Chapter VI: Part 6

1 _Hunt_. And that's enough in conscience to keepe men from going, were his Boots as wide as the black Iacks[150] or Bombards tost by the Kings Guard.

2 _Hunt_. Are the swift Horses ready?

_Clown_. Yes, and better fed than taught; for one of 'em had like to have kickt my iigumbobs as I came by him.

2 _Hunt_. Where are the Dogges?

_Clown_. All coupled, as Theeves going to a Sessions, and are to be hang'd if they be found faulty.

2 _Hunt_. What Dogges are they?

_Clown_. A packe of the bravest _Spartan_ Dogges in the world; if they do but once open and spend[151] there gabble, gabble, gabble it will make the Forest ecchoe as if a Ring of Bells were in it; admirably flewd[152], by their eares you would take 'em to be singing boyes; and for Dewlaps they are as bigge as Vintners bags in which they straine Ipocras.

_Omnes_. There, boy.

_Clown_. And hunt so close and so round together that you may cover 'em all with a sheete.

2 _Hunt_. If it be wide enough.

_Clown_. Why, as wide as some four or five Acres, that's all.

1 _Hunt_. And what's the game to day?

_Clown_. The wilde Boare.

1 _Hunt_. Which of 'em? the greatest? I have not seene him.

_Clown_. Not seene him? he is as big as an Elephant.

2 _Hunt_. Now will he build a whole Castle full of lies.

_Clown_. Not seen him? I have.

_Omnes_. No, no; seene him? as big as an Elephant?

_Clown_. The backe of him is as broad--let me see--as a pretty Lighter.

1 _Hun_. A Lighter?

_Clown_. Yes; and what do you think the Brissells are worth?

2 _Hunt_. Nothing.

_Clown_. Nothing? one Shoemaker offer'd to finde me and the Heire-male of my body 22 yeeres, but to have them for his owne ends.

2 _Hunt_. He would put Sparabiles[153] into the soales then?

_Clown_. Not a Bill, not a Sparrow. The Boares head is so huge that a Vintner but drawing that picture and hanging it up for a Signe it fell down and broke him.

1 _Hunt_. Oh horrible!

_Clown_. He has two stones so bigge, let me see (a Poxe), thy head is but a Cherry-stone to the least of' em.

2 _Hunt_. How long are his Tuskes?

_Clown_. Each of them as crooked and as long as a Mowers sith.

1 _Hunt_. There's a Cutter.

_Clown_. And when he whets his Tuskes you would sweare there were a sea in's belly, and that his chops were the shore to which the Foame was beaten: if his Foame were frothy Yest 'twere worth tenne groats a paile for Bakers.

1 _Hunt_. What will the King do with him if he kill him?

_Clown_. Bake him, and if they put him in one Pasty a new Oven must be made, with a mouth as wide as the gates of the City. (_Horne_.)

_Omnes_. There boy, there boy.

_Hornes and Noise within: Enter Antony meeting Damianus_.

_Ant_. _Cosmo_ had like beene kild; the Boare receiving[154] A Speare full in the Flanke from _Cosmo's_ hand, Foaming with rage he ranne at him, unhorst him And had, but that he fell behinde an Oake Of admirable greatnesse, torne out his bowels; His very Tuskes, striking into the tree, Made the old Champion[155] shake.

[_Enter Cosmo_.

_Dam_. Where are the Dogges?

_Cosmo_. No matter for the Curres: I scapt well, but cannot finde the King.

_Anton_. When did you see him?

_Cosmo_. Not since the Boare tos'd up Both horse and rider.

_Enter Epidophorus and all the Huntsmen in a hurry_.

_Epi_. A Liter for the King; the King is hurt.

_Ant_. How?

_Epi_. No man knowes: some say stung by an Adder As from his horse he fell; some cry, by the Boare.

_Anton_. The Boare never came neare him.

_Dam_. The King's Physitians!

_Cosmo_. Runne for the King's Physitians.

_Epi_. Conduct us to him.

_Anton_. A fatall hunting when a King doth fall: All earthly pleasures are thus washt in gall.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 2.)

_Eugenius discovered sitting loaden with many Irons,
a Lampe burning by him; then enter Clowne with a
piece of browne bread and a Carret roote_.

_Eugen_. Is this my Dyet?

_Clown_. Yes, marry is it; though it be not Dyet bread[156] 'tis bread, 'tis your dinner; and though this be not the roote of all mischiefe yet 'tis a Carret, and excellent good meate if you had powderd Beefe to it.

_Eugen_. I am content with this.

_Clown_. If you bee not I cannot helpe it; for I am threatned to be hang'd if I set but a Tripe before you or give you a bone to gnaw.

_Eugen_. For me thou shalt not suffer.

_Clown_. I thank you; but were not you better be no good Christian, as I am, and so fill your belly as to lie here and starve and be hang'd thus in Chaines?

_Eugen_. No, 'tis my tryumph; all these Chaines to me Are silken Ribbonds, this course bread a banquet; This gloomy Dungeon is to me more pleasing Than the Kings Palace; and cou'd I winne thy soule To shake off her blacke ignorance, thou, as I doe, Would'st feele thirst, hunger, stripes and Irons nothing, Nay, count death nothing. Let me winne thee to me.

_Clown_. Thank yee for that: winne me from a Table full of good meat to leape at a crust! I am no Scholler, and you (they say) are a great one; and schollers must eate little, so shall you. What a fine thing is it for me to report abroad of you that you are no great feeder, no Cormorant! What a quiet life is it when a womans tongue lies still! and is't not as good when a mans teeth lyes still?

_Eugen_. Performe what thou art bidden; if thou art charg'd To starve me, Ile not blame thee but blesse heaven.

_Clown_. If you were starv'd what hurt were that to you?

_Eugen_. Not any; no, not any.

_Clown_. Here would be your praise when you should lie dead: they would say, he was a very good man but alas! had little or nothing in him.

_Eugen_. I am a slave to any misery My Iudges doome me too.

_Clown_. If you bee a slave there's more slaves in the world than you.

_Eugen_. Yes, thousands of brave fellows slaves to their vices; The Usurer to his gold, drunkards to Wine, Adulterers to their lust.

_Clown_. Right, Sir; so in Trades: the Smith is a slave to the Ironmonger, the itchy silk-weaver to the Silke-man, the Cloth-worker to the Draper, the Whore to the Bawd, the Bawd to the Constable, and the Constable to a bribe.

_Eugen_. Is it the kings will that I should be thus chain'd?

_Clown_. Yes indeed, Sir. I can tell you in some countries they are held no small fooles that goe in Chaines.

_Eugen_. I am heavy.

_Clown_. Heavy? how can you chuse, having so much Iron upon you?

_Eugen_. Death's brother and I would have a little talk So thou wouldst leave us.

_Clown_. With all my heart; let Deaths sister talke with you, too, and shee will, but let not me see her, for I am charg'd to let no body come into you. If you want any water give mee your Chamber pot; Ile fill it. [_Exit_.

_Eugen_. No, I want none, I thanke thee. Oh sweet affliction, thou blest booke, being written By Divine fingers! you Chaines that binde my body To free my soule; you Wheeles that wind me up To an eternity of happinesse, Mustre my holy thoughts; and, as I write, Organ of heavenly Musicke to mine ears, Haven to my Shipwracke, balme to my wounds, Sunne-beames which on me comfortably shine When Clouds of death are covering me; (so gold, As I by thee, by fire is purified; So showres quicken the Spring; so rough Seas Bring Marriners home, giving them gaines and ease); Imprisonment, gyves, famine, buffetings, The Gibbet and the Racke; Flint stones, the Cushions On which I kneele; a heape of Thornes and Briers, The Pillow to my head; a nasty prison, Able to kill mankinde even with the Smell: All these to me are welcome. You are deaths servants; When comes your Master to me? Now I am arm'd for him. Strengthen me that Divinity that enlightens The darknesse of my soule, strengthen this hand That it may write my challenge to the world Whom I defie; that I may on this paper The picture draw of my confession. Here doe I fix my Standard, here bid Battaile To Paganisme and infidelity.

_Musicke; enter Angel_.

Mustre my holy thoughts, and, as I write, In this brave quarrell teach me how to fight.

(_As he is writing an Angel comes and stands before
him: soft musick; he astonisht and dazeld_.)

This is no common Almes to prisoners; I never heard such sweetnesse--O mine eyes! I, that am shut from light, have all the light Which the world sees by; here some heavenly fire Is throwne about the roome, and burnes so clearely, Mine eye-bals drop out blasted at the sight.

(_He falls flat on the earth, and whilst a Song is heard
the Angel writes, and vanishes as it ends_.)

I. SONG.

_What are earthly honours
But sins glorious banners?
Let not golden gifts delight thee,
Let not death nor torments fright thee;
From thy place thy Captaine gives thee
When thou faintest he relieves thee.
Hearke, how the Larke
Is to the Morning singing;
Harke how the Bells are ringing.
It is for joy that thou to Heaven art flying:
This is not life, true life is got by dying_.

_Eugen_. The light and sound are vanisht, but my feare Sticks still upon my forehead: what's written here? (_Reads_.)

Goe, and the bold Physitian play;
But touch the King and drive away
The paine he feeles; but first assay
To free the Christians: if the King pay
Thy service ill, expect a day
When for reward thou shalt not stay.

All writ in golden Letters and cut so even As if some hand had hither reacht from Heaven To print this Paper.

_Enter Epidophorus_.

_Epi_. Come, you must to the King.

_Eugen_. I am so laden with Irons I scarce can goe.

_Epi_. Wyer-whips shall drive you, The King is counsell'd for his health to bath him In the warme blood of Christians; and you, I thinke, Must give him ease.

_Eugen_. Willingly; my fetters Hang now, methinks, like feathers at my heeles. On, any whither; I can runne, sir.

_Epi_. Can you? not very farre, I feare.

_Eugen_. No windes my Faith shake, nor rock[s] split in sunder: The poore ship's tost here, my strong Anchor's yonder.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 3.)

_Enter Bellizarius and Hubert_.

_Hub_. My Lord?

_Belliz_. Ha!

_Hub_. Affraid in a close room where no foe comes Unlesse it be a Weezle or a Rat (And those besiege your Larder or your Pantry), Whom the arm'd Foe never frighted in the field?

_Belliz_. 'Tis true, my Lord, there danger was a safety; here To be secure I thinke most dangerous. Or what could[157] famine, wounds or all th'extreames That still attend a Souldiers actions Could not destroy, one sillable from a Kings breath Can thus, thus easily win.

_Hub_. Oh, 'tis their long observed policy To turne away these roaring boyes When they intend to rock licentious thoughts In a soft roome, where every long Cushion is Embroydered with old Histories of peace, And all the hangings of Warre thrust into the Wardrobe Till they grow musty or moth-eaten.

_Belliz_. One of those rusty Monuments am I.

_Hub_. A little oyle of favour will secure thee agen, And make thee shine as bright as in that day We wonne the famous battaile 'gainst the Christians.

_Enter Bellina and kneeles weeping_.

_Belliz_. Never, _Hubert_, never. What newes now, Girle? thy heart So great it cannot tell me?

_Hub_. Sfoot, why shouldst thou be troubled, that art thus visited? Let the King put me into any roome, the closer the better, and turne but such a keeper to me, and if ever I strive to runne away, though the doores be open, may the Virgins curse destroy me, and let me lamentably and most unmanly dye of the Greene-sicknesse.

_Belliz_. My blessing bring thee patience, gentle Girle; It is the best thy wronged Father can Invoke for thee.--Tis my _Bellina, Hubert_: Know her, honour'd Sir, and pittie her.

_Hub_. How sweetly she becomes the face of woe! Shee teacheth misery to court her beauty And to affliction lends a lovely looke. Happy folkes would sell their blessings for her griefes But to be sure to meete them thus.

_Bellina_. My honourd Father, your griev'd Daughter thus Thrice every day to Heaven lifts her poore hand And payes her vowes to the incensed Powers For your release and happy patience, And will grow old in vowes unto those Powers Till they fall on me loaden with my wishes.

_Belliz_. Thou art the comfort of my Treasure, Girle: Wee'le live together, if it please the King, And tell sad Stories of thy wretched Mother; Give equall sighes to one anothers griefe, And by discourse of happinesse to come Trample upon our present miseries.

_Hub_. There is a violent fire runnes round about me, Which my sighes blow to a consuming flame. To be her Martyr is a happinesse, The sainted souls would change their merit for it. Methinkes griefe dwells about her purest eyes, As if it begg'd a pardon for those teares Exhausted hence and onely due to love: Her Vaile hangs like a Cloud over her face, Through which her beauty, like a glimmering Starre, Gives a transparent lustre to the night, As if no sorrow could Ecclipse her light: Her lips, as they discourse, methinks, looke pale For feare they should not kisse agen; but, met, They blush for joy, as happy Lovers doe After a long divorce when they encounter.

_Belliz_. Noble Lord, if you dare lose so much precious time As to be companion to my misery But one poor houre, And not esteeme your selfe too prodigall For that expence, this wretched Maid my Child Shall waite upon you with her sorrows stories; Vouchsafe but you to heare it.

_Hub_. Yes, with full eare.

_Belliz_. To your best thoughts I leave you; I will but read, and answer this my Letter. [_Exit. Belliz_.

_Bellina_. Why do you, seeme to loose your eyes on me? Here's nothing but a pile of wretchednesse; A branch that every way is shooke at roote And would (I think) even fall before you now, But that Divinity which props it up Inspires it full of comfort, since the Cause My father suffers for gives a full glory To his base fetters of Captivity. And I beseech you, Sir, if there but dwell So much of Vertue in you as your lookes Seeme to expresse possesse your honour'd thoughts, Bestow your pitty on us, not your scorne; And wish, for goodnesse sake and your soules weale, You were a sharer in these sufferings, So the same cause expos'd your fortunes too't.

_Hub_. Oh, happy woman, know I suffer more, And for a cause as iust.

_Bellina_. Be proud then of that tryumph; but I am yet A stranger to the Character of what You say you suffer for. Is it for Conscience?

_Hub_. For love, divine perfection.

_Bellina_. If of Heaven's love, how rich is your reward!

_Hub_. Of Heaven's best blessing, your most perfect selfe.

_Bellina_. Alas, Sir, here perfection keeps no Court, Love dresses here no wanton amorous bowers; Sorrow has made perpetuall winter here, And all my thoughts are Icie, past the reach Of what Loves fires can thaw.

_Hub_. Oh doe but take away a part of that My breast is full of, of that holy fire The Queene of Loves faire Altar holds not purer Nor more effectuall; and, sweet, if then You melt not into passion for my wounds, Effuse your Virgin vowes to chaine mine ears, Weepe on my necke and with your fervent sighes Infuse a soule of comfort into me; He break the Altar of the foolish God, Proclaime them guilty of Idolatry That sacrifice to _Cytheraeas_ sonne.

_Bellina_. Did not my present fortunes and my vowes, Register'd in the Records of Heaven, Tye me too strictly from such thoughts as these, I feare me I should softly yeeld to what My yet condition has beene stranger to. To love, my Lord, is to be miserable.

_Hub_. Oh to thy sweetnesse Envy would prove kind, Tormentor humble, no pale Murderer; And the Page of death a smiling Courtier. _Venus_ must then, to give thee noble welcome, Perfume her Temple with the breath of Nunnes, Not _Vesta's_ but her owne; with Roses strow The paths that bring thee to her blessed shrine; Cloath all her Altares in her richest Robes And hang her walles with stories of such loves Have rais'd her Tryumphs; and 'bove all at last Record this day, the happy day in which _Bellina_ prov'd to love a Convertite. Be mercifull and save me.

_Bellina_. You are defil'd with Seas of Christians blood, An enemy to Heaven and which is good; And cannot be a loving friend to me.

_Hub_. If I have sinn'd forgive me, you iust powers: My ignorance, not cruelty has don't. And here I vow my selfe to be hereafter What ere _Bellina_ shall instruct me in: For she was never made but to possesse The highest Mansion 'mongst your Dignities, Nor can Heaven let her erre.

_Bellina_. On that condition thus I spread my armes, Whose chaste embraces ne're toucht man before; And will to _Hubert_ all the favour shew His vertuous love can covet. I will be ever his; goe thou to Warre, These hands shall arme thee; and Ile watch thy Tent Till from the battaile thou bring'st victory. In peace Ile sit by thee and read or sing Stanzaes of chaste love, of love purifi'd From desires drossie blacknesse; nay when our clouds Of ignorance are quite vanisht, and that a holy Religious knot between us may be tyed, _Bellina_ here vowes to be _Hubert's_ bride: Else doe I sweare perpetuall chastity.

_Hub_. Thy vowes I seale, be thou my ghostly Tutor; And, all my actions levell'd to thy thoughts, I am thy Creature.

_Bellina_. Let Heaven, too, but now propitious prove And for thy soule thou hast wonne a happy love. Come, shall we to my Father.

[_Exeunt_.

(_Soft Musick_)

(SCENE 4.)

_Enter the King on his bed, two Physitians,
Anthony Damianus and Cosmo_.

_King_. Are you Physitians? Are you those men that proudly call your selves The helps of Nature?

_Ant_. Oh, my good Lord, have patience.

_King_. What should I doe? lye like a patient Asse? Feele my selfe tortur'd by this diffused poyson, But tortur'd more by these unsavoury drugges?

_Ant_. Come one of you your selves and speake to him.

1 _Phys_. How fares your Highnesse?

_King_. Never worse:--What's he?

_Dami_. One of your Highnesse Doctors.

_King_. Come, sit neare me; Feele my pulse once again and tell me, Doctor, Tell me in tearmes that I may understand,-- I doe not love your gibberish,--tell me honestly Where the Cause lies, and give a Remedy, And that with speed; or in despight of Art, Of Nature, you and all your heavenly motions, Ile recollect so much of life into me As shall give space to see you tortur'd. Some body told me that a Bath of mans blood Would restore me. Christians shall pay for't; Fetch the Bishop hither, he shall begin.

_Cosm_. Hee's gone for.

_King_. What's my disease?

1 _Phys_. My Lord, you are poyson'd.

_King_. I told thee so my selfe, and told thee how: But what's the reason that I have no helpe? The Coffers of my Treasury are full, Or, if they were not, tributary Christians Bring in sufficient store to pay your fees, If that you gape at.

2 _Phys_. Wilt please your Highnesse then to take this Cordiall? Gold never truely did you good till now.

_King_. 'Tis gone.

2 _Phys_. My Lord, it was the perfectst tincture Of Gold that ever any Art produc'd: With it was mixt a true rare Quintessence Extracted out of Orientall Bezar,[158] And with it was dissolv'd the Magisteriall Made of the Horne _Armenia_ so much boast of; Which, though dull Death had usurp't Natures right, Is able to create new life agen.

_King_. Why does it good on men and not on Kings? We have the selfe-same passages for Nature With mortall men; our pulses beate like theirs: We are subiect unto passions as they are. I finde it now, but to my griefe I finde, Life stands not with us on such ticklish points, What is't, because we are Kings, Life takes it leave With greater state? No, no; the envious Gods Maligne our happinesse. Oh that my breath had power With my last words to blast their Deities.

1 _Phys_. The Cordiall that you tooke requires rest: For healths sake, good my Lord, repose your selfe.

_King_. Yes, any thing for health; draw round the Curtaines.

_Dami_. Wee'le watch by him whilst you two doe consult.

1 _Phys_. What guesse you by that Urine?

2 _Phys_. Surely Death!

1 _Phys_. Death certaine, without contradiction, For though the Urin be a whore and lies, Yet where I finde her in all parts agree With other Symtomes of apparent death Ile give her faith. Pray, Sir, doe but marke These black Hypostacies;[159] it plainely shewes Mortification generally through the spirits; And you may finde the Pulse to shew as much By his uncertainty of time and strength.

2 _Phys_. We finde the spirits often suffisticated By many accidents, but yet not mortified; A sudden feare will doe it.

1 _Phys_. Very right; But there's no malitious humour mixt As in the king: Sir, you must understand A Scorpion stung him: now a Scorpion is A small compacted creature in whom Earth Hath the predominance, but mixt with fire, So that in him _Saturne_ and _Mars_ doe meet. This little Creature hath his severall humours, And these their excrements; these met together, Enflamed by anger, made a deadly poison; And by how much the creatures body's lesse By so much is the force of Venome more, As Lightning through a windows Casement Hurts more than that which enters at the doore.

2 _Phys_. But for the way to cure it?

1 _Phys_. I know none; Yet Ancient Writers have prescrib'd us many: As _Theophrastus_ holds most excellent Diophoratick[160] Medicines to expell Ill vapours from the noble parts by sweate; But _Avices_ and also _Rabby Roses_[161] Doe thinke it better by provoking Urin, Since by the Urine blood may well be purg'd, And spirits from the blood have nutriment, But for my part I ever held opinion In such a case the Ventosities are best.

2 _Phys_. They are indeed, and they doe farre exceede--

1 _Phys_. All the great curious Cataphlasmes, Or the live taile of a deplum[e]d Henne, Or your hot Pigeons or your quartered whelpes;[162] For they by a meere forc'd attractive power Retaine that safely which by force was drawne, Whereas the other things I nam'd before Do lose their vertue as they lose their heat.

2 _Phys_. The ventosities shall be our next intensions.

_Anton_. Pray, Gentlemen, attend his Highnesse.

_King_. Your next intentions be to drowne your selves: Dogge-leaches all! I see I am not mortall, For I with patience have thus long endur'd Beyond the strength of all mortality; But now the thrice heate furnace of my bosome Disdaineth bounds: doe not I scorch you all? Goe, goe, you are all but prating Mountebankes, Quack-salvers and Imposures; get you all from me.

2 _Phys_. These Ventosities, my lord, will give you ease.

_King_. A vengeance on thy Ventosities and thee!

_Enter Eugenius_.

_Anton_. The Bishop, Sir, is come.

_King_. Christian, thy blood Must give me ease and helpe.

_Eugen_. Drinke then thy fill: None of the Fathers that begot sweet Physick, That Divine Lady, comforter to man, Invented such a medicine as man's blood; A drinke so pretious should not be so spilt: Take mine, and Heaven pardon you the guilt.

_King_. A Butcher! see his throat cut.

_Eugen_. I am so farre from shrinking that mine owne hands Shall bare my throat; and am so farre from wishing Ill to you that mangle me, that before My blood shall wash these Rushes, King, I will cure thee.

1 _Phys_. You cure him?

_King_. Speak on, fellow.

_Eugen_. If I doe not Restore your limbs to soundnesse, drive the poyson From the infected part, study your tortures To teare me peece-meale yet be kept alive.

_King_. O reverent man, come neare me; worke this wonder, Aske gold, honours, any, any thing The sublunary treasures of this world Can yeeld, and they are thine.

_Eugen_. I will doe nothing without a recompence.

_King_. A royall one.

_Omnes_. Name what you would desire.

_King_. Stand by; you trouble him. A recompence can my Crowne bring thee, take it; Reach him my Crowne and plant it on his head.

_Eugen_. No; here's my bargaine--

_King_. Quickly, oh speake quickly.-- Off with the good man's Irons.

_Eugen_. Free all those Christians which are now thy slaves, In all thy Cittadels, Castles, Fortresses; Those in _Bellanna_ and _Mersaganna_, Those in _Alempha_ and in _Hazanoth_, Those in thy Gallies, those in thy Iayles and Dungeons.

_King_. Those any where: my signet, take my signet, And free all on your lives, free all the Christians. What dost thou else desire?

_Eugen_. This; that thy selfe trample upon thy Pagan Gods.

_Omnes_. Sir!

_King_. Away.

_Eugen_. Wash your soule white by wading in the streame Of Christian gore.

_King_. I will turne Christian.

_Dam_. Better wolves worry this accursed--

_King_. Better Have Bandogs[163] worry all of you, than I To languish in a torment that feedes on me As if the Furies bit me. Ile turn Christian, And, if I doe not, let the Thunder pay My breach of promise. Cure me, good old man, And I will call thee father; thou shalt have A king come kneeling to thee every Morning To take a blessing from thee, and to heare thee Salute him as a sonne. When, when is this wonder?

_Eugen_. Now; you are well, Sir.

_King_. Ha!

_Eugen_. Has your paine left you?

_King_. Yes; see else, _Damianus, Antony, Cosmo_; I am well.

_Omnes_. He does it by inchantment.

1 _Phys_. By meere Witch-Craft.

_Eugen_. Thy payment for my cure.

_King_. What?

_Eugen_. To turne Christian, And set all Christian slaves at liberty.

_King_. Ile hang and torture all-- Call backe the Messenger sent with our signet. For thy selfe, thou foole, should I allow Thee life thou wouldst be poyson'd by our Colledge of Physitians. Let him not touch me Nor ever more come neare me; and to be sure Thy sorceries shall not strike me, stone him to death.

(_They binde him to a stake, and fetch stones in baskets_.)

_Omnes. When?

_King_. Now, here presently.

_Eugen_. Ingratefull man!

_King_. Dispatch, his voyce is horrid in our eares; Kill him, hurle all, and in him kill my feares.

_Eugen_. I would thy feares were ended.

_King_. Why thus delay you?

_Dam_. The stones are soft as spunges.

_Anton_. Not any stone here Can raze his skin.

_Dam_. See, Sir.

_Cosmo_. Thankes, heavenly preservation.

_King_. Mockt by a hell-hound!

_Omnes_. This must not be endur'd, Sir.

_King_. Unbinde the wretch; Naile him to the earth with Irons. Cannot death strike him? New studied tortures shall.

_Eugen_. New tortures bring, They all to me are but a banquetting. [_Exit_.

_Anton_. But are you well, indeed, Sir?

_King_. Passing well: Though my Physitian fetcht the cure from hell; All's one, I am glad I have it.

[_Exeunt_.

_Actus Quartus_.

_Enter Antony, Cosmo, Hubert, and Damianus_.

_Anton_. You, noble Hubert, are the man[164] chosen out From all our _Vandal_ Leaders to be chiefe O'er a new army, which the King will raise To roote out from our land these Christians That over-runne us.

_Cosmo_. 'Tis a glory, _Hubert_, Will raise your fame and make you like our gods, To please whom you must do this.

_Dam_. And in doing Be active as the fire and mercilesse As is the boundlesse Ocean when it swallows Whole Townes and of them leaves no Monuments.

_Hub_. When shall mine eyes be happy in the sight Of this brave Pagentry?

_Cosmo_. The King sayes instantly.

_Hub_. And must I be the Generall?

_Omnes_. Onely you.

_Hub_. I shall not then at my returning home Have sharers in my great acts: to the Volume My Sword in bloody Letters shall text downe No name must stand but mine; no leafe turn'd o'er But _Huberts_ workes are read and none but mine. _Bellizarius_ shall not on his Clouds of fire Fly flaming round about the staring World Whilst I creepe on the earth. Flatter me not: Am I to goe indeed?

_Anton_. The King so sweares.

_Hub_. A Kings word is a Statute graven in Brasse, And if he breakes that Law I will in Thunder Rouze his cold spirit. I long to ride in Armour, And looking round about me to see nothing But Seas and shores, the Seas of Christians blood, The shoares tough Souldiers. Here a wing flies out Soaring at Victory; here the maine Battalia Comes up with as much horrour and hotter terrour As if a thick-growne Forrest by enchantment Were made to move, and all the Trees should meete Pell mell, and rive their beaten bulkes in sunder, As petty Towers doe being flung downe by Thunder. Pray, thanke the King, and tell him I am ready To cry a charge; tell him I shall not sleepe Till that which wakens Cowards, trembling with feare, Startles me, and sends brave Musick to mine eare; And that's the Drumme and Trumpet.

_Ant_. This shall be told him.

_Dam_. And all the _Goths_ and _Vandalls_ shall strike Heaven With repercussive Ecchoes of your name, Crying, a _Hubert_!

_Hub_. Deafe me with that sound: A Souldier, though he falls in the Field, lives crown'd.

_Cosmo_. Wee'le to the King and tell him this.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter Bellina_.

_Hub_. Doe.--Oh, my _Bellina_, If ever, make me happy now; now tye Strong charmes about my full-plum'd Burgonet To bring me safe home. I must to the Warres.

_Bellina_. What warres? we have no warres but in our selves; We fighting with our sinnes, our sinnes with us; Yet they still get the Victory. Who are in Armes That you must to the Field?

_Hub_. The Kings Royall thoughts Are in a mutiny amongst themselves, And nothing can allay them but a slaughter, A general massacre of all the Christians That breath in his Dominion. I am the Engine To worke this glorious wonder.

_Bellina_. Forefend it Heaven! Last time you sat by me within my bower I told you of a Pallace wall'd with gold.

_Hub_. I doe remember it.

_Bellina_. The floore of sparkling Diamonds, and the roofe Studded with Stanes shining as bright as fire.

_Hub_. True.

_Bellina_. And I told you one day I would shew you A path should bring you thither.

_Hub_. You did indeed.

_Bellina_. And will you now neglect a lease of this To lye in a cold field, a field of murder? Say thou shouldst kill ten thousand Christians; They goe but as Embassadors to Heaven To tell thy cruelties, and on yon Battlements They all will stand on rowes, laughing to see Thee fall into a pit as bottomlesse As the Heavens are in extension infinite.

_Hub_. More, prethee, more: I had forgot this Musick.

_Bellina_. Say thou shouldst win the day, yet art thou lost, For ever lost; an everlasting slave Though thou com'st home a laurel'd Conqueror. You courted me to love you; now I woe thee To love thy selfe, to love a thing within thee More curious than the frame of all this world, More lasting than this Engine o're our heads, Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres: This thing is thy soule, for which I woe thee.

_Hub_. Thou woest, I yeeld, and in that yeelding love thee, And for that love Ile be the Christians guide: I am their Captaine, come, both _Goth_ and _Vandall_; Nay, come the King, I am the Christians Generall.

_Bellina_. Not yet, till your Commission be faire drawne; Not yet, till on your brow you beare the Print Of a rich golden seale.

_Hub_. Get me that seale, then.

_Bellina_. There is an _Aqua fortis_ (an eating water) Must first wash off thine infidelity, And then th'art arm'd.

_Hub_. O let me, then, be arm'd.

_Bellina_. Thou shalt; But on thy knees thou gently first shall sweare To put no Armour on but what I beare.

_Hub_. By this chaste clasping of our hands I sweare.

_Bellina_. We then thus hand in hand will fight a battaile Worth all the pitch-fields, all the bloody banquets, The slaughter and the massacre of Christians, Of whom such heapes so quickly never fell. Brave onset! be thy end not terrible.

_Hub_. This kindled fire burne in us, till as deaths slaves Our bodies pay their tributes to their graves.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 2.)

_Enter Clowne and two Pagans_.

_Clown_. Come, fellow Pagans; death meanes to fare well to-day, for he is like to have rost-meate to his supper, two principal dishes; many a knight keepes a worse Table: first, a brave Generall Carbonadoed[165], then a fat Bishop broyl'd, whose Rochet[166] comes in fryed for the second course, according to the old saying, _A plumpe greazie Prelate fries a fagot daintily_.

1 _Pag_. Oh! the Generall _Bellizarius_ for my money; hee has a fiery Spirit, too; hee will roast soakingly within and without.

_Clown_. Methinks Christians make the bravest Bonefires of any people in the Universe; as a _Jew_ burnes pretty well, but if you marke him he burnes upward; the fire takes him by the Nose first.

2 _Pag_. I know some Vintners then are _Jewes_

_Clown_. Now, as your _Jew_ burnes upward, your _French-man_ burnes downewards like a Candle and commonly goes out with a stinke like a snuffe; and what socket soever it light in it, must be well cleans'd and pick't before it can be us'd agen. But _Bellizarius_, the brave Generall, will flame high and cleare like a Beacon; but your Puritane _Eugenius_ will burne blew, blew like a white-bread sop in _Aqua Vitae_. Fellow Pagans, I pray let us agree among ourselves about the sharing of those two.

2 _Pag_. I, 'tis fit.

_Clown_. You know I am worshipfull by my place; the under-keeper may write Equire if he list at the bottome of the paper: I doe cry first the Generalls great Scarfe to make me a short Summer-cloake, and the Bishops wide sleeves to make me a Holy-dayes shirt.

1 _Pag_. Having a double voyce we cannot abridge you of a double share.

_Clown_. You, that so well know what belongs to reverence, the Breeches be[167] yours, whether Bishops or Generalls; but with this Provizo, because we will all share of both parties, as I have lead the way, I clayming the Generalls and the Bishops sleeves, so he that chuses the Generalls Doublet shall weare the Generalls Breeches.

2 _Pag_. A match.

_Clown_. Nay, 'twill be farre from a match, that's certaine; but it will make us to be taken for men of note, what company soever we come in.

The Souldier and the Scholler, peekt up so,
Will make _tam Marti quam Mercurio_.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 3.)

_Enter the King, Antony, Damianus, and Cosmo;
Victoria meetes the King_.

_Vict_. As you are Vice-gerent to that Maiesty By whom Kings reigne on earth, as you would wish Your heires should sit upon your Throne, your name Be mentioned in the Chronicle of glory; Great King, vouchsafe me hearing.

_King_. Speake.

_Vict_. My husband, The much, too much wrong'd _Bellizarius_, Hath not deserv'd the measure of such misery Which is throwne on him. Call, oh call to minde His service, how often he hath fought And toyl'd in warres to give his Country peace. He has not beene a flatterer of the Time, Nor Courted great ones for their glorious Vices; He hath not sooth'd blinde dotage in the World, Nor caper'd on the Common-wealths dishonour; He has not peeld the rich nor flead the poore, Nor from the heart-strings of the Commons drawne Profit to his owne Coffers; he never brib'd The white intents of mercy; never sold Iustice for money, to set up his owne And utterly undoe whole families. Yet some such men there are that have done thus: The mores the pitty.

_King_. To the poynt.

_Vict_. Oh, Sir, _Bellizarius_ has his wounds emptied of blood, Both for his Prince and Countrey: to repeat Particulars were to do iniury To your yet mindfull gratitude. His Life, His liberty, 'tis that I plead for--that; And since your enemies and his could never Captive the one and triumph in the other, Let not his friends--his King--commend a cruelty, Strange to be talkt of, cursed to be acted. My husband, oh! my husband _Bellizarius_, For him I begge.

_King_. Lady, rise up; we will be gracious To thy suit,--Cause _Bellizarius_ And the Bishop be brought hither instantly. [_Exit for him_.

_Vict_. Now all the blessings due to a good King Crowne you with lasting honours.

_King_. If thou canst Perswade thy husband to recant his errours, He shall not onely live, but in our favoures Be chiefe. Wilt undertake it?

_Vict_. Undertake it, Sir, On these conditions? You shall your selfe Be witnesse with what instance I will urge him To pitty his owne selfe, recant his errours.

_Anton_. So doing he will purchase many friends.

_Dam_. Life, love, and liberty.

_Vict_. But tell me, pray, Sir; What are those errours which he must recant?

_King_. His hatred to those powers to which we bow, On whom we all depend, he has kneel'd to them; Let him his base Apostacy recant, Recant his being a Christian, and recant The love he beares to Christians.

_Vict_. If he deny To doe all this, or any poynt of this, Is there no mercy for him?

_King_. Couldst thou shed A Sea of teares to drowne my resolution, He dyes; could this fond man lay at my foote The kingdomes of the earth, he dyes; he dyes Were he my sonne, my father. Bid him recant, Else all the Torments cruelty can invent Shall fall on him.

_Vict_. No sparke of pitty?

_King_. None.

_Vict_. Well, then, but mark what paines Ile take to winne him, To winne him home; Ile set him in a way The Clouds shall clap to finde what went astray.

_Anton_. Doe this, and we are all his.

_King_. Doe this, I sweare to jewell him in my bosome. --See where he comes.

_Enter Epidophorus with Bellizarius and Eugenius_.

_Belliz_. And whither now? Is Tyranny growne ripe To blow us to our graves yet?

_King_. _Bellizarius_, Thy wife has s'ud for mercy, and has found it; Speake, Lady, tell him how.

_Belliz_. _Victoria_ too! Oh, then I feare the striving to expresse The virtue of a good wife hath begot An utter ruine of all goodnesse in thee. What wou'dst thou say, poore woman? My Lord the King, Nothing can alter your incensed rage But recantation?

_King_. Nothing.

_Vict_. Recantation! sweet Musicke; _Bellizarius_, thou maist live; The King is full of royall bounty--like The ambition of mortality--examine; That recantation is--a toy.

_King_. None hinder her; now ply him.

_Vict_. To lose the portage[168] in these sacred pleasures That knowes no end; to lose the fellowship Of Angels; lose the harmony of blessings Which crowne all Martyrs with eternity! Wilt thou not recant?

_King_. I understand her not.

_Omnes_. Nor I.

_Vict_. Thy life hath hitherto beene, my dear husband, But a disease to thee; thou hast indeed Mov'd on the earth like other creeping wormes Who take delight in worldly surfeits, heate Their blood with lusts, their limbes with proud attyres; Fe[e]d on their change of sinnes; that doe not use Their pleasure[s] but enjoy them, enjoy them fully In streames that are most sensuall and persever To live so till they die, and to die never[169].

_King_. What meanes all this?

_Anton_. Art in thy right wits, woman?

_Vict_. Such beasts are those about thee; take then courage; If ever in thy youth thy soule hath set By the Worlds tempting fires, as these men doe, Recant that errour.

_King_. Ha!

_Vict_. Hast thou in battaile tane a pride in blood? Recant that errour. Hast thou constant stood In a bad cause? clap a new armour on And fight now in a good. Oh lose not heaven For a few minutes in a Tyrants eye; Be valiant and meete death: if thou now losest Thy portion laid up for thee yonder, yonder, For breath or honours here, oh thou dost sell Thy soule for nothing. Recant all this, And then be rais'd up to a Throne of blis.

_Anton_. We are abus'd, stop her mouth.

_Belliz_. _Victoria_, Thou nobly dost confirme me, hast new arm'd My resolution, excellent _Victoria_.

_Eugen_. Oh happy daughter, thou in this dost bring That _Requiem_ to our soules which Angels sing.

_Dam_. Can you endure this wrong, Sir?

_Cosmo_. Be out-brav'd by a seducing Strumpet?

_King_. Binde her fast; Weele try what recantation you can make. Hagge, in the presence of your brave holy Champion And thy Husband, One of my Cammell drivers shall take from thee The glory of thy honesty and honour. Call in the Peasant.

_Vict_. _Bellizarius_, _Eugenius_, is there no guard above us That will protect me from a rape? 'tis worse Than worlds of tortures.

_Eugen_. Fear not, _Victoria_; Be thou a chaste one in thy minde, thy body May like a Temple of well tempered steele Be batter'd, not demolishe'd.

_Belliz_. Tyrant, be mercifull; And if thou hast no other vertue in thee Deserving memory to succeeding ages, Yet onely thy not suffering such an out-rage Shall adde praise to thy name.

_King_. Where is the Groome?

_Eugen_. Oh sure the Sunne will darken And not behold a deed so foule and monstrous.

_Enter Epidophorus with a Slave_.

_Epi_. Here is the Cammell driver.

_Omnes_. Stand forth, sirrah.

_Epi_. Be bould and shrink not; this is she.

1 _Cam_. And I am hee. Is't the kings pleasure that I should mouse[170] her, and before all these people?

_King_. No; 'tis considered better; unbinde the fury And dragge her to some corner; 'tis our pleasure, Fall to thy businesse freely.

1 _Cam_. Not too freely neither: I fare hard and drinke water; so doe the _Indians_, yet who fuller of Bastards? so doe the _Turkes_, yet who gets greater Logger-heads? Come, wench; Ile teach thee how to cut up wild fowle.

_Vict_. Guard me, you heavens.

_Belliz_. Be mine eyes lost for ever.

1 _Cam_. Is that her husband?

_Epi_. Yes.

1 _Cam_. No matter; some husbands are so base, they keepe the doore whilst they are Cuckolded; but this is after a more manlier way, for he stands bound to see it done.

_King_. Haile her away.

1 _Cam_. Come, Pusse! Haile her away? which way? yon way? my Camells backs cannot climbe it.

_Anton_. The fellow is struck mad.

1 _Cam_. That way? it lookes into a Mill-pond, Whirre! how the Wheels goe and the Divell grindes. No, this way.

_King_. Keepe the slave back!

_1 Cam_. Backe, keep me backe! there sits my wife kembing her haire, which curles like a witches felt-locks[171]! all the Neets in't are Spiders, and all the Dandruffe the sand of a Scriveners Sand-boxe. Stand away; my whore shall not be lousie; let me come noynt her with Stavesucre[172].

_King_. Defend me, lop his hands off!

_Omnes_. Hew him in pieces

_King_. What has he done?

_Anton_. Sir, beate out his owne braines.

_Vict_. You for his soule must answer.

_King_. Fetch another.

_Eugen_. Tempt not the wrath supernall to fall downe And crush thee in thy throne.

_Enter 2 Cammell drivers_.

_King_. Peace, sorcerous slave: Sirra, take hence this Witch and ravish her.

2 _Cam_. A Witch? Witches are the Divels sweete hearts.

_King_. Doe it, be thou Master of much gold.

2 _Cam_. Shall I have gold to doe it? in some Countries I heare whole Lordships are spent upon a fleshly device, yet the buyer in the end had nothing but French Repentance and the curse of Chyrurgery for his money. Let me finger my gold; Ile venture on, but not give her a penny. Womans flesh was never cheaper; a man may eate it without bread; all Trades fall, so doe they.

_Epi_. Look you, Sir, there's your gold.

2 _Cam_. Ile tell money after my father. Oh I am strucke blinde!

_Omnes_. The fellow is bewitcht, Sir.

_Eugen_. Great King, impute not This most miraculous delivery To witch-craft; 'tis a gentle admonition To teach thy heart obey it.

_King_. Lift up the slave; Though he has lost his sight, his feeling is not; He dyes unlesse he ravish her.

_Epi_. Force her into thy armes or else thou dyest.

2 _Cam_. I have lost my hearing, too.

_King_. Fetch other slaves.

_Epi_. Thou must force her.

2 _Cam_. Truely I am hoarse with driving my Cammells, and nothing does me good but sirrop of Horehound.

_Enter two Slaves_.

_Epi_. Here are two slaves will doe it indeed.

2. Which is shee?

_King_. This creature; she has beauty to intice you And enough to feast you all; seize her all three And ravish her by turnes.

_Slaves_. A match.

[_They dance antiquely, and Exeunt_.

_King_. Hang up these slaves; I am mock't by her and them; They dance me into anger. Heard you not musicke?

_Anton_. Yes, sure, and most sweet melody.

_Vict_. 'Tis the heavens play And the Clowdes dance for ioy thy cruelty Has not tane hold upon me.

_King_. Hunger then shall: Leade them away, dragge her to some loathed dungeon And for three days give her no food. Load her with Irons.

_Epi_. They shall.

_Eugen_. Come, fellow souldiers, halfe the fight is past: The bloodiest battell comes to an end at last.

[_Exeunt_.

_Actus Quintus_.

_Enter Epidophorus and Clowne_.

_Epi_. Have any Christian soule broke from my Iayle This night, and gone i'the dark to find out heaven? Are any of my hated prisoners dead?

_Clown_. Dead? yes; and five more come into the world instead of one. These Christians are like Artichoaks of _Jerusalam_; they over-runne any ground they grow in.

_Epi_. Are they so fruitfull?

_Clown_. Fruitfull! a Hee Christian told me that amongst them the young fellowes are such Earing rioted[173] Rascals that they will runne into the parke of Matrimony at sixteene; are Bucks of the first head at eighteenes and by twenty carry in some places their hornes on their backs.

_Epi_. On their backs? What kind of Christians are they?

_Clown_. Marry, these are Christian Butchers, who when their Oxen are flead throw their skinnes on their shoulders.

_Epi_. I thought they had beene Cuckolds.

_Clown_. Amongst them? no; there's no woman, that's a true Christian, will horne her husband. There dyed to night no lesse than six and a halfe in our Iayle.

_Epi_. How? six and a halfe?

_Clown_. One was a girle of thirteene, with child.

_Epi_. Thy tidings fats me.

_Clown_. You may have one or two of 'em drest to your Dinner to make you more fat.

_Epi_. Unhallowed slave! let a _Jew_ eate Pork, when I but touch a Christian.

_Clown_. You are not of my dyet: Would I had a young Loyne of Porke to my Supper, and two Loynes of a pretty sweate Christian after Supper.

_Epi_. Would thou mightst eate and choake.

_Clown_. Never at such meate; it goes downe without chawing.

_Epi_. We have a taske in hand, to kill a Serpent Which spits her poyson in our kingdomes face. And that we speake not of (?); lives still That Witch _Victoria_, wife to _Bellizarius_? Is Death afraid to touch the Hagge? does hunger Tremble to gnaw her flesh off, dry up her blood And make her eate her selfe in Curses, ha?

_Clown_. Ha? your mouth gapes as if you would eate me. The King commanded she should be laden with Irons,--I have laid two load upon her; then to pop her into the Dungeon,--I thrust her downe as deepe as I could; then to give her no meate,--alas my cheekes cry out, I have meate little enough for my selfe. Three days and three nights has her Cupboard had no victuals in it; I saw no lesse than Fifty sixe Mice runne out of the hole she lies in, and not a crumme of bread or bit of cheese amongst them.

_Epi_. 'Tis the better.

_Clown_. I heard her one morning cough pittifully; upon which I gave her a messe of Porredge piping-hot.

_Epi_. Thou Dog, 'tis Death.

_Clown_. Nay but, Sir, I powr'd 'em downe scalding as they were on her head, because they say they are good for a cold, and I thinke that kill'd her; for to try if she were alive or no I did but even now tye a Crust to a packe-threed on a pinne, but shee leapt not at it; so that I am sure shee's worms meate by this.

_Epi_. Rewards in golden showers shall raine upon us, Be thy words true: fall downe and kisse the earth.

_Clown_. Kisse earth? Why? and so many wenches come to the Iayle?

_Epi_. Slave, downe and clap thy eare to the caves mouth And make me glad or heavy; if she speake not I shall cracke my ribs and spend my spleene in laughter; But if thou hear'st her pant I am gon.

_Clown_. Farewell, then.

_Epi_. Breaths shee?

_Clown_. No, Sir; her winde instrument is out of tune.

_Epi_. Call, cal.

_Clown_. Do you heare, you low woman? hold not downe your head so for shame; creepe not thus into a corner, no honest woman loves to be fumbling thus in the darke. Hang her; she has no tongue.

_Epi_. Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none.

_Clown_. Foxe, foxe, come out of your hole.

_An Angel ascends from the cave, singing_.

_Epi_. Horrour! what's this?

_Clown_. Alas, I know not what my selfe am.

ANGEL SINGS.

_Fly, darknesse, fly in spight of Caves;
Truth can thrust her armes through Graves.
No Tyrant shall confine
A white soule that's divine
And does more brightly shine
Than Moone or Sunne;
She lasts when they are done_.

_Epi_. I am bewitcht, Mine Eyes faile me; lead me to [the] King.

_Clown_. And tell we heard a Mermaide sing.

[_Exeunt_.

ANGEL SINGS.

_Goe, fooles, and let your feares
Glow as your sins[174] and eares;
The good, how e're trod under,
Are Lawreld safe in thunder;
Though lockt up in a Den
One Angel frees you from an host of men_.

_The Angel descends as the King enters, who comes
in with his Lords, Epidophorus and the Clowne_.

_King_. Where is this piece of witchcraft?

_Epi_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir,

_Clown_. 'Twas here, just at the Caves mouth, where shee lyes.

_Anton_. What manner of thing was it?

_Epi_. An admirable face, and when it sung All the Clouds danc't methought above our heads,

_Clown_. And all the ground under my heeles quak't like a Bogge.

_King_. Deluded slaves! these are turn'd Christians, too.

_Epi_. The prisoners in my Iayle will not say so.

_Clown_. Turnd Christians! it has ever beene my profession to fang[175] and clutch and to squeeze: I was first a Varlet[176], then a Bumbaily, now an under Iailor. Turn'd Christian!

_King_. Breake up the Iron passage of the Cave And if the sorceresse live teare her in pieces.

_The Angel ascends agen_.

_Epi_. See, 'tis come agen.

_King_. It staggers me.

_Omnes_. Amazement! looke to the King.

ANGEL SINGS.

_She comes, she comes, she comes!
No banquets are so sweete as Martyrdomes.
She comes!_

(_Angel descends_.)

_Anton_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir, agen.

_Dam_. Meere Negromancy.

_Cosmo_. This is the apparition of some divell Stealing a glorious shape, and cryes 'she comes'!

_Clown_. If all divels were no worse, would I were amongst 'em.

_King_. Our power is mockt by magicall impostures; They shall not mock our tortures. Let _Eugenius_ And _Bellizarius_ fright away these shadowes Rung from sharp tortures: drag them hither.

_Epi_. To th'stake?

_Clown_. As Beares are?

_King_. And upon your lives My longings feast with her, though her base limbes Be in a thousand pieces.

_Clown_. She shall be gathered up.

[_Exit. Epid. and Clowne_.

(_Victoria rises out of the cave, white_.)

_Vict_. What's the Kings will? I am here. Are your tormentors ready to give battaile? I am ready for them, and though I lose My life hope to winne the day.

_King_. What art thou?

_Vict_. An armed Christian.

_King_. What's thy name?

_Vict_. _Victoria_: in my name there's conquest writ: I therefore feare no threat[e]nings! but pray That thou maist dye a good king.

_Omnes_. This is not she, Sir.

_King_. It is, but on her brow some Deity sits. What are those Fayries dressing up her haire, Whilst sweeter spirits dancing in her eyes Bewitcheth me to them?

_Enter Epidophorus, Bellizarius, Eugenius, and Clowne_.