_Cosmo_. _Eugenius_, bow thy knee before our _Jove_, And the King gives thee mercy. _Dam_. Else stripes and death. _Eugen_. We come into the world but at one doore, But twenty thousand gates stand open wide To give us passage hence: death then is easie, And I defie all tortures. _King_. Then fasten the Cative; I care not for thy wife: Get from mine eyes Thou tempting _Lamia_. But, _Bellizarius_, Before thy bodyes frame be puld in pieces, Wilt thou forsake the errours thou art drencht in? _Belliz_. Errours? thou blasphemous and godlesse man, From the great Axis maist thou as easie With one arme plucke the Universall Globe, As from my Center move me. There's my figure; They are waves that beat a rock insensible With an infatigable patience. My breast dares all your arrowes; shoote,--shoote, all; Your tortures are but struck against the wall, Which, backe rebounding, hit your selves. _King_. Up with him. _Belliz_. Lay on more waights; that hangman which more brings Addes active feathers to my soaring wings. (_They draw him up_.) _King_. _Victoria_, yet save him. _Vict_. Keepe on thy flight, And be a bird of Paradise. _Omnes_. Give him more Irons. _Belliz_. More, more. _King_. Let him then goe; love thou and be my Queene, Daine but to love me. _Vict_. I am going to live with a farre greater King. _King_. Binde the coy strumpet; she dyes, too. Let her braines be beaten on an Anvill: For some new plagues for her! _Omnes_. Vexe him. _Belliz_. Doe more. _Vict_. Heavens, pardon you. _Eugen_. And strengthen him in all his sufferings. _Two Angels descend_. 2 ANGEL SINGS. _Come, oh come, oh come away; A Quire of Angels for thee stay; A home where Diamonds borrow light, Open stands for thee this night, Night? no, no; here is ever day: Come, oh come, oh come, oh come away_. 1 _Ang_. This battaile is thy last; fight well, and winne A Crowne set full of Starres. _Belliz_. I spy an arme Plucking [me] up to heaven; more waights, you are best; I shall be gone else. _Vict_. Doe, Ile follow thee. _King_. Is he not yet dispatcht? _Belliz_. Yes, King, I thanke thee; I have all my life time trod on rotten ground, And still so deepe beene sinking that my soule Was oft like to bee lost; but now I see A guide, sweete guide, a blessed messenger Who having brought me up a little way Up yonder hill, I then am sure to buy For a few stripes here rich eternity. 2 ANGEL SINGS. _Victory, victory! hell is beaten downe, The Martyr has put on a golden Crowne; Ring Bels of Heaven, him welcome hither, Circle him Angels round together_. 1 _Angel_. Follow! _Vict_. I will; what sacred voice cryes 'follow'! I am ready: Oh send me after him. _King_. Thou shalt not, Till thou hast fed my lust.