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—