[_Exeunt_. _Actus Quartus_. _Enter Antony, Cosmo, Hubert, and Damianus_. _Anton_. You, noble Hubert, are the man[164] chosen out From all our _Vandal_ Leaders to be chiefe O'er a new army, which the King will raise To roote out from our land these Christians That over-runne us. _Cosmo_. 'Tis a glory, _Hubert_, Will raise your fame and make you like our gods, To please whom you must do this. _Dam_. And in doing Be active as the fire and mercilesse As is the boundlesse Ocean when it swallows Whole Townes and of them leaves no Monuments. _Hub_. When shall mine eyes be happy in the sight Of this brave Pagentry? _Cosmo_. The King sayes instantly. _Hub_. And must I be the Generall? _Omnes_. Onely you. _Hub_. I shall not then at my returning home Have sharers in my great acts: to the Volume My Sword in bloody Letters shall text downe No name must stand but mine; no leafe turn'd o'er But _Huberts_ workes are read and none but mine. _Bellizarius_ shall not on his Clouds of fire Fly flaming round about the staring World Whilst I creepe on the earth. Flatter me not: Am I to goe indeed? _Anton_. The King so sweares. _Hub_. A Kings word is a Statute graven in Brasse, And if he breakes that Law I will in Thunder Rouze his cold spirit. I long to ride in Armour, And looking round about me to see nothing But Seas and shores, the Seas of Christians blood, The shoares tough Souldiers. Here a wing flies out Soaring at Victory; here the maine Battalia Comes up with as much horrour and hotter terrour As if a thick-growne Forrest by enchantment Were made to move, and all the Trees should meete Pell mell, and rive their beaten bulkes in sunder, As petty Towers doe being flung downe by Thunder. Pray, thanke the King, and tell him I am ready To cry a charge; tell him I shall not sleepe Till that which wakens Cowards, trembling with feare, Startles me, and sends brave Musick to mine eare; And that's the Drumme and Trumpet. _Ant_. This shall be told him. _Dam_. And all the _Goths_ and _Vandalls_ shall strike Heaven With repercussive Ecchoes of your name, Crying, a _Hubert_! _Hub_. Deafe me with that sound: A Souldier, though he falls in the Field, lives crown'd. _Cosmo_. Wee'le to the King and tell him this. [_Exeunt_. _Enter Bellina_. _Hub_. Doe.--Oh, my _Bellina_, If ever, make me happy now; now tye Strong charmes about my full-plum'd Burgonet To bring me safe home. I must to the Warres. _Bellina_. What warres? we have no warres but in our selves; We fighting with our sinnes, our sinnes with us; Yet they still get the Victory. Who are in Armes That you must to the Field? _Hub_. The Kings Royall thoughts Are in a mutiny amongst themselves, And nothing can allay them but a slaughter, A general massacre of all the Christians That breath in his Dominion. I am the Engine To worke this glorious wonder.