_Eugen_. I will doe nothing without a recompence. _King_. A royall one. _Omnes_. Name what you would desire. _King_. Stand by; you trouble him. A recompence can my Crowne bring thee, take it; Reach him my Crowne and plant it on his head. _Eugen_. No; here's my bargaine-- _King_. Quickly, oh speake quickly.-- Off with the good man's Irons. _Eugen_. Free all those Christians which are now thy slaves, In all thy Cittadels, Castles, Fortresses; Those in _Bellanna_ and _Mersaganna_, Those in _Alempha_ and in _Hazanoth_, Those in thy Gallies, those in thy Iayles and Dungeons. _King_. Those any where: my signet, take my signet, And free all on your lives, free all the Christians. What dost thou else desire? _Eugen_. This; that thy selfe trample upon thy Pagan Gods. _Omnes_. Sir! _King_. Away. _Eugen_. Wash your soule white by wading in the streame Of Christian gore. _King_. I will turne Christian. _Dam_. Better wolves worry this accursed-- _King_. Better Have Bandogs[163] worry all of you, than I To languish in a torment that feedes on me As if the Furies bit me. Ile turn Christian, And, if I doe not, let the Thunder pay My breach of promise. Cure me, good old man, And I will call thee father; thou shalt have A king come kneeling to thee every Morning To take a blessing from thee, and to heare thee Salute him as a sonne. When, when is this wonder? _Eugen_. Now; you are well, Sir. _King_. Ha! _Eugen_. Has your paine left you? _King_. Yes; see else, _Damianus, Antony, Cosmo_; I am well. _Omnes_. He does it by inchantment. 1 _Phys_. By meere Witch-Craft. _Eugen_. Thy payment for my cure. _King_. What? _Eugen_. To turne Christian, And set all Christian slaves at liberty. _King_. Ile hang and torture all-- Call backe the Messenger sent with our signet. For thy selfe, thou foole, should I allow Thee life thou wouldst be poyson'd by our Colledge of Physitians. Let him not touch me Nor ever more come neare me; and to be sure Thy sorceries shall not strike me, stone him to death. (_They binde him to a stake, and fetch stones in baskets_.) _Omnes. When? _King_. Now, here presently. _Eugen_. Ingratefull man! _King_. Dispatch, his voyce is horrid in our eares; Kill him, hurle all, and in him kill my feares. _Eugen_. I would thy feares were ended. _King_. Why thus delay you? _Dam_. The stones are soft as spunges. _Anton_. Not any stone here Can raze his skin. _Dam_. See, Sir. _Cosmo_. Thankes, heavenly preservation. _King_. Mockt by a hell-hound! _Omnes_. This must not be endur'd, Sir. _King_. Unbinde the wretch; Naile him to the earth with Irons. Cannot death strike him? New studied tortures shall. _Eugen_. New tortures bring, They all to me are but a banquetting. [_Exit_. _Anton_. But are you well, indeed, Sir? _King_. Passing well: Though my Physitian fetcht the cure from hell; All's one, I am glad I have it.