Man.  He was too hard tyed by the leg with busines.

Hen.  What busines?

Man.  Tis but stepping into France.  And he perhaps will tell you.

Hen.  Perhaps? tis well:  What part of 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.