f _France_ did you leave him in?

_Man_. What part? why I left him at _Nancy_ in _Lorraine_. No, no,
I lye, now I remember me twas at _Chaalons_ in _Burgundy_.

_Hen_. Hoyda, a most loving child
That knowes not where he left his father, & yet
Comes but now from him! had you left in _France_
Your whore behind you, in your Table bookes
You would have sett downe the streets very name,
Yes, and the baudy signe, too.

_Man_. Hum, you say well, sir.
Now you are up to th'eares in Baudery,
Pray tell me one thing, Brother; (I am sorry
To putt forth such a question) but speake truly;
Have you not in my fathers absence done
A piece of worke (not your best masterpiece)
But such an one as on the house of _Guzman_
Will plucke a vengeance, & on the good old man
(Our noble father) heape such hills of sorrow
To beate him into his grave?

_Hen_. What's this your foolery?

_Man_. Pray heaven it prove soe: have not you defac'd
That sweet & matchles goodnes, _Eleonora_,
_Fernando's_ daughter?

_Hen_. How defacd her?

_Man_. Hearke, sir: playd _Tarquin's_ part and ravisht her.

_Hen_. 'Tis a lye.

_Man_. I hope so too.

_Hen_. What villaine speakes it?

_Man_. One with so wide a throat, that uttering it
'Twas heard in _France_; a letter, sir, informed
My father so.

_Hen_. Letter? from whom?

_Man_. A woman.

_Hen_. She's a whore.

_Man_. Twas _Eleonora_.

_Hen_. She's, then, a villanous strumpet so to write,
And you an asse, a coxcomb to beleeve it.

_Man_. Nettled? then let me tell you that I feare
I shall for ever blush when in my hearing
Any names _Henrico Guzman_ for my brother.
In right of vertue & a womans honour
(This deare wrongd Ladies) I dare call thee Villaine.

_Hen_. Villaine!

_They fight: Enter Ferdinand and attendants_.

_Fer_. Part them, part them!

_Hen_. Let me see his heart
Panting upon my weapons point; then part us.
Oh, pray, forbeare the roome.

_Fer_. Fy, Fy! two Brothers.
Two Eaglets of one noble Aery,
Pecke out each others eyes!--Welcome from _France_!
How does your honourd father?

_Man_. Well, my Lord:
I left him late in Paris.

_Hen_. So, so; in _Paris_!
Hath he 3 bodyes? _Lorraine, Burgundy, & Paris_!
My Lord, his Highnes putts into your hand
A sword of Justice: draw it forth, I charge you
By the oath made to your king, to smite