A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 1

by Unknown

THE MARTYR'D SOULDIER:

As it was sundry times Acted with a
generall applause at the Private
house in Drury lane, and at
other publicke Theaters.

By the Queenes Majesties servants.

The Author H. SHIRLEY Gent.

LONDON:
Printed by I. Okes, and are to be sold by
Francis Eglesfield at his house in Paul's
Church-yard at the Signe of the
Mary-gold. 1638.

To the right Worshipful Sir Kenelme Digby, Knight.

Sir,

Workes of this Nature may fitly be compared to small and narrow rivolets that at first derive themselves to greater Rivers and afterwards are discharged into the Maine Ocean. So Poesie rising from obscure and almost unminded beginnings hath often advanc'd it Selfe even to the thrones of Princes: witnesse that ever-living Worke of renowned Virgil, so much admired and favoured by magnificent Augustus. Nor can I much wonder that great men, and those of Excellent parts, have so often preferred Poesie, it being indeed the sweetest and best speaker of all Noble Actions.

Nor were they wont in ancient times to preferre those their Workes to them they best knew, but unto some Person highly endued with Vallour, Learning, and such other Graces as render one man farre more Excellent then many others. And this, I hope, may excuse my boldnesse in this Dedication, being so much a stranger to your Worships knowledge, onely presuming upon your Noble temper, ever apt to cherrish well-affected studies. Likewise this peice seemeth to have a more speciall kind of relation to your Selfe, more then to many others, it being an exact and perfect patterne of a truly Noble and War-lick Chieftian.

When it first appeared upon the Stage it went off with Applause and favour, and my hope is it may yeild your Worship as much content as my selfe can wish, who ever rest to be commanded by your Worship,

In all duty and observance,

I.K.[131]

TO THE COURTEOUS READER.

To make too large an explanation of this following Poem were but to beguile thy appetite and somewhat dull thy expectation; but the work it selfe being now an Orphant, and wanting him to protect that first begot it, it were an iniury to his memory to passe him unspoken of. For the man his Muse was much courted but no common mistresse; and though but seldome seene abroad yet ever much admired at. This worke, not the meanest of his labours, has much adorned not only one but many Stages, with such a generall applause as it hath drawne even the Rigid Stoickes of the Time, who, though not for pleasure yet for profit have gathered something out of his plentifull Vineyard. My hopes are it wil prove no lesse pleasing to the Reader then it has formerly beene to the Spectators; and, so prooving, I have my aime and full desire. Farewell.

The Actors Names.

Genzerick, King of the Vandals. Anthonio | Damianus | 3 Noble men. Cosmo | Hubert, A brave Commander. Henerick, the Prince. Bellizarius, the Generall. Eugenius, a Christian Bishop. Epidaurus, a Lord. 2 Physitians. 2 Pagans. 1 Camell-driver. 2 Camell-driver. Victoria, Wife to Bellizarius. Bellina, his Daughter. A Souldier. 2 Angels. 2 Christians tonguelesse. Clowne. Constable. 3 Watchmen. 3 Huntsmen. 3 Other Camell-drivers. Officers and Souldiers.

The Martyr'd Souldier.

Actus Primus.

SCAENA PRIMA.

Enter Genzerick King of the Vandalls, sicke on his bed, Anthony, Damianus, Cosmo, and Lords.

King. Away, leave off your golden Flatteries,
I know I cannot live, there's one lies here
Brings me the newes; my glories and my greatnes
Are come to nothing.

Anth. Be not your selfe the Bell
To tolle you to the Grave; and the good Fates,
For ought we see, may winde upon your bottome[132]
A thred of excellent length.

Cosm. We hope the Gods have not such rugged hands To snatch yee from us.

King. Cosmo, Damianus, and Anthony; you upon whom
The Vandall State doth leane, for my back's too weake;
I tell you once agen that surly Monarch,
Who treads on all Kings throats, hath sent to me
His proud Embassadours: I have given them Audience
Here in our Chamber Royall. Nor could that move me,
To meete Death face to face, were my great worke
Once perfected in Affrick by my sonne;
I meane that generall sacrifice of Christians,
Whose blood would wash the Temples of our gods
And win them bow downe their immortall eyes
Upon our offerings. Yet, I talke not idly,
Yet, Anthonie, I may; for sleepe, I think,
Is gone out of my kingdome, it is else fled
To th'poore; for sleepe oft takes the harder bed
And leaves the downy pillow of a King.

Cosm. Try, Sir, if Musick can procure you[133] rest.

King. Cosmo, 'tis sinne to spend a thing so precious
On him that cannot weare it. No, no; no Musick;
But if you needs will charme my o're-watcht eyes,
Now growne too monstrous for their lids to close,
If you so long to fill these Musick-roomes
With ravishing sounds indeed; unclaspe that booke,
Turne o're that Monument of Martyrdomes,
Read there how Genzerick has serv'd the gods
And made their Altars drunke with Christians blood,
Whil'st their loath'd bodies flung in funerall piles
Like Incense burnt in Pyramids of fire;
And when their flesh and bones were all consum'd
Their ashes up in whirle-winds flew i'th Ayre
To show that of foure Elements not one had care
Of them, dead or alive. Read, Anthony.

Anth. 'Tis swelld to a faire Volume.

King. Would I liv'd To add a second part too't. Read, and listen: No Vandall ere writ such a Chronicle.

Anth. Five hundred[134] broyl'd to death in Oyle and Lead: Seven hundred flead alive, their Carkasses Throwne to King Genzericks hounds.

King. Ha, ha, brave hunting.

Anth. Upon the great day of Apollo's feast, The fourth Moneth of your Reigne.

King. O give me more, Let me dye fat with laughing.

Anth. Thirty faire Mothers, big with Christian brats,
Upon a scaffold in the Palace plac'd
Had first their dugges sear'd off, their wombes ript up,
About their miscreant heads their first borne Sonnes
Tost as a Sacrifice to Jupiter,
On his great day and the Ninth Month of Genzerick.

King. A Play; a Comicall Stage our Palace was. Any more? oh, let me surfeit.

Anth. Foure hundred Virgins ravisht.

King. Christian Whores; common, 'tis common.

Anth. And then their trembling bodies tost on the Pikes Of those that spoyl'd 'em, sacrific'd to Pallas.

King. More, more; hang Mayden-heads, Christian Maiden-heads.

Anth. This leafe is full of tortur'd Christians: Some pauncht, some starv'd, some eyes and braines bor'd out, Some whipt to death, some torne by Lyons.

King. Damianus, I cannot live to heare my service out; Such haste the Gods make to reward me.

Omnes. Looke to the King. (Shouts within.)

Enter Hubert.

King. What shouts are these? see, Cosmo.

Cosmo. Good newes, my Lord; here comes Hubert from the warres.

Hub. Long life and health wait ever on the King.

King. Hubert, thy wishes are come short of both. Hast thou good newes? be briefe then and speake quickly: I must else heare thee in another World.

Hub. In briefe, then, know: Henrick, your valiant sonne,
With Bellizarius and my selfe come laden
With spoiles to lay them at your feet.
What lives the sword spar'd serve to grace your Triumph,
Till from your lips they have the doome of death.

King. What are they?

Hub. Christians, and their Chiefe a Church-man, Eugenius, Bishop of Carthage, and with him Seven hundred Captives more, all Christians.

King. Hold, Death; let me a little taste these ioyes, Then take me ravisht hence. Glad mine eyes, Hubert, With the victorious Boy.

Hub. Your Starre comes shining. [Exit Hubert.

King. Lift me a little higher, yet more: Doe the Immortall Powers poure blessings downe, And shall I not returne them?

Omnes. See, they come.

A Flourish; Enter Henricke the Prince, Bellizarius, Hubert, leading Eugenius in Chaines with other Prisoners and Souldiers.

King. I have now liv'd my full time; tell me, my Henricke,[135]
Thy brave successe, that my departing soule
May with the story blesse another world
And purchase me a passage.

Hen. O, great Sir,
All we have done dyes here if that you dye,
And heaven, before too prodigal to us,
Shedding beames over-glorious on our heads,
Is now full of Eclipses.

King. No, boy; thy presence Has fetcht life home to heare thee.

Hen. Then, Royal Father, thus:
Before our Troopes had reacht the Affrick bounds,
Wearied with tedious Marches and those dangers
Which waite on glorious Warre, the Affricans
A farre had heard our Thunder, whilst their Earth
Did feele an earth-quake in the peoples feares
Before our Drummes came near them. Yet, spight of terrour,
They fortifi'd their Townes, cloathed all their fields
With warres best bravery, armed Souldiers.
At this we made a stand, for their bold troopes
Affronted us with steele, dar'd us to come on
And nobly fierd our resolution.

King. So, hasten; there's in me a battaile too; Be quicke, or I shall fall.

Hen. Forefend it heaven.
Now, Bellizarius, come; here stand, just here;
And on him, I beseech you, fixe your eye,
For you have much to pay to this brave man.

Hub. Nothing to me?

Hen. Ile give you him in wonder.

Hub. Hang him out in a painted cloth for a monster.

Bel. My Lord, wrong not your selfe to throw on me The honours which are all yours.

Hub. Is he the Divell? all!

Bel. Cast not your eyes on me, Sir, but on him; And seale this to your soule: never had King A Sonne that did to his Crowne more honours bring.

Hen. Stay, Bellizarius; I'me too true to honour To scant it in the blazing: though to thee All that report can render leaves thee yet—

Hub. A brave man: you are so too, you both fought; And I stood idle?

Hen. No, Sir.

Hub. Here's your battaile then, and here's your conquest: What need such a coyle?

Bel. Yet, Hubert, it craves more Arethmaticke Than in one figure to be found.

King. Hubert, thou art too busie.

Hub. So was I in the battaile.

King. Prethee peace.

Hen. The Almarado was on poynt to sound;
But then a Herald from their Tents flew forth,
Being sent to question us for what we came;
And [At?] which, I must confesse, being all on fire
We cryed for warre and death. Backe rode the Herald
As lightning had persu'd him. But the Captaines,
Thinking us tir'd with marching, did conceive
Rest would make difficult what easie now
Quicke charge might drive us to. So, like a storme
Beating upon a wood of lustie Pines,
Which though they shake they keepe their footing fast,
Our pikes their horses stood. Hot was the day
In which whole fields of men were swept away,
As by sharpe Sithes are cut the golden corne
And in as short time. It was this mans sword
Hew'd ways to danger; and when danger met him
He charm'd it thence, and when it grew agen
He drove it back agen, till at the length
It lost the field. Foure long hours this did hold,
In which more worke was done than can be told.

Bel. But let me tell your Father how the first feather That Victory herselfe pluckt from her wings, She stuck it in your Burgonet.

Hub. Brave still!

Hen. No, Bellizarius; thou canst guild thy honours
Borne[136] from the reeking breasts of Affricans,
When I aloof[137] stood wondering at those Acts
Thy sword writ in the battaile, which were such
Would make a man a souldier but to read 'em.

Hub. And what to read mine? is my booke claspt up?

Bel. No, it lyes open, where in texed letters read
Each Pioner [?] that your unseason'd valour
Had thrice ingag'd our fortunes and our men
Beyond recovery, had not this arme redeem'd you.

Hub. Yours?

Bel. For which your life was lost for doing more Than from the Generals mouth you had command.

Hub. You fill my praise with froth, as Tapsters fill Their cut-throat Cans; where, give me but my due, I did as much as you, or you, or any.

Bel. Any?

Hub. Yes, none excepted.

Bel. The Prince was there.

Hub. And I was there: since you draw one another
I will turne Painter too and draw my selfe.
Was it not I that when the maine Battalia
Totter'd and foure great squadrons put to rout,
Then reliev'd them? and with this arme, this sword,
And this affronting brow put them to flight,
Chac'd em, slew thousands, tooke some few and drag'd em
As slaves, tyed to my saddle bow with Halters?

Hen. Yes, Sir, 'tis true; but, as he sayes, your fury
Left all our maine Battalia welnigh lost.
For had the foe but re-inforct againe
Our courages had beene seiz'd (?), any Ambuskado
Cut you and your rash troopes off; if—

Hub. What 'if'? Envy, not honour, still inferres these 'ifs.' It thriv'd and I returnd with Victory.

Bel. You?

Hub. I, Bellizarius, I; I found your troopes
Reeling and pale and ready to turne Cowards,
But you not in the head; when I (brave sir)
Charg'd in the Reere and shooke their battaile so
The Fever never left them till they fell.
I pulled the Wings up, drew the rascals on,
Clapt 'em and cry'd 'follow, follow.' This is the hand
First toucht the Gates, this foote first tooke the City;
This Christian Church-man snacht I from the Altar
And fir'd the Temple. 'Twas this sword was sheath'd
In panting bosomes both of young and old;
Fathers, sonnes, mothers, virgins, wives and widowes:
Like death I havocke cryed so long till I
Had left no monuments of life or buildings
But these poore ruins. What these brave Spirits did
Was like to this, I must confesse 'tis true,
But not beyond it.

King. You have done nobly all.
Nor let the Generall thinke I soyle his worth
In that I raise this forward youth so neare
Those honours he deserves from Genzericke;
For he may live to serve my Henrick thus,
And growing vertue must not want reward.
You both allow these deeds he so much boasts of?

Hen. Yes, but not equal to the Generals.

King. The spoyles they equally shall both divide; The Generall chuse, 'tis his prerogative. Bellizarius be Viceregent over all Those conquerd parts of Affrick we call ours; Hubert the Master of my Henricks Horse And President of what the Goths possesse. Let this our last will stand.

Bel. We are richly paid.

Hub. Who earnes it must have wages.

King. Ile see you imbrac'd too.

Hub. With all my heart.

King. And Bellizarius Make him thy Scholler.

Hub. His Scholler!

King. There's stuffe in him
Which temper'd well would make him a noble fellow.
Now for these Prisoners: 'tis my best sacrifice
My pious zeale can tender to the Gods.
I censure thus: let all be naked stript,
Then to the midst of the vaste Wildernesse
That stands 'twixt us and wealthy Persia
They shall be driven, and there wildly venture
As Famine or the fury of the Beasts
Conspires to use them. Which is that Bishop?

Hub. Stand forth: this is Eugenius.

Eug. I stand forth
Daring all tortures, kissing Racks and Wheeles
And Flames, to whom I offer up this body.
You keepe us from our Crownes of Martyrdomes
By this delaying: dispatch us hence.

King. Not yet, Sir:
Away with them, stay him; and if our Gods
Can win this Christian Champion, now so stout,
To fight upon their sides, give him reward;
Our Gods will reach him praise.

Eug. Your Gods! wretched soules!

King. My worke is done; and, Henricke, as thou lov'st Thy Fathers soule, see every thing perform'd. This last iniunction tyes thee: so, farewell. Let those I hated in thy hate still dwell, I meane the Christians. (Dyes.)

Hen. Oh, what a deale of greatnesse
Is struck down at one blow.

Hub. Give me a battell:
'Tis brave being struck downe there.

Anth. Henrick, my Lord,
And now my Soveraigne, I am by office bound
To offer to your Royall hands this Crowne
Which on my knees I tender, all being ready
To set it on your head.

Omnes. Ascend your throne: Long live the King of Vandals and of Goths, The mighty Henrick.

Hen. What must now be done?

Anth. By me each Officer of State resignes The Patten that he holds his office by, To be dispos'd as best shall please your Grace.

Hen. And I returne them back to all their trusts. I rise in clouds, my Morning is begun From the eternall set of a bright sunne.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE 2.)

Drumnel flourish: Enter Victoria and Bellina with servants.

To gratulate his safe and wisht Arrival.
Let Musick with her sweet-tongu'd Rhetorick
Take out those horrours which the loud clamoures
Of Warres harsh harmony hath long besieg'd
His tender sences with. Your Father's come, Bellina.

Bell. I feele the ioy of it with you, sweet Mother, And am as ready to receive a blessing from him As you his chaste imbraces.

Vic. So, so, bestirre; Let all our loves and duties be exprest In our most diligent and active care.

Enter Bellizarius.

Here comes my comfort-bringer,
My Bellizarius.

Belliz. Dearest Victoria; My second ioy, take thou a Fathers blessing.

Vic. Not wounded, Sir, I hope?

Belliz. No, Victoria;
Those were Rewards that we bestow'd on others;
We gave, but tooke none backe. Had we not you
At home to heare our noble Victories
Our Fame should want her Crowne, although she flew
As high as yonder Axle tree above
And spred in latitude throughout the world.
We have subdu'd those men of strange beleefe
Which Christians call themselves; a race of people
—This must I speake of them—as resolute
And full of courage in their bleeding falls
As should they tryumph for a Victory.
When the last groanes of many thousand mett
And like commixed Whirlwindes fill'd our eares.
As it from us rais'd not a dust of pitty
So did it give no terrour to the rest
That did but live to see their fellows dye.
In all our rigours and afflicting tortures
We cannot say that we the men subdu'd,
Because their ioy was louder than our conquest.
And still more worke of blood we must expect;
Like Hydra's Heads by cutting off they double;
As seed that multiplies, such are their dead—
Next Moone a sheafe of Christians in ones stead.

Vic. This is a bloody Trade, my Bellizarius; Would thou wouldst give it over.

Belliz. 'Tis worke, Victoria, that must be done.
These are the battailes of our blessing,
Pleasing gods and goddesses who for our service
Render us these Conquests.
Our selves and our affaires we may neglect,
But not our Deities, which these Christians
Prophane deride and scoffe at; would new Lawes
Bring in and a new God make.

Vic. No, my Lord;
I have heard say they never make their Gods,
But they serve 'em, they say, that did make them:
All made-gods they dispise.

Belliz. Tush, tush, Victoria, let not thy pitty Turne to passions; they'le not deserve thy sorrow. How now? What's the newes?

Enter a Souldier.

Sold. Strange, my Lord, beyond a wonder,
For 'tis miraculous. Since you forsooke
The bloody fight and horrour of the Christians,
One tortur'd wretch, whose sight was quite extinct,
His eyes no farther seeing than his hands,
Is now by that Eugenius, whom they call
Their holy Bishop, cleerely restor'd again
To the astonishment of all your Army,
Who faintly now recoyle with feare and terrour
Not daring to offend so great a power.

Belliz. Ha! 'tis strange thou tell'st me.

Vic. Oh, take heed, my Lord;
It is no warring against heavenly Powers
Who can command their Conquest when they please.
They can forbeare the Gyants that throw stones,
And smile upon their follies; but when they frowne
Their angers fall downe perpendicular
And strike their weake Opposer into nothing:
The Thunder tells us so.

Belliz. Pray leave me all; I shall have company When you are gone, enough to fill the roome.

Vic. The holiest powers give thee their best direction.

[Exeunt: Manet Bellizarius.

Belliz. What power is that can fortifie a man
To ioy in death, since all we can expect
Is but fruition of the ioyes of life?
If Christians hoped not to become immortall
Why should they seeke for death?
O, then instruct me some Divine power;
Thou that canst give the sight unto the blind,
Open my blind iudgement Thunder: Enter an Angel.
That I may see a way to happinesse.
Ha, this is a dreadfull answer; this may chide
The relapse in my blood that 'gins to faint
From[138] further persecution of these people.
Oh shall I backe and double tyranny? (Thunder.)
A louder threat[e]ning! oh mould these voyces
Into articulate words, that I may know
Thy meaning better. Shall I quench the flames
Of blood and vengeance, and my selfe become
A penetrable Christian? my life lay downe
Amongst their sufferings? (Musicke.)
Ha, these are sweet tunes.

Ang. Bellizarius!

Belliz. It names me, too.

Ang. Sheath up thy cruelty; no more pursue
In bloody forrage these oppressed Christians,
For now the Thunder will take their part.
Remaine in peace and Musicke is thy banquet,
Or thy selfe number 'mongst their martyring groanes
And thou art numbred with these blessed ones.

Belliz. What heavenly voyce is this? shall my eares onely
Be blest with raptures, not mine eyes enioy
The sight of that Celestiall presence
From whence these sweet sounds come?

Ang. Yes, thou shalt see; nay, then, 'tis lost agen. (Bel. kneeles.) Rise; this is enough; be constant Souldier: Thy heart's a Christian, to death persever And then enioy the sight of Angels ever. [Exit.

Belliz. Oh, let me flye into that happy place.
Prepare your tortures now, you scourge of Christians,
For Bellizarius the Christians torturer;
Centuple all that I have ever done;
Kindle the fire and hacke at once with swords;
Teare me by piece-meales, strangle, and extend
My every limbe and ioynt; nay, devise more
Than ever did my bloody Tyrannies.
Oh let me ever lose the sight of men
That I may see an Angell once agen.
[Exit.

Actus Secundus.

(SCENE I.)

Enter Hubert and Damianus.

Hub. For[139] looke you, Damianus, though Henricke, now king, did in the battaile well and Bellizarius enough for a Generall, did not I tell 'em home?

Dam. I heard it.

Hub. They shall not make bonefires of their owne glories and set up for me a poore waxe candle to shew mine. I am full of Gold now: what shall I doe with it, Damianus?

Dam. What doe Marriners after boone voyages, but let all flye; and what Souldiers, when warres are done, but fatten peace?

Hub. Pox of Peace! she has churles enough to fatten her. I'll make a Shamoyes Doublet, embroydered all over with flowers of gold. In these dayes a woman will not looke upon a man if he be not brave. Over my Doublet a Soldado Cassacke of Scarlet, larded thicke with Gold Lace; Hose of the same, cloake of the same, too, lasht up this high and richly lined. There was a Lady, before I went, was working with her needle a Scarffe for mee; but the Wagtaile has left her nest.

Dam. No matter; there's enough such birds everywhere.

Hub. Yes, women are as common as glasses in Tavernes, and often drunke in and more often crackt. I shall grow lazy if I fight not; I would faine play with halfe a dozen Fencers, but it should be at sharpe.[140]

Dam. And they are all for foyles.

Hub. Foyl'd let 'em be then.

Dam. You have had fencing enough in the field, and for women the Christians fill'd[141] your markets.

Hub. Yes, and those markets were our Shambles. Flesh enough!
It made me weary of it. Since I came home
I have beene wondrous troubled in my sleepes,
And often heard to sigh in dead of night
As if my heart would cracke. You talk of Christians:
Ile tell you a strange thing, a kind of melting in
My soule, as 'twere before some heavenly fire,
When in their deaths (whom they themselves call Martyrs)
It was all rocky. Nothing, they say, can soften
A Diamond but Goates blood;[142] they perhaps were Lambs
In whose blood I was softened.

Dam. Pray tell how.

Hub. I will: after some three hours being in Carthage
I rusht into a Temple. Starr'd all with lights;
Which with my drawne sword rifling, in a roome
Hung full of Pictures, drawne so full of sweetnesse
They struck a reverence in me, found I a woman,
A Lady all in white; the very Candles
Took brightnesse from her eyes and those cleare Pearles
Which in aboundance falling on her cheekes
Gave them a lovely bravery. At my rough entrance
She shriek'd and kneel'd, and holding up a paire
Of Ivory fingers begg't that I would not
(Though I did kill) dishonour her, and told me
She would pray for me. Never did Christian
So near come to my heart-strings; I let my Sword
Fall from me, stood astonish't, and not onely
Sav'd her my selfe but guarded her from others.

Dam. Done like a Souldier.

Hub. Blood is not ever
The wholsom'st Wine to drinke. Doubtlesse these Christians
Serve some strange Master, and it needes must bee
A wonderfull sweete wages which he paies them;
And though men murmour, get they once here footing,
Then downe goes our Religion, downe our Altars,
And strange things be set up.—I cannot tell:
We, held so pure, finde wayes enough to hell.
Fall out what can, I care not; Ile to Bellizarius.

Dam. Will you? pray carry to him my best wishes.

Hub. I can carry anything but Blowes, Coles,[143] my Drink, and that clapper of the Divell, the tongue of a Scould. Farewell.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE 2.)

Flourish: Enter the King, Antony, Cosmo, all about the King, and Bellizarius.

King. They swarme like Bees about us, insomuch
Our People cannot sacrifice nor give Incense
But with interruptions; they still are buzzing thus,
Saying: Their Gods delight not in vaine showes
But intellectual thoughts pure and unstain'd,
Therefore reduce them from their heresies
Or build our prison walls with Christians bones.
What thinkes our Bellizarius, he that was wont
To be more swift to execute than we to command?
Why sits not Bellizarius?

Belliz. I dare not.

King. Protect me, Iove! Who dare gainesay it?

Belliz. I must not.

King. Say we command it?

Belliz. Truth is, I neither can nor will.

Omn. Hee's mad.

Belliz. Yes, I am mad
To see such Wolvish Tyrants as you are
Pretend a Justice and condemne the iust.
Oh you white soules that hover in the aire,
Who through my blindnesse were made death his[144] prey;
Be but appeas'd, you spotlesse Innocents,
Till with my blood I have made a true atonement,
And through those tortures, by this braine devis'd,
In which you perisht, I may fall as you
To satisfie your yet fresh bleeding memories
And meete you in that garden where content
Dwels onely. I, that in blood did glory,
Will now spend blood to heighten out your story.

Anton. Why, Bellizarius—

Belliz. Hinder me not:
I'me in a happy progresse, would not change my guest
Nor be deterr'd by Moles and Wormes that cannot see
Such as you are. Alas, I pitty you.

Dam. The King's in presence.

Belliz. I talke of one that's altitudes above him,
That owes[145] all Principalities: he is no King
That keepes not his decrees, nor am I bound
In duty to obey him in unwist acts.

King. All leave the roome.

Omnes. We obey your highnesse. [Exeunt Lords.

King. Sir, nay. Sir; good Bellizarius.

Belliz. In that I doe obey.

King. Doe you make scruple, then, of our command?

Belliz. Yes, Sir, where the act's unjust and impure.

King. Why, then, are we a king, if not obey'd?

Belliz. You are plac'd on earth but as a Substitute
To a Diviner being as subiects are to you;
And are so long a king to be obey'd
As you are iust.

King. Good Bellizarius, wherein doe I digresse?
Have I not made thee great, given thee authority
To scourge those mis-beleevers, those wild Locusts
That thus infect our Empire with their Scismes?
The World is full of Bellizarius deedes.
Succeeding times will Canonize thy Acts
When they shall read what great ones thou hast done
In honour of us and our sacred gods;
For which, next unto Iove, they gave a Laurell
To Bellizarius, whose studious braine
Fram'd all these wracks and tortures for these Christians.
Hast thou not all our Treasure in thy power?
Who but your selfe commands as [us?], Bellizarius?
Then whence, my Bellizarius, comes this change?

Belliz. Poore King, I sorrow for thy weakned sence,
Wishing thy eye-sight cleare that Eagle-like,
As I doe now, thou might'st gaze on the Sunne,
The Sunne of brightnesse, Sunne of peace, of plenty.
Made you me great in that you made me miserable,
Thy selfe more wretched farre? in that thy hand
The Engine was to make me persecute
Those Christian soules whom I have sent to death,
For which I ever, ever shall lament?

King. Ha, what's this?—Within there!

Belliz. Nay, heare me, Henrick, and when thou hast heard me out With Bellizarius thinke that thou art blest If that with me thou canst participate.

King. Thou art mad.

Belliz. No; 'tis thou art mad,
And with thy frenzie make this Kingdome franticke.
Forgive me, thou great Power in whom I trust,
Forgive me, World, and blot out all my deeds
From those black Kalends; else, when I lye dead,
My Name will ever lie in obliquie.
Is it a Sinne that can make great men good?
Is prophanation turn'd to sanctity,
Vices to vertues? if such disorder stand
Then Bellizarius Acts may be held iust;
Otherwise nothing.

King. Some Furie hath possest my Bellizarius That thus he railes. Oh, my dearest, Call on great Iupiter.

Belliz. Alas, poore Idoll!
On him! on him that is not, unlesse made:
Had I your Iove I'de tosse him in the Ayre,
Or sacrifice him to his fellow-gods
And see what he could doe to save himselfe.
You call him Thunderer, shaker of Olympus,
The onely and deare Father of all gods;
When silly love is shooke with every winde,
A fingers touch can hurle him from his Throne.
Is this a thing to be ador'd or pray'd too?

King. My love turnes now to rage.—Attendance there, Enter all the Lords. And helpe to binde this mad man, that's possest!— By the powers that we adore thou dyest.

Belliz. Here me, thou ignorant King, you dull-brain'd Lords,
Oh heare me for your owne sakes, for your soules sake:
Had you as many gods as you have dayes,
As once the Assyrians had, yet have yee nothing.
Such service as they gave such you may give,
And have reward as had the blinde Molossians:
A Toad one day they worship; one of them drunke
A health with 's god and poyson'd so himselfe.
Therefore with me looke up, and as regenerate soules—

Dam. Can you suffer this?
This his affront will scare up the devotion
Of all your people. He that persecuted
Become a convertite!

Belliz. 'Tis ioy above my ioy: oh, had you scene
What these eyes saw, you would not then
Disswade me from it; nor will I leave that power
By whom I finde such infinite contentments.

Hen. Epidophorus; your eare:—see't done.

Epi. It shall, my Lord. [Exit Epi.

Hen. Then by the gods
And all the powers the Vandals doe adore,
Thou hast not beene more terrible to the world
Than to thy selfe I now will make thee.

Belliz. I dare thy worst; I have a Christian armour to protect me. You cannot act so much as I will suffer.

Hen. Ile try your patience

Enter Epido, two Christians and officers.

Epi. 'Tis done, my Lord, as you directed.

Hen. They are come:
Make signes you'le yet deny your Christianity (They make signes.)
And kneele with us to sacred Iupiter.
No? make them then a Sacrifice to Iupiter
For all the wrongs by Bellizarius done.
Dispatch, I say; to the fire with them.

Belliz. Alas, good men! tonguelesse? you'le yet be heard;
The sighes of your tun'd soules are musicall,
And whil'st I breath, as now my tears I shed,
My prayers He send up for you; 'twas I that mangl'd you.
How soone the bodies Organ leaves the sound!
The Life's next too't; a Needles point ends that,
A small thing does it. Now you have quiet roomes
No wrangling, all husht. Now make me a fellow
In this most patient suffering.

Hen. Beare them unto the fire, and place him neere To fright him. (Flourish.)

Belliz. On, fellow Souldiers! Your fires will soon be quencht, and for your wrongs You shall, above, all speake with Angels tongues.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE 3.)

Enter Clowne, Constable and three watchmen.

Clown. You[146] that are borne Pagans both by father and mother, the true sonnes of Infidelity, sit downe by me your officiall, or to come nearer to the efficacy of the word, your undermost Iaylor or staller; —the word is Lordly and significant.

Omnes. O brave Master, yfaith.

Clowne. Therefore sit downe; and as by vertue of our place we have Authority given, so let us as officers doe, knaves of our function as of others; let us, I say, be unbounded in our Authority, having the Lawes, I meane the Keyes, in our owne hands.

Const. Friend, friend, you are too forward in your Authority; your command is limited where I am in place: for though you are the Lieutenants man know, sir, that I am Master of the worke and Constable Royall under the Kings Maiesty.

Omnes. Marry is hee.

Const. If their testimonie will not satisfie, here my Title: At this place, in this time, and upon this occasion I am Prince over these Publicans, Lord over these Larroones,[147] Regent of these Rugs,[148] Viceroy over these Vagabonds, King of these Caterpillars; and indeed, being a Constable, directly Soveraigne over these my Subiects.

2 Off. If all these stiles, so hard to climbe over, belong to the office of a Constable, what kin is he to the Divell?

Const. Why to the Devill, my friend?

Clown. Ile tell you: because a Constable is King of Nights and the other is Prince of Darknesse.

Const. Darke as it is, by the twilight of my Lanthorne methinks I see a company of Woodcocks.

2 Off. How can you discerne them?

Enter Epidophorus, Victoria and Bellina.

Clown. Oh excellent well, by their bills: see, see, here comes the Lieutenant.

Epi. Well sayd, my friends: you keep good watch, I see.

Clown. Yes, Sir, we Officers have breath as strong as Garlick: no Christian by their good wills dare come neare us.

Epi. 'Tis well, forbeare.—
Oh, Madam, had you scene with what a vehemency
He did blaspheme the gods,
Like to a man pearcht on some lofty Spire
Amazed which way to relieve himselfe,
You would have stood, as did the King, amaz'd.

Vict. God grant him liberty, And with that give us privacy; I doubt not But our sweet conference shall work much on him.

Epi. Iove grant it: Ile leave the roome. [Exit Epi.

Clown. A Iaylor seldome lookes for a bribe but hee's prevented.

[Exeunt Officers.

Enter Bellizarius in his night-gown, with Epidophorus.

Epi. My Lord, your Lady and her most beauteous daughter Are come to visit you, and here attend.

Belliz. My Wife and Daughter? oh welcome, love, And blessing Crowne thee, my beloved Bellina.

Vict. My Lord, pray leave us.

Epi. Your will be your owne Law. [Exit Epidoph.

Vict. Why study you, my Lord? why is your eye fixt On your Bellina more than on me?

Belliz. Good, excellent good:
What pretty showes our fancies represent us!
My faire Bellina shines like to an Angel;
Has such a brightnesse in her Christall eyes
That even the radiancy duls my sight.
See, my Victoria, lookes she not sweetly?

Vict. Shee does, my Lord; but not much better than she was wont.

Belliz. Oh shee but beginnes to shine as yet, But will I hope ere long be stellified. Alas, my Victoria, thou look'st nothing like her.

Vict. Not like her? why, my Lord?

Belliz. Marke and Ile tell thee how:
Thou art too much o'er growne with sinne and shame,
Hast pray'd too much, offered too much devotion
To him and those that can nor helpe nor hurt,
Which my Bellina has not:
Her yeares in sinne are not, as thine are, old;
Therefore me thinks she's fairer farre than thou.

Vict. I, my Lord, guided by you and by your precepts, Have often cal'd on Iupiter.

Belliz. I, there's the poynt:
My sinnes like Pullies still drew me downewards:
'Twas I that taught thee first to Idolize,
And unlesse that I can with-draw thy mind
From following that I did with tears intreat,
I'me lost, for ever lost, lost in my selfe and thee.
Oh, my Bellina!

Bellina. Why, Sir! Shall we not call on Iove that gives us food, By whom we see the heavens have all their Motions?

Belliz. Shee's almost lost too: alas! my Girle,
There is a higher Iove that rules 'bove him.
Sit, my Victoria, sit, my faire Bellina,
And with attention hearken to my dreame:
Methought one evening, sitting on a fragrant Virge,
Close by there ranne a silver gliding streame:
I past the Rivolet and came to a Garden,
A Paradise, I should say (for lesse it could not be);
Such sweetnesse the world contains not as I saw;
Indian Aramaticks nor Arabian Gummes
Were nothing sented unto this sweet bower.
I gaz'd about, and there me thought I saw
Conquerors and Captives, Kings and meane men;
I saw no inequality in their places.
Casting mine eye on the other side the Palace,
Thousands I saw my selfe had sent to death;
At which I sigh'd and sob'd, I griev'd and groan'd.
Ingirt with Angels were those glorious Martyrs
Whom this ungentle hand untimely ended,
And beckon'd to me as if heaven had said,
"Beleeve as they and be thou one of them";
At which my heart leapt, for there me thought I saw,
As I suppos'd, you two like to the rest:
With that I wak'd and resolutely vow'd
To prosecute what I in thought had seene.

Bellina. 'Twas a sweet dreame; good Sir, make use of it.

Vict. And I with Bellizarius am resolv'd To undergoe the worst of all afflictions, Where such a glory bids us to performe.

Belliz. Now blessings crowne yee both
The first stout Martyr has[149] his glorious end
Though stony-hard yet speedy; when ours comes
I shall tryumph in our affliction.
This adds some comfort to my troubled soule:
I, that so many have depriv'd of breath,
Shall winne two soules to accompany me in death.

[Exeunt.

Actus Tertius.

Enter Clowne and Huntsmen severally.

1 Hunt. Ho, rise, sluggards! so, so, ho! so, ho!

2 Hunt. So ho, ho! we come.

Clown. Morrow, iolly wood-men.

Omnes. Morrow, morrow.

Clown. Oh here's a Morning like a grey ey'd Wench, able to intice a man to leap out of his bed if he love hunting, had he as many cornes on his toes as there are Cuckolds in the City.

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 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 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.

Oh Victoria, love me!
And see, thy Husband, now a slave whose life
Hangs at a needles poynt, shall live, so thou
Breath but the doome.—Trayters! what sorcerous hand
Has built upon this inchantment of a Christian
To make me doat upon the beauty of it?
How comes she to this habite? Went she thus in?

Epi. No, Sir, mine owne hande stript her into rags.

Clown. For any meat shee has eaten her face needes not make you doate; and for cleane linen Ile sweare it was not brought into the Iaile, for there they scorne to shift once a weeke.

King. Bellizarius, woe thy wife that she would love me, And thou shalt live.

Belliz. I will.—Victoria,
By all those chaste fires kindled in our bosomes
Through which pure love shin'd on our marriage night;
Nay, with a bolder conjuration,
By all those thornes and bryers which thy soft feet
Tread boldly on to finde a path to heaven,
I begge of thee, even on my knee I beg,
That thou wouldst love this King, take him by th'hand,
Warme his in thine, and hang about his necke,
And seale ten thousand kisses on his cheeke,
So he will tread his false gods under foote.

Omnes. Oh, horrible!

King. Bring tortures.

Belliz. So he will wash his soule white, as we doe, And fight under our Banner (bloody red), And hand in hand with us walke martyred.

Anton. They mocke you.

King. Stretch his body up by th'armes, And at his feete hang plummets.

Clown. He shall be well shod for stroveling, I warrant you.

Cosmo. Eugenius, bow thy knee before our Jove, And the King gives thee mercy.

Dam. Else stripes and death.

Eugen. We come into the world but at one doore,
But twenty thousand gates stand open wide
To give us passage hence: death then is easie,
And I defie all tortures.

King. Then fasten the Cative;
I care not for thy wife: Get from mine eyes
Thou tempting Lamia. But, Bellizarius,
Before thy bodyes frame be puld in pieces,
Wilt thou forsake the errours thou art drencht in?

Belliz. Errours? thou blasphemous and godlesse man,
From the great Axis maist thou as easie
With one arme plucke the Universall Globe,
As from my Center move me. There's my figure;
They are waves that beat a rock insensible
With an infatigable patience.
My breast dares all your arrowes; shoote,—shoote, all;
Your tortures are but struck against the wall,
Which, backe rebounding, hit your selves.

King. Up with him.

Belliz. Lay on more waights; that hangman which more brings Addes active feathers to my soaring wings.

(They draw him up.)

King. Victoria, yet save him.

Vict. Keepe on thy flight, And be a bird of Paradise.

Omnes. Give him more Irons.

Belliz. More, more.

King. Let him then goe; love thou and be my Queene, Daine but to love me.

Vict. I am going to live with a farre greater King.

King. Binde the coy strumpet; she dyes, too. Let her braines be beaten on an Anvill: For some new plagues for her!

Omnes. Vexe him.

Belliz. Doe more.

Vict. Heavens, pardon you.

Eugen. And strengthen him in all his sufferings.

Two Angels descend.

2 ANGEL SINGS.

Come, oh come, oh come away;
A Quire of Angels for thee stay;
A home where Diamonds borrow light,
Open stands for thee this night,
Night? no, no; here is ever day:
Come, oh come, oh come, oh come away.

1 Ang. This battaile is thy last; fight well, and winne A Crowne set full of Starres.

Belliz. I spy an arme Plucking [me] up to heaven; more waights, you are best; I shall be gone else.

Vict. Doe, Ile follow thee.

King. Is he not yet dispatcht?

Belliz. Yes, King, I thanke thee;
I have all my life time trod on rotten ground,
And still so deepe beene sinking that my soule
Was oft like to bee lost; but now I see
A guide, sweete guide, a blessed messenger
Who having brought me up a little way
Up yonder hill, I then am sure to buy
For a few stripes here rich eternity.

2 ANGEL SINGS.

Victory, victory! hell is beaten downe,
The Martyr has put on a golden Crowne;
Ring Bels of Heaven, him welcome hither,
Circle him Angels round together.

1 Angel. Follow!

Vict. I will; what sacred voice cryes 'follow'! I am ready: Oh send me after him.

King. Thou shalt not, Till thou hast fed my lust.

Vict. Thou foole, thou canst not;
All my mortality is shaken off;
My heart of flesh and blood is gone; my body
Is chang'd; this face is not that once was mine.
I am a Spirit, and no racke of thine
Can touch me.

King. Not a racke of mine shall touch thee.
Why should the world loose such a paire of Sunnes
As shine out from thine eyes? Why art thou cruell,
To make away thy selfe and murther mee?
Since whirle-winds cannot shake thee thou shalt live,
And Ile fanne gentle gales upon thy face.
Fetch me a day bed, rob the earths perfumes
Of all the ravishing sweetes to feast her sence;
Pillowes of roses shall beare up her head;
O would a thousand springs might grow in one
To weave a flowry mantle o're her limbes
As she lyes downe.

Enter two Angels about the bed.

Vict. O that some rocke of Ice Might fall on me and freeze me into nothing.

King. Enchant our [her?] eares with Musicke; would I had skill
To call the winged musitians of the aire
Into these roomes! they all should play to thee
Till golden slumbers danc'd upon thy browes,
Watching to close thine eye-lids.

Ang. These Starres must shine no more; soule, flye away. Tyrant, enioy but a cold lumpe of clay.

King. My charmes worke; shee sleepes,
And lookes more lovely now she sleepes.
Against she wakes, Invention, grow thou poore,
Studying to finde a banquet which the gods
Might be invited to. I need not court her now
For a poor kisse; her lips are friendly now,
And with the warme breath sweeting all the Aire,
Draw mee thus to them.—Ha! the lips of Winter
Are not so cold.

Anton. She's dead, Sir.

King. Dead?

Dam. As frozen as if the North-winde had in spight Snatcht her hence from you.

King. Oh; I have murthered her!
Perfumes some creature kill: she has so long
In that darke Dungeon suck't pestiferous breath,
The sweete has stifled her. Take hence the body,
Since me it hated it shall feele my hate:
Cast her into the fire; I have lost her,
And for her sake all Christians shall be lost
That subjects are to me: massacre all,
But thou, Eugenius, art the last shall fall
This day; and in mine eye, though it nere see more,
Call on thy helper which thou dost adore.

A Thunder-bolt strikes him.

Omnes. The King is strucke with thunder!

Eugen. Thankes, Divine Powers; Yours be the triumph and the wonder ours.

Anton. Unbinde him till a new King fill the throne; And he shall doome him.

A Hubert, a Hubert, a Hubert!

Flourish: Enter Hubert, armed with shields and swords. Bellina and a company of Souldiers with him.

Hub. What meanes this cry, 'a Hubert'? Where's your King?

Omnes. Strucke dead by thunder.

Hub. So I heare; you see, then,
There is an arme more rigorous than your Iove,
An arme stretcht from above to beate down Gyants,
The mightiest Kings on Earth, for all their shoulders
Carry Colossi heads: the memory
Of Genzericks name dyes here: Henricke gives buriall
To the successive glory of that race
Who had both voyce and title to the Crowne,
And meanes to guard it.—Who must now be King?

Anton. We know not till we call the Lords together.

Hub. What Lords?

Cosmo. Our selves and others.

Hub. Who makes you Lords? The Tree upon whose boughs your honours grew, Your Lordships and your lives, is falne to th'ground.

Dam. We stand on our owne strength.

Hub. Who must be King?

Within: A Hubert, a Hubert a Hubert!

Hub. Deliver to my hand that reverent [sic] man.

Epi. Take him and torture him, for he cald down Vengeance On Henricks head.

Hub. Good Eugenius, lift thy hands up,
For thou art say'd from Henricke and from these.
You heare what ecchoes
Rebound from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth,
Casting the name of King onely on me?
This golden apple is a tempting fruit;
It is within my reach; this sword can touch it,
And lop the weake branch off on which it hangs.
Which of you all would spurne at such a Starre,
Lay it i'th the dust when 'tis let down from heaven
For him to weare?

Anton. Who then must weare that Starre?

Within: Hubert, Hubert, Hubert!

Hub. The Oracle tells you; Oracle? 'tis a voyce
From above tells you; for the peoples tongues,
When they pronounce good things, are ty'd to chaines
Of twenty thousand linkes, which chaines are held
By one supernall hand, and cannot speake
But what that hand will suffer. I have then
The people on my side; I have the souldiers;
I have that army which your rash young King
Had bent against the Christians,—they now are mine:
I am the Center, and they all are lines
Meeting in me. If, therefore, these strong sinewes,
The Souldiers and the Commons, have a vertue
To lift me into the Throne, Ile leape into it.
Will you consent or no? be quick in answer;
I must be swift in execution else.

Omnes. Let us consult.

Hub. Doe, and doe't quickly.

Eugen. O noble Sir, if you be King shoot forth
Bright as a Sunne-beame, and dry up these vapours
That choake this kingdome; dry the seas of blood
Flowing from Christians, and drinke up the teares
Of those alive, halfe slaughter'd in their feares.

Hub. Father, Ile not offend you.—Have you done? So long chusing one Crowne?

Anton. Let Drums and Trumpets proclaime Hubert our King!

Omnes. Sound Drummes and Trumpets!

Hub. I have it, then, as well by voyce as sword;
For should you holde it backe it will be mine.
I claime it, then, by conquest; fields are wonne
By yeelding as by strokes: Yet, noble Vandals,
I will lay by the Conquest and acknowledge
That your hands and your hearts the pinnacles are
On which my greatnesse mounts unto this height.
And now in sight of you and heaven I sweare
By those new sacred fires kindled within me,
'Tis not your ho[o]pe of Gold my brow desires;
A thronging Court to me is but a Cell;
These popular acclamations, which thus dance
I'th Aire, should passe by me as whistling windes
Playing with leaves of trees. I'me not ambitious
Of Titles glorious and maiesticall;
But what I doe is to save blood, save you;
I meane to be a husband for you all,
And fill you all with riches.

Epi. 'Tis that we thirst for; For all our bagges are emptied in these warres Rais'd by seditious Christians.

Hub. Peace, thou foole:
They are not bags of gold, that melts in fire,
Which I will fill your coffers with; my treasury
Are riches for your soules; my armes are spread
Like wings to protect Christians. What have you done?
Proclaim'd a Christian King; and Christian Kings
Should not be bloody.

Omnes. How? turn'd Christian?

Eugen. O blest King! happy day!

Omnes. Must we forsake our Gods then?

Hub. Violent streames
Must not bee stopt by violence; there's an art
To meete and put by the most boysterous wave;
'Tis now no policy for you to murmure
Nor will I threaten. A great counsell by you
Shall straight be cal'd to set this frame in order
Of this great state.

Omnes. To that we all are willing.

Hub. Are you then willing this noble maid Shall be my Queene?

Omnes. With all our hearts.

Hub. By no hand but by thine will we be crown'd: Come, my Bellina.

Bellina. Your vow is past to me that I should ever Preserve my virgin honour, that you would never Tempt me unto your bed.

Hub. That vow I keepe:
I vow'd so long as my knees bow'd to Iove
To let you be your selfe; but, excellent Lady,
I now am seal'd a Christian as you are:
And you have sworne oft that, when upon my forehead
That glorious starre was stucke, you would be mine
In holy wedlocke. Come, sweete, you and I
Shall from our loynes produce a race of Kings,
And ploughing up false gods set up one true;
Christians unborne crowning both me and you
With praise as now with gold.

Bellina. A fortunate day; A great power prompts me on and I obey.

(Flourish)

Omnes. Long live Hubert and Bellina, King and Queene Of Goths and Vandals.

Hub. Two royall Iewels you give me, this and this:
Father, your hand is lucky, I am covetous
Of one Gift more: After your sacred way
Make you this Queene a wife: our Coronation
Is turn'd into a bridall.

Omnes. All ioy and happinesse.

Hub. To guard your lives will I lay out mine owne, And like Vines plant you round about my throne.

The end of the fift and last Act.

To the Reader of this Play now come in Print.

That this play's old 'tis true; but now if any
Should for that cause despise it we have many
Reasons, both iust and pregnant, to maintaine
Antiquity, and those, too, not all vaine.
We know (and not long since) there was a time
Strong lines were not lookt after, but, if Rime,
O then 'twas excellent. Who but beleeves
That Doublets with stuft bellies and big sleeves
And those Trunk-hose[177] which now our life doth scorne
Were all in fashion and with custome worne?
And what's now out of date who is't can tell
But it may come in fashion and sute well?
With rigour therefore iudge not but with reason,
Since what you read was fitted to that season.

The Epilogue.

As in a Feast, so in a Comedy,
Two Sences must be pleas'd; in both the Eye;
In Feasts the Eye and Taste must be invited,
In Comedies the Eye and Eare delighted:
And he that only seekes to please but either,
While both he doth not please, he pleaseth neither.
What ever Feast could every guest content,
When as t'each man each Taste is different?
But lesse a Scene, when nought but as 'tis newer
Can please, where Guests are more and Dishes fewer.
Yet in this thought, this thought the Author eas'd;
Who once made all, all rules all never pleas'd.[178]
Faine would we please the best, if not the many;
And sooner will the best be pleas'd then any.
Our rest we set[179] in pleasing of the best;
So we wish you, what you may give us, Rest.

FINIS.