_Clown_. Heavy? how can you chuse, having so much Iron upon you? _Eugen_. Death's brother and I would have a little talk So thou wouldst leave us. _Clown_. With all my heart; let Deaths sister talke with you, too, and shee will, but let not me see her, for I am charg'd to let no body come into you. If you want any water give mee your Chamber pot; Ile fill it. [_Exit_. _Eugen_. No, I want none, I thanke thee. Oh sweet affliction, thou blest booke, being written By Divine fingers! you Chaines that binde my body To free my soule; you Wheeles that wind me up To an eternity of happinesse, Mustre my holy thoughts; and, as I write, Organ of heavenly Musicke to mine ears, Haven to my Shipwracke, balme to my wounds, Sunne-beames which on me comfortably shine When Clouds of death are covering me; (so gold, As I by thee, by fire is purified; So showres quicken the Spring; so rough Seas Bring Marriners home, giving them gaines and ease); Imprisonment, gyves, famine, buffetings, The Gibbet and the Racke; Flint stones, the Cushions On which I kneele; a heape of Thornes and Briers, The Pillow to my head; a nasty prison, Able to kill mankinde even with the Smell: All these to me are welcome. You are deaths servants; When comes your Master to me? Now I am arm'd for him. Strengthen me that Divinity that enlightens The darknesse of my soule, strengthen this hand That it may write my challenge to the world Whom I defie; that I may on this paper The picture draw of my confession. Here doe I fix my Standard, here bid Battaile To Paganisme and infidelity. _Musicke; enter Angel_. Mustre my holy thoughts, and, as I write, In this brave quarrell teach me how to fight. (_As he is writing an Angel comes and stands before him: soft musick; he astonisht and dazeld_.) This is no common Almes to prisoners; I never heard such sweetnesse--O mine eyes! I, that am shut from light, have all the light Which the world sees by; here some heavenly fire Is throwne about the roome, and burnes so clearely, Mine eye-bals drop out blasted at the sight. (_He falls flat on the earth, and whilst a Song is heard the Angel writes, and vanishes as it ends_.) I. SONG. _What are earthly honours But sins glorious banners? Let not golden gifts delight thee, Let not death nor torments fright thee; From thy place thy Captaine gives thee When thou faintest he relieves thee. Hearke, how the Larke Is to the Morning singing; Harke how the Bells are ringing. It is for joy that thou to Heaven art flying: This is not life, true life is got by dying_. _Eugen_. The light and sound are vanisht, but my feare Sticks still upon my forehead: what's written here? (_Reads_.)