Ele. That I might be in that unborne againe, sir.
Fer. No, Eleonora, that I were so ennabled
With my owne hands to worke out thy wronge
Upon that wretch, that villaine, oh, that Ravisher!
But, though my hands are palsyed with rage,
The Law yet weares a sword in our defence.
Enter Henrico.
Ele. Away, my Lord & Father! see the monster
Approaching towards you! who knowes but now
He purposeth an assassinate on your life,
As he did lately on my Virgin honour?
Fer. Fury, keepe off me!
Hen. What life, what honour meane you? Eleonora, What is the matter? Who hath lost anything?
Ele. Thou impudent as impious, I have lost—
Hen. Doe you call me names?
Ele. The solace of my life, for which—
Hen. A fine new name for a maydenhead!