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*: witenesse 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

The Actors Names.

Genzerick, King of the Vandals.

Anthonio
Damianus
Cosmo
} 3 Noble men.

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.

SCENA 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 ¹
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

¹ Bottom = a ball of worsted. George Herbert in a letter to his mother says: "Happy is he whose *bottom* is wound up, and laid ready for work in the New Jerusalem." So in the *Virgin Martyr* (v. 1),—"I, before the Destinies my *bottom* did wind up, would flesh myself once more upon some one remarkable above all these."

176

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 ¹ 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

¹ 4to. your.

177

To show that of foure Elements not one had care
Of them, dead or alive. Read, *Anthony*.

*Anth.* 'Tis sweld 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 ¹ 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:

¹ Cf. the catalogue of torments in the *Virgin Martyr* (v. 1).

Z

178

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.

179

*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,

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

¹ The 4to prints the passage thus:—

"I have now livd my full time;

Tell me, my Henricke, thy brave successe,
That my departing soule
May with thy story," &c.

Several times further on I shall have to alter the irregular
arrangement of the 4to in order to restore the blank verse; but
I shall not think it necessary to note the alteration.

180

Before our Drummes came near them. Yet, spight
of terour,

They fortifi'd their Townes, cloathed all their fields
With warres best bravery, armed Souldiers.

At this we made a stand, for their bold troops
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, iust 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.

181

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

Borne¹ from the reeking breasts of *Africans*,

¹ 4to, Horne.

182

When I aloof¹ 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-infort againe
Our courages had beene seiz'd (?), any Ambuskado

¹ 4to, Aloft.

183

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 puld 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.

184

*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 earns 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 !

185

*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.

*Hen.* (Dyes.) 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.

[ *Excunt*.

(SCENE 2.)

*Drumnel flourish:* Enter *Victoria* and *Bellina* with *servants*.

*Vic.* My Lord return'd ! prepare a costly banquet
To gratulate his safe and wisht Arrival.

Let Musick with her sweet-tongu'd Rhetorick

2 A

186

Take out those horrors which the loud clamoured
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 terror to the rest
That did but live to see their fellows dye.

187

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,

188

Who faintly now recoyle with feare and terour
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 immortal
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 ¹ further persecution of these people.

Oh shall I backe and double tyranny ? (Thunder.)
A louder threat[e]ning! oh mould these voyces

¹ The 4to gives 'The further,' and in the next line 'Or further.'

189

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
only

Be blest with raptures, not mine eyes enioy

The sight of that Celestiall presence

From whence these sweet sounds come ?

Ang. Yes, thou shall 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.]

190

Actus Secundus.

(SCENE I.)

Enter Hubert and Damianus.

*Hub.* For¹ 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, woman are as common as glasses in Tavernes, and often drunke in and more often crackt.

¹ The whole of this scene is printed as verse in the 4to. I have printed the early part as prose, that the reader's eye may not be vexed by metrical monstrosities.

191

*I shall grow lazy if I fight not; I would faine play with halfe a dozen Fencers, but it should be at sharpe.¹*

*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'd² 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;³ they perhaps were Lambs*

*In whose blood I was softened.*

*Dam.*

*Pray tell how.*

*Hub.* I will: after some three hours being in Carthage

¹ Sharpe i.e. sword. Vid. Halliwell's Dictionary.
² 4to. field.

³ *Sir Thomas Browne in Vulgar Errors* (Book 2, cap. 5) discusses this curious superstition at length:—⁴And first we hear it in every mouth, and in many good authors read it, that a diamond, which is the hardest of stones, not yielding unto steel, emery, or any thing but its own powder, is yet made soft, or broke by the blood of a goat. Thus much is affirmed by Pliny, Solinus, Albertus, Cyprian, Austin, Isidore, and many Christian writers: alluding herein unto the heart of man, and the precious blood of our Saviour, who was typified by the goat that was slain, and the scape goat in the wilderness: and at the effusion of whose blood, not only the hard hearts of his enemies relented, but the stony rocks and veil of the temple were shattered,⁵ &c.

192

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 brightnessne from her eyes and those cleare
Pearles

Which in abundance 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 murmur, 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,¹ my Drink, and that clapper of the Divell, the tongue of a Scould. Farewell.

[Exeunt]

¹ The expression, to 'carry coals' (i.e. to put up with insults) is too common to need illustration.

193

(SCENE 2.)

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

*King.* They swarne 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 ¹
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

¹ 4to. deaths prey. The change restores the metre.
2 B

192

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

*Dam.* Done like a Souldier.

*Hub.*

Blood is not ever

[Exeunt.

193

(SCENE 2.)

What thinkes our Bellizarius, he that was wont
To be more swift to execute than we to command ?
Why sits not Bellizarius ?

*Belliz.*

*King.* Protect me, Iove !

Who dare gainesay it?

*Belliz.* I must not.

*King.* Say we command it?

*Omn.* Hee's mad.

*Belliz.* Yes, I am mad.

194

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 owes¹ 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-beleeveres, 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

¹ 'Owe' for 'own' is very common in Shakespeare.

195

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 oblique.

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.

196

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 Iove 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 dranke
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 seare up the devotion
Of all your people. He that persecuted
Become a convertite!

Belliz. 'Tis ioy above my ioy: oh, had you seene
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.

197

Epi. It shall, my Lord.
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'll 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'l 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 Ile 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.]

198

(SCENE 3.)

*Enter Clowne, Constable and three watchmen.*

*Clown.* You¹ 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,³ Regent of these Rugs,³ Vice-roy 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,

¹ The 4to. prints this scene throughout as verse.

² ‘Larroones,’ from Fr. *larron* (a thief). Cf. Nabbes’ *Bride*, iii. 3. ‘Remercie, Monsieur. Voe call a me Cooke now! de greasie Larone!’

³ Quy. rogues.

199

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 seene 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 looks 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*.

200

*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,

201

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,

'Beleve 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 undergo the worst of all afflictions,

Where such a glory bids us to performe.

*Belliz.* Now blessings crowne yee both

The first stout Martyr has¹ his glorious end

¹ Quy. had. There seems to be a reference to Stephen's martyrdom described in *The Acts*.

2 C

204

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 Sparabiles¹ 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.

¹ 'Sparabiles,' nails used by shoemakers. Nares quotes Herrick :—

'Cob clouts his shoes, and, as the story tells,
His thumb-nailes par'd afford him sperrables.'

The word is of uncertain derivation.

205

Hornes and Noise within: Enter Antony meeting
Damianus.

Ant. Cosmo had like beene kild; the Boare receiving¹

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 Champion² shake.

Dam. Where are the Dogges?
Cosmo.

[Enter Cosmo.

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

Anton. When did you see him ?
Cosmo.

Both horse and rider.

Not since the Boare tos'd up

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.

¹ 4to, recovering.

² 'Champion' is the old form of 'champain.'

206

(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 bread¹ '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 shall 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 Ribbons, 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,
Wouldst 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

¹ 'Diet-bread' was the name given to a sort of sweet seed-cake: Vid. Nares' Glossary.

207

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

208

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 thankee 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.

209

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 clearly,
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.)

2 D

210

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 shall not stay.
Eugen. All writ in golden Letters and cut so even
As if some hand had hither reacht from Heaven
To print this Paper.

Enter Epidophorus.

*Epi.* Come, you must to the King.
*Eugen.* I am so laden with Irons
I scarce can goe.
*Epi.* Wyer-whips shall drive you,
The King is counsell'd for his health to bath him
In the warme blood of Christians; and you, I thinke,
Must give him ease.

*Eugen.* Willingly; my fetters
Hang now, methinks, like feathers at my heeles.
On, any whither; I can runne, sir.
*Epi.* Can you ? not very farre, I feare.
*Eugen.* No windes my Faith shake, nor rock[s]
split in sunder :
The poore ship's tost here, my strong Anchor's yonder.

[Exeunt.]

(SCENE 3.)

Enter Bellisarius 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?

211

*Belliz.* 'Tis true, my Lord, there danger was a safety;
here
To be secure I thinke most dangerous.
Or what could¹ 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 Ward-
robe

Till they grow musty or moth-eaten,
*Belliz.* One of those rusty Monuments am I.
*Hub.* A little oyle of favour will scoure 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.

¹ Quy. Oh ! what cold, famine, &c.

212

*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

213

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.

*Bellina.* Why do you, seeme to loose your eyes on me?

[Exit. Belliz.

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

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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 re-
ward!

*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;
Ile break the Altar of the foolish God,
Proclaime them guilty of Idolatry
That sacrifice to Cytheræas 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,

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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.