Vict.  Well, then, but mark what paines Ile take to winne him, To winne him home; Ile set him in a way The Clouds shall clap to finde what went astray.

Anton.  Doe this, and we are all his.

King.  Doe this, I sweare to jewell him in my bosome.  —­See where he comes.

    Enter Epidophorus with Bellizarius and Eugenius.

Belliz.  And whither now?  Is Tyranny growne ripe To blow us to our graves yet?

King. Bellizarius, Thy wife has s’ud for mercy, and has found it; Speake, Lady, tell him how.

Belliz. Victoria too! 
Oh, then I feare the striving to expresse
The virtue of a good wife hath begot
An utter ruine of all goodnesse in thee. 
What wou’dst thou say, poore woman? 
My Lord the King,
Nothing can alter your incensed rage
But recantation?

King.  Nothing.

Vict.  Recantation! sweet
Musicke; Bellizarius, thou maist live;
The King is full of royall bounty—­like
The ambition of mortality—­examine;
That recantation is—­a toy.

King.  None hinder her; now ply him.

Vict.  To lose the portage[168] in these sacred pleasures
That knowes no end; to lose the fellowship
Of Angels; lose the harmony of blessings
Which crowne all Martyrs with eternity! 
Wilt thou not recant?

King.  I understand her not.

Omnes.  Nor I.

Vict.  Thy life hath hitherto beene, my dear husband,
But a disease to thee; thou hast indeed
Mov’d on the earth like other creeping wormes
Who take delight in worldly surfeits, heate
Their blood with lusts, their limbes with proud attyres;
Fe[e]d on their change of sinnes; that doe not use
Their pleasure[s] but enjoy them, enjoy them fully
In streames that are most sensuall and persever
To live so till they die, and to die never[169].

King.  What meanes all this?

Anton.  Art in thy right wits, woman?

Vict.  Such beasts are those about thee; take then courage;
If ever in thy youth thy soule hath set
By the Worlds tempting fires, as these men doe,
Recant that errour.

King.  Ha!

Vict.  Hast thou in battaile tane a pride in blood? 
Recant that errour.  Hast thou constant stood
In a bad cause? clap a new armour on
And fight now in a good.  Oh lose not heaven
For a few minutes in a Tyrants eye;
Be valiant and meete death:  if thou now losest
Thy portion laid up for thee yonder, yonder,
For breath or honours here, oh thou dost sell
Thy soule for nothing.  Recant all this,
And then be rais’d up to a Throne of blis.

Anton.  We are abus’d, stop her mouth.

Belliz. Victoria, Thou nobly dost confirme me, hast new arm’d My resolution, excellent Victoria.