_Enter the_ Priests of the Sun, _with mitres on their heads, carrying fire in their hands._ _First Priest._ All hail unto th' Assyrian deity! _Rasni._ Priests, why presume you to disturb my peace? _First Priest._ Rasni, the Destinies disturb thy peace. Behold, amidst the adyts[112] of our gods, Our mighty gods, the patrons of our war, The ghosts of dead men howling walk about, Crying "_Væ, Væ,_ woe to this city, woe!" The statues of our gods are thrown down, And streams of blood our altars do distain. _Alvi._ [_starting up_]. Alas, my lord, what tidings do I hear? Shall I be slain? _Rasni._ Who tempteth Alvida? Go, break me up the brazen doors of dreams, And bind me cursèd Morpheus in a chain, And fetter all the fancies of the night, Because they do disturb my Alvida. [_A hand from out a cloud threatens with a burning sword._ _K. of Cil._ Behold, dread prince, a burning sword from heaven, Which by a threatening arm is brandishèd! _Rasni._ What, am I threaten'd, then, amidst my throne? Sages, you Magi, speak; what meaneth this? _First Magus._ These are but clammy exhalations, Or retrograde conjunctions of the stars, Or oppositions of the greater lights, Or radiations finding matter fit, That in the starry sphere kindled be; Matters betokening dangers to thy foes, But peace and honour to my lord the king. _Rasni._ Then frolic, viceroys, kings and potentates; Drive all vain fancies from your feeble minds. Priests, go and pray, whilst I prepare my feast, Where Alvida and I, in pearl and gold, Will quaff unto our nobles richest wine, In spite of fortune, fate, or destiny. [_Exeunt._ _Oseas._ Woe to the trains of women's foolish lust, In wedlock-rites that yield but little trust, That vow to one, yet common be to all! Take warning, wantons; pride will have a fall. Woe to the land where warnings profit naught! Who say that nature God's decrees hath wrought; Who build on fate, and leave the corner-stone, The God of gods, sweet Christ, the only one. If such escapes, O London, reign in thee, Repent, for why each sin shall punish'd be! Repent, amend, repent, the hour is nigh! Defer not time! who knows when he shall die? SCENE IV.--_A Public Place in Nineveh._ _Enter one clad in_ Devil's _attire._ _Devil._ Longer lives a merry man than a sad; and because I mean to make myself pleasant this night, I have put myself into this attire, to make a clown afraid that passeth this way: for of late there have appeared many strange apparitions, to the great fear and terror of the citizens.--O, here my young master comes. _Enter_ ADAM _and the_ Smith's Wife. _Adam._ Fear not, mistress, I'll bring you safe home: if my master frown, then will I stamp and stare; and if all be not well then, why then to-morrow morn put out mine eyes clean with forty pound.