Epi.  Rewards in golden showers shall raine upon us, Be thy words true:  fall downe and kisse the earth.

Clown.  Kisse earth?  Why? and so many wenches come to the Iayle?

Epi.  Slave, downe and clap thy eare to the caves mouth And make me glad or heavy; if she speake not I shall cracke my ribs and spend my spleene in laughter; But if thou hear’st her pant I am gon.

Clown.  Farewell, then.

Epi.  Breaths shee?

Clown.  No, Sir; her winde instrument is out of tune.

Epi.  Call, cal.

Clown.  Do you heare, you low woman? hold not downe your head so for shame; creepe not thus into a corner, no honest woman loves to be fumbling thus in the darke.  Hang her; she has no tongue.

Epi.  Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none.

Clown.  Foxe, foxe, come out of your hole.

    An Angel ascends from the cave, singing.

Epi.  Horrour! what’s this?

Clown.  Alas, I know not what my selfe am.

    ANGEL SINGS.

    Fly, darknesse, fly in spight of Caves;
    Truth can thrust her armes through Graves. 
        No Tyrant shall confine
        A white soule that’s divine
        And does more brightly shine
        Than Moone or Sunne;
        She lasts when they are done.

Epi.  I am bewitcht, Mine Eyes faile me; lead me to [the] King.

Clown.  And tell we heard a Mermaide sing.

[Exeunt.

ANGEL SINGS.

Goe, fooles, and let your feares Glow as your sins[174] and eares; The good, how e’re trod under, Are Lawreld safe in thunder; Though lockt up in a Den One Angel frees you from an host of men.

        The Angel descends as the King enters, who comes
        in with his Lords, Epidophorus and the Clowne.

King.  Where is this piece of witchcraft?

Epi.  ’Tis vanish’d, Sir,

Clown.  ’Twas here, just at the Caves mouth, where shee lyes.

Anton.  What manner of thing was it?

Epi.  An admirable face, and when it sung All the Clouds danc’t methought above our heads,

Clown.  And all the ground under my heeles quak’t like a Bogge.

King.  Deluded slaves! these are turn’d Christians, too.

Epi.  The prisoners in my Iayle will not say so.

Clown.  Turnd Christians! it has ever beene my profession to fang[175] and clutch and to squeeze:  I was first a Varlet[176], then a Bumbaily, now an under Iailor.  Turn’d Christian!

King.  Breake up the Iron passage of the Cave And if the sorceresse live teare her in pieces.

    The Angel ascends agen.

Epi.  See, ’tis come agen.