_King._ The Pangs of my Death smart in thee, there is no pain in Death, the Sound of your Words is Musick to my Soul, and makes the ever-living Youth rejoice, and leap for Joy, being ripe for birth, desires to go to Life; but this Body, this timorous Mother Earth; alas she shivers, and dreads the Hour of her Travail, but when that Midwife Death in Life shall give me Birth, Oh! may it be in that Kingdom where thou in long Eternity shall shine; and if my Happiness be no more than what I conceive in thee, and that to last for ever, then let the World say I am nothing, I am dishonourable, the Crown of my Head is dropped from the Kingdom of my Body, so that I may say I live with thee, but when we part. _Cad._ O my Soul! _King._ O Heaven! _Cad._ Oh Angels! _King._ Burst Heart, and let me fall. _Cad._ Oh Death! quickly to my Aid. _King._ Oh my _Cademore_, live! _Cad._ If it must be so, come visit me after Death. _King._ Oh how can I promise that? If this great Sun should refuse his Heaven, and slide from Orb to Orb, leave the Elements, prostrate himself on the Earth, fall a Victim at thy Feet, it would only serve to surprize and fire thy Heart; blind thy mortal Eyes; and lest the Garment of the Intellect be thus incomparable and Glorious, make me not promise, for if I promise, ’twill make me uneasy in Heaven, ’till I perform my Word; but if I can entreat to thy Guardian Saint, then I’ll attend thee all the Day, hover and settle upon thy Pillow all the Night, where I’ll converse with thee in Visions, and when thy Time is full done, I’ll wait and watch the closing of thine Eyes, and then will I catch away thy Soul in a Divine Transport; with Cœlestial Wings we’ll soar to the Lofty Mountains in the Clouds, when they shall dissolve like a Bed of Down; our inward Hearts shall kiss each other in Love, in Extasy, and then we’ll fly away together from all Adversity. [Cademore _faints, and is carried off the Stage_. Oh my Soul stealeth from me. Clippeth and hangeth upon thee. [_King lies down._ _Enter_ Theorbeo. _The King rises._ _King._ Oh _Theorbeo_, I perceive there is an End of Hope; it was my fear they would conquer thee, and bring thee to this Place of Adversity. _Theor._ It is not so, my Lord, I have left your Troops in trusty Hands, and am come here, that you may make your Escape in my Habit; and by that Time you have reach’d to the Army, I being a Stranger, will pass the Centry again, and come to your Majesty. _King._ ’Tis an inspired Thought, we’ll put it in Execution. [_The King dresses himself in_ Theorbeo_’s Clothes_. Oh _Theorbeo_, grieve not, every Sigh of thine, will make my Heart to weep Drops of Blood; consider a small Affliction by chance may happen; but these great Calamities, must proceed from something Great; and if so, it is Philosophy to rejoice.