_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_.