(SCENE 3.)

Enter the King, Antony, Damianus, and Cosmo; Victoria meetes the King.

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

King. Speake.

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

King. To the poynt.

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

King. Lady, rise up; we will be gracious To thy suit,—Cause Bellizarius And the Bishop be brought hither instantly. [Exit for him.

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

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

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

Anton. So doing he will purchase many friends.

Dam. Life, love, and liberty.

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

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

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

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

Vict. No sparke of pitty?

King. None.

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

Anton. Doe this, and we are all his.

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

Enter Epidophorus with Bellizarius and Eugenius.

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

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

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

King. Nothing.

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

King. None hinder her; now ply him.

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

King. I understand her not.

Omnes. Nor I.

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

King. What meanes all this?

Anton. Art in thy right wits, woman?

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

King. Ha!

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

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

Belliz. Victoria, Thou nobly dost confirme me, hast new arm'd My resolution, excellent Victoria.

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

Dam. Can you endure this wrong, Sir?

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

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

Vict. Bellizarius, Eugenius, is there no guard above us That will protect me from a rape? 'tis worse Than worlds of tortures.

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

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

King. Where is the Groome?

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

Enter Epidophorus with a Slave.

Epi. Here is the Cammell driver.

Omnes. Stand forth, sirrah.

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

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

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

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

Vict. Guard me, you heavens.

Belliz. Be mine eyes lost for ever.

1 Cam. Is that her husband?

Epi. Yes.

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

King. Haile her away.

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

Anton. The fellow is struck mad.

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

King. Keepe the slave back!

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

King. Defend me, lop his hands off!

Omnes. Hew him in pieces

King. What has he done?

Anton. Sir, beate out his owne braines.

Vict. You for his soule must answer.

King. Fetch another.

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

Enter 2 Cammell drivers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Omnes. The fellow is bewitcht, Sir.

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

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

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

2 Cam. I have lost my hearing, too.

King. Fetch other slaves.

Epi. Thou must force her.

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

Enter two Slaves.

Epi. Here are two slaves will doe it indeed.

2. Which is shee?

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

Slaves. A match.

[They dance antiquely, and Exeunt.

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

Anton. Yes, sure, and most sweet melody.

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

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

Epi. They shall.

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

[Exeunt.

Actus Quintus.

Enter Epidophorus and Clowne.

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

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

Epi. Are they so fruitfull?

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

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

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

Epi. I thought they had beene Cuckolds.

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

Epi. How? six and a halfe?

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

Epi. Thy tidings fats me.

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

Epi. Unhallowed slave! let a Jew eate Pork, when I but touch a Christian.

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

Epi. Would thou mightst eate and choake.

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

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

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

Epi. 'Tis the better.

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

Epi. Thou Dog, 'tis Death.

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

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

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

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

Clown. Farewell, then.

Epi. Breaths shee?

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

Epi. Call, cal.

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

Epi. Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none.

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

An Angel ascends from the cave, singing.

Epi. Horrour! what's this?

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

ANGEL SINGS.

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

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

Clown. And tell we heard a Mermaide sing.

[Exeunt.

ANGEL SINGS.

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

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

King. Where is this piece of witchcraft?

Epi. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir,

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

Anton. What manner of thing was it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Angel ascends agen.

Epi. See, 'tis come agen.

King. It staggers me.

Omnes. Amazement! looke to the King.

ANGEL SINGS.

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

(Angel descends.)

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

Dam. Meere Negromancy.

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

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

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

Epi. To th'stake?

Clown. As Beares are?

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

Clown. She shall be gathered up.

[Exit. Epid. and Clowne.

(Victoria rises out of the cave, white.)

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

King. What art thou?

Vict. An armed Christian.

King. What's thy name?

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

Omnes. This is not she, Sir.

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

Enter Epidophorus, Bellizarius, Eugenius, and Clowne.

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.