King.  Defend me, lop his hands off!

Omnes.  Hew him in pieces

King.  What has he done?

Anton.  Sir, beate out his owne braines.

Vict.  You for his soule must answer.

King.  Fetch another.

Eugen.  Tempt not the wrath supernall to fall downe And crush thee in thy throne.

    Enter 2 Cammell drivers.

King.  Peace, sorcerous slave:  Sirra, take hence this Witch and ravish her.

2 Cam.  A Witch?  Witches are the Divels sweete hearts.

King.  Doe it, be thou Master of much gold.

2 Cam.  Shall I have gold to doe it? in some Countries I heare whole Lordships are spent upon a fleshly device, yet the buyer in the end had nothing but French Repentance and the curse of Chyrurgery for his money.  Let me finger my gold; Ile venture on, but not give her a penny.  Womans flesh was never cheaper; a man may eate it without bread; all Trades fall, so doe they.

Epi.  Look you, Sir, there’s your gold.

2 Cam.  Ile tell money after my father.  Oh I am strucke blinde!

Omnes.  The fellow is bewitcht, Sir.

Eugen.  Great King, impute not
This most miraculous delivery
To witch-craft; ’tis a gentle admonition
To teach thy heart obey it.

King.  Lift up the slave; Though he has lost his sight, his feeling is not; He dyes unlesse he ravish her.

Epi.  Force her into thy armes or else thou dyest.

2 Cam.  I have lost my hearing, too.

King.  Fetch other slaves.

Epi.  Thou must force her.

2 Cam.  Truely I am hoarse with driving my Cammells, and nothing does me good but sirrop of Horehound.

    Enter two Slaves.

Epi.  Here are two slaves will doe it indeed.

2.  Which is shee?

King.  This creature; she has beauty to intice you And enough to feast you all; seize her all three And ravish her by turnes.

Slaves.  A match.

[They dance antiquely, and Exeunt.

King.  Hang up these slaves; I am mock’t by her and them; They dance me into anger.  Heard you not musicke?

Anton.  Yes, sure, and most sweet melody.

Vict.  ’Tis the heavens play And the Clowdes dance for ioy thy cruelty Has not tane hold upon me.

King.  Hunger then shall:  Leade them away, dragge her to some loathed dungeon And for three days give her no food.  Load her with Irons.

Epi.  They shall.

Eugen.  Come, fellow souldiers, halfe the fight is past:  The bloodiest battell comes to an end at last.

[Exeunt.

Actus Quintus.

Enter Epidophorus and Clowne.