full face Lookes on the generall Towne, let me locke up This Treasure in your armes; &, for you have At least an equall interest with mee In _Eleonora_, in your fathers house She may hope more security, being of strength; For this storme cannot last. But in your love She hath a stronger guard.
Hen. This act of confidence Binds me for ever to _Fernando_: come, Halfe of my soule, for we two must not bee In life devided. Though the Citty lye At mercy of the Enemy, yet from _Don Pedro Gusman's_ house not all mankind Shall take thee from me.
Enter Buzzano and Spanyards flying.
Buz. They come, they come, they come!
Fer. Committing this my Jewell to your trust I must unto my charge: my blessing!
Ele. Oh doe not leave me, sir; for without you What safety can I have? you are my father: Pray, stay you with me.
Fer. Oh, my Girle, I cannot, Dare not be so unfaithfull to the trust His maiesty put me in, though I would stay.
Ele. I feare if you goe hence all will not long be well.
Hen. Distrust you me, Eleonora?
Ele. No, indeed: You ever had with me th'opinion Of a most noble gentleman.
Fer. What then?
Ele. I know not what besides my feare; and that Beggs I may share your fortune, since you may not Take up such safety here as I have.
Fer. Come, You are to blame: this heaven that now lookes on us With rugged brow may quickly smile againe And then I shall revisite my Eleonora. So, farewell. [Exit.
Hen. Till then with greater care then were the Dragons Supposd to watch the Golden Apples growing In the _Hesperides_, shall Henrico wayte On his best loved. Oh, my _Eleonora_, I would to heaven there were no war but here To shoote love darts! each smile from this fayre Eye May take an Army prisoners: let me give My life up here unto these lipps, and yet I shall, by the sweetnes of a kisse, take back The same againe. Oh thou in whom alone Vertue hath perfect figure, hide not day In such a Cloud: what feare hath enterd here? My life is twisted in a Thread with thine; Were't not defenced, there could nothing come To make this cheeke looke pale, which at your Eye Will not fall dead before you.--
Enter Buzzano.
Sirra, let all your care and duty bee Employed to cheere this Lady: pray, be merry.
Buz. Oh, sir, yonders such doings.
Hen. Hell on your bawling! not a sillable to affright her, or I shall tune your instrument there.
Buz. Hele breake the head of my instrument! Why, sir, weomen are not affraid to heare of doings.
Hen. Still jarring?
Buz. When the whole towne is altogether by th'eares you might give me leave to jar a little my selfe:--I have done, sir.
Hen. Putt on thy merryest face, Buzzano.
Buz. I have but one face, but I can make a great many.
Hen. My best _Eleonora_, I shall soone returne: In the meane time be owner of this house, The possesour. All danger, sweet, shall dwell Far off: Ile but enquire the state of things In the Citty, and fly back to thee with loves wings. [Exit.
Ele. I prithee call him backe.
Buz. Signior _Henrico_, She has something more to say to you. [Redit.
Hen. To me, sweetest?
Ele. _Henrico_, doe you love me?
Hen. By this faire hand.
Ele. And will you leave me, too?
Hen. Not for the wealth of Spaine.
Ele. Since I must be your prisoner let me have My keepers company, for I am afraid Some enemy in your absence, like a woolfe May ceize on me. I know not whither now I ere shall see my father: doe not you Ravish yourselfe from me, for at the worst We may dye here, _Henrico_; and I had rather Fall in your eye than in your absence be Dishonord; if the destinyes have not Spun out a longer thread, lets dye together.
Hen. Oh doe not racke my soule with these sad accents. Am I _Henrico_? there is not any place Can promise such security as this To Eleonora. Doe not talke of dying, Our best dayes are to come: putt on thy quiet, And be above the reach of a misfortune. Ile presently wayte on thee, by this kisse.
Buz. Would I might keepe your oath: so please you, lady, Buzzano will sweare too.
Hen. What?
Buz.