_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.