A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II | Page 9

here a place Of Lodging not of _dwelling_:--but of honour You give me my assurance, for in such A time of thicke confusions I much feare That might be hazarded. And who knowes what The soldier that hath no lawe but that Of cruelty and rapine, when like a Bird Of prey his Tallents are possessd of one So weake as I am--
Hen. He that durst offend Thee with a sillable or but fright that bloud Out of thy Cheekes to seeke another place, Not daring to be seene there where it now Is of itselfe sufficient to ravish A mortall that with just eyes can looke on it, Had better be a divell. But a haire, The poorest part of thee & in this excellent Because 'tis thine, should any dare to ravish From these his soft companions, which the wind Would be for ever proud to play withall, H'had better dig his mothers coffin up And with his teeth eate what the wormes have left.
Ele. I know you will defend me.
Hen. Will defend thee! Have I a life, a soule that in thy service I would not wish expird! I doe but borrow My selfe from thee.
Ele. Rather you put to Interest And, for that principall you have credited To Eleonora her heart is paid backe As the iust Usury.
Hen. You undoe me, sweet, With too much love; if ere I marry thee I feare thou'lt kill me.
Ele. How?
Hen. With tendring me too much, my _Eleonora_; For in my conscience thou'lt extreamely love me, And extreames often kill.
Ele. There can be no extreme of love[21], sir.
Hen. Yes, but there may; and some say Jealousy Runs from the Sea, a rivolet but deducted From the mayne Channell.
Ele. This is a new language.
Hen. Have you not heard men have been killd with Joy? Our griefe doth but contract the heart, & gladnesse Dilate the same; and soo too much of eyther Is hott i'th' fourth degree.
Ele. Sir, your discourse Is stuff of severall pieces and knitts not With that you usd but now: if we can practize A vertuous love there's no hurt to exceed in't. --What doe you, Sir?
Hen. Looke on thee.
Ele. Why doe you eye me soe? this is not usuall. Are you well?
Hen. Well, never better.
Ele. Pray heaven it bode me no unhappinesse! How doth my father?
Hen. He's very well, too; feare not.
Ele. Still I read in your eyes--
Hen. What Babyes[22], prety one? Thy owne face, naught else; I receive that way all this beauty into My heart, and 'tis perhaps come backe to looke Out at the window. Come, Ile winke againe, It shall not trouble you:--hence my trayterous thoughts.
Ele. Indeed you are not well.
Hen. Indeed I am not; all's not well within me. Why should I be a villaine? Eleonora Doe not looke on me; turne those eyes away, They would betray thee to thy sorrow; or Lett me by parting carry along with me That which to know undoes thee.
Ele. Are you not hurt?
Hen. Yes.
Ele. Good heaven defend! I have a soveraigne Balme. [Exit.
Hen. Vanish, you ugly shapes, & with her presence Quitt your sharp stings! into what monstrous creature Feele I myself a-growing! yet I cannot Force backe the streame, it comes so fast upon me; I cannot.
Enter Eleonora.
Ele. Here, good _Henrico_, let me see your wound.
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