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.