_King_. Good _Bellizarius_, wherein doe I digresse? Have I not made thee great, given thee authority To scourge those mis-beleevers, those wild Locusts That thus infect our Empire with their Scismes? The World is full of _Bellizarius_ deedes. Succeeding times will Canonize thy Acts When they shall read what great ones thou hast done In honour of us and our sacred gods; For which, next unto _Iove_, they gave a Laurell To _Bellizarius_, whose studious braine Fram'd all these wracks and tortures for these Christians. Hast thou not all our Treasure in thy power? Who but your selfe commands as [us?], _Bellizarius_? Then whence, my _Bellizarius_, comes this change? _Belliz_. Poore King, I sorrow for thy weakned sence, Wishing thy eye-sight cleare that Eagle-like, As I doe now, thou might'st gaze on the Sunne, The Sunne of brightnesse, Sunne of peace, of plenty. Made you me great in that you made me miserable, Thy selfe more wretched farre? in that thy hand The Engine was to make me persecute Those Christian soules whom I have sent to death, For which I ever, ever shall lament? _King_. Ha, what's this?--Within there! _Belliz_. Nay, heare me, _Henrick_, and when thou hast heard me out With _Bellizarius_ thinke that thou art blest If that with me thou canst participate. _King_. Thou art mad. _Belliz_. No; 'tis thou art mad, And with thy frenzie make this Kingdome franticke. Forgive me, thou great Power in whom I trust, Forgive me, World, and blot out all my deeds From those black Kalends; else, when I lye dead, My Name will ever lie in obliquie. Is it a Sinne that can make great men good? Is prophanation turn'd to sanctity, Vices to vertues? if such disorder stand Then _Bellizarius_ Acts may be held iust; Otherwise nothing. _King_. Some Furie hath possest my _Bellizarius_ That thus he railes. Oh, my dearest, Call on great _Iupiter_. _Belliz_. Alas, poore Idoll! On him! on him that is not, unlesse made: Had I your _Iove_ I'de tosse him in the Ayre, Or sacrifice him to his fellow-gods And see what he could doe to save himselfe. You call him Thunderer, shaker of _Olympus_, The onely and deare Father of all gods; When silly love is shooke with every winde, A fingers touch can hurle him from his Throne. Is this a thing to be ador'd or pray'd too? _King_. My love turnes now to rage.--Attendance there, _Enter all the Lords_. And helpe to binde this mad man, that's possest!-- By the powers that we adore thou dyest. _Belliz_. Here me, thou ignorant King, you dull-brain'd Lords, Oh heare me for your owne sakes, for your soules sake: Had you as many gods as you have dayes, As once the _Assyrians_ had, yet have yee nothing. Such service as they gave such you may give, And have reward as had the blinde _Molossians_: A Toad one day they worship; one of them drunke A health with 's god and poyson'd so himselfe. Therefore with me looke up, and as regenerate soules--