Bellina.  You are defil’d with Seas of Christians blood, An enemy to Heaven and which is good; And cannot be a loving friend to me.

Hub.  If I have sinn’d forgive me, you iust powers: 
My ignorance, not cruelty has don’t. 
And here I vow my selfe to be hereafter
What ere Bellina shall instruct me in: 
For she was never made but to possesse
The highest Mansion ’mongst your Dignities,
Nor can Heaven let her erre.

Bellina.  On that condition thus I spread my armes,
Whose chaste embraces ne’re toucht man before;
And will to Hubert all the favour shew
His vertuous love can covet. 
I will be ever his; goe thou to Warre,
These hands shall arme thee; and Ile watch thy Tent
Till from the battaile thou bring’st victory. 
In peace Ile sit by thee and read or sing
Stanzaes of chaste love, of love purifi’d
From desires drossie blacknesse; nay when our clouds
Of ignorance are quite vanisht, and that a holy
Religious knot between us may be tyed,
Bellina here vowes to be Hubert’s bride: 
Else doe I sweare perpetuall chastity.

Hub.  Thy vowes I seale, be thou my ghostly Tutor; And, all my actions levell’d to thy thoughts, I am thy Creature.

Bellina.  Let Heaven, too, but now propitious prove And for thy soule thou hast wonne a happy love.  Come, shall we to my Father.

[Exeunt.

(Soft Musick)

(SCENE 4.)

Enter the King on his bed, two Physitians,
Anthony Damianus and Cosmo.

King.  Are you Physitians?  Are you those men that proudly call your selves The helps of Nature?

Ant.  Oh, my good Lord, have patience.

King.  What should I doe? lye like a patient Asse?  Feele my selfe tortur’d by this diffused poyson, But tortur’d more by these unsavoury drugges?

Ant.  Come one of you your selves and speake to him.

1 Phys.  How fares your Highnesse?

King.  Never worse:—­What’s he?

Dami.  One of your Highnesse Doctors.

King.  Come, sit neare me;
Feele my pulse once again and tell me, Doctor,
Tell me in tearmes that I may understand,—­
I doe not love your gibberish,—­tell me honestly
Where the Cause lies, and give a Remedy,
And that with speed; or in despight of Art,
Of Nature, you and all your heavenly motions,
Ile recollect so much of life into me
As shall give space to see you tortur’d. 
Some body told me that a Bath of mans blood
Would restore me.  Christians shall pay for’t;
Fetch the Bishop hither, he shall begin.

Cosm.  Hee’s gone for.

King.  What’s my disease?

1 Phys.  My Lord, you are poyson’d.

King.  I told thee so my selfe, and told thee how: 
But what’s the reason that I have no helpe? 
The Coffers of my Treasury are full,
Or, if they were not, tributary Christians
Bring in sufficient store to pay your fees,
If that you gape at.