_Clown_. Nay but, Sir, I powr'd 'em downe scalding as they were on her head, because they say they are good for a cold, and I thinke that kill'd her; for to try if she were alive or no I did but even now tye a Crust to a packe-threed on a pinne, but shee leapt not at it; so that I am sure shee's worms meate by this. _Epi_. Rewards in golden showers shall raine upon us, Be thy words true: fall downe and kisse the earth. _Clown_. Kisse earth? Why? and so many wenches come to the Iayle? _Epi_. Slave, downe and clap thy eare to the caves mouth And make me glad or heavy; if she speake not I shall cracke my ribs and spend my spleene in laughter; But if thou hear'st her pant I am gon. _Clown_. Farewell, then. _Epi_. Breaths shee? _Clown_. No, Sir; her winde instrument is out of tune. _Epi_. Call, cal. _Clown_. Do you heare, you low woman? hold not downe your head so for shame; creepe not thus into a corner, no honest woman loves to be fumbling thus in the darke. Hang her; she has no tongue. _Epi_. Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none. _Clown_. Foxe, foxe, come out of your hole. _An Angel ascends from the cave, singing_. _Epi_. Horrour! what's this? _Clown_. Alas, I know not what my selfe am. ANGEL SINGS. _Fly, darknesse, fly in spight of Caves; Truth can thrust her armes through Graves. No Tyrant shall confine A white soule that's divine And does more brightly shine Than Moone or Sunne; She lasts when they are done_. _Epi_. I am bewitcht, Mine Eyes faile me; lead me to [the] King. _Clown_. And tell we heard a Mermaide sing. [_Exeunt_. ANGEL SINGS. _Goe, fooles, and let your feares Glow as your sins[174] and eares; The good, how e're trod under, Are Lawreld safe in thunder; Though lockt up in a Den One Angel frees you from an host of men_. _The Angel descends as the King enters, who comes in with his Lords, Epidophorus and the Clowne_. _King_. Where is this piece of witchcraft? _Epi_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir, _Clown_. 'Twas here, just at the Caves mouth, where shee lyes. _Anton_. What manner of thing was it? _Epi_. An admirable face, and when it sung All the Clouds danc't methought above our heads, _Clown_. And all the ground under my heeles quak't like a Bogge. _King_. Deluded slaves! these are turn'd Christians, too. _Epi_. The prisoners in my Iayle will not say so. _Clown_. Turnd Christians! it has ever beene my profession to fang[175] and clutch and to squeeze: I was first a Varlet[176], then a Bumbaily, now an under Iailor. Turn'd Christian! _King_. Breake up the Iron passage of the Cave And if the sorceresse live teare her in pieces. _The Angel ascends agen_. _Epi_. See, 'tis come agen. _King_. It staggers me. _Omnes_. Amazement! looke to the King. ANGEL SINGS.