(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)