_Belliz_. I, there's the poynt: My sinnes like Pullies still drew me downewards: 'Twas I that taught thee first to Idolize, And unlesse that I can with-draw thy mind From following that I did with tears intreat, I'me lost, for ever lost, lost in my selfe and thee. Oh, my _Bellina_! _Bellina_. Why, Sir! Shall we not call on _Iove_ that gives us food, By whom we see the heavens have all their Motions? _Belliz_. Shee's almost lost too: alas! my Girle, There is a higher _Iove_ that rules 'bove him. Sit, my _Victoria_, sit, my faire _Bellina_, And with attention hearken to my dreame: Methought one evening, sitting on a fragrant Virge, Close by there ranne a silver gliding streame: I past the Rivolet and came to a Garden, A Paradise, I should say (for lesse it could not be); Such sweetnesse the world contains not as I saw; _Indian Aramaticks_ nor _Arabian_ Gummes Were nothing sented unto this sweet bower. I gaz'd about, and there me thought I saw Conquerors and Captives, Kings and meane men; I saw no inequality in their places. Casting mine eye on the other side the Palace, Thousands I saw my selfe had sent to death; At which I sigh'd and sob'd, I griev'd and groan'd. Ingirt with Angels were those glorious Martyrs Whom this ungentle hand untimely ended, And beckon'd to me as if heaven had said, "Beleeve as they and be thou one of them"; At which my heart leapt, for there me thought I saw, As I suppos'd, you two like to the rest: With that I wak'd and resolutely vow'd To prosecute what I in thought had seene. _Bellina_. 'Twas a sweet dreame; good Sir, make use of it. _Vict_. And I with _Bellizarius_ am resolv'd To undergoe the worst of all afflictions, Where such a glory bids us to performe. _Belliz_. Now blessings crowne yee both The first stout Martyr has[149] his glorious end Though stony-hard yet speedy; when ours comes I shall tryumph in our affliction. This adds some comfort to my troubled soule: I, that so many have depriv'd of breath, Shall winne two soules to accompany me in death. [_Exeunt_. _Actus Tertius_. _Enter Clowne and Huntsmen severally_. 1 _Hunt_. Ho, rise, sluggards! so, so, ho! so, ho! 2 _Hunt_. So ho, ho! we come. _Clown_. Morrow, iolly wood-men. _Omnes_. Morrow, morrow. _Clown_. Oh here's a Morning like a grey ey'd Wench, able to intice a man to leap out of his bed if he love hunting, had he as many cornes on his toes as there are Cuckolds in the City. 1 _Hunt_. And that's enough in conscience to keepe men from going, were his Boots as wide as the black Iacks[150] or Bombards tost by the Kings Guard. 2 _Hunt_. Are the swift Horses ready? _Clown_. Yes, and better fed than taught; for one of 'em had like to have kickt my iigumbobs as I came by him. 2 _Hunt_. Where are the Dogges? _Clown_. All coupled, as Theeves going to a Sessions, and are to be hang'd if they be found faulty. 2 _Hunt_. What Dogges are they?