_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?