Hen. Still jarring?
Buz. When the whole towne is altogether by th'eares you might give me leave to jar a little my selfe:—I have done, sir.
Hen. Putt on thy merryest face, Buzzano.
Buz. I have but one face, but I can make a great many.
Hen. My best Eleonora, I shall soone returne: In the meane time be owner of this house, The possesour. All danger, sweet, shall dwell Far off: Ile but enquire the state of things In the Citty, and fly back to thee with loves wings. [Exit.
Ele. I prithee call him backe.
Buz. Signior Henrico, She has something more to say to you. [Redit.
Hen. To me, sweetest?
Ele. Henrico, doe you love me?
Hen. By this faire hand.