s, 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.

_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