Omnes.  Oh, horrible!

King.  Bring tortures.

Belliz.  So he will wash his soule white, as we doe, And fight under our Banner (bloody red), And hand in hand with us walke martyred.

Anton.  They mocke you.

King.  Stretch his body up by th’armes, And at his feete hang plummets.

Clown.  He shall be well shod for stroveling, I warrant you.

Cosmo. Eugenius, bow thy knee before our Jove, And the King gives thee mercy.

Dam.  Else stripes and death.

Eugen.  We come into the world but at one doore,
But twenty thousand gates stand open wide
To give us passage hence:  death then is easie,
And I defie all tortures.

King.  Then fasten the Cative;
I care not for thy wife:  Get from mine eyes
Thou tempting Lamia.  But, Bellizarius,
Before thy bodyes frame be puld in pieces,
Wilt thou forsake the errours thou art drencht in?

Belliz.  Errours? thou blasphemous and godlesse man,
From the great Axis maist thou as easie
With one arme plucke the Universall Globe,
As from my Center move me.  There’s my figure;
They are waves that beat a rock insensible
With an infatigable patience. 
My breast dares all your arrowes; shoote,—­shoote, all;
Your tortures are but struck against the wall,
Which, backe rebounding, hit your selves.

King.  Up with him.

Belliz.  Lay on more waights; that hangman which more brings Addes active feathers to my soaring wings.

(They draw him up.)

King. Victoria, yet save him.

Vict.  Keepe on thy flight, And be a bird of Paradise.

Omnes.  Give him more Irons.

Belliz.  More, more.

King.  Let him then goe; love thou and be my Queene, Daine but to love me.

Vict.  I am going to live with a farre greater King.

King.  Binde the coy strumpet; she dyes, too.  Let her braines be beaten on an Anvill:  For some new plagues for her!

Omnes.  Vexe him.

Belliz.  Doe more.

Vict.  Heavens, pardon you.

Eugen.  And strengthen him in all his sufferings.

        Two Angels descend.

    2 ANGEL SINGS.

Come, oh come, oh come away; A Quire of Angels for thee stay; A home where Diamonds borrow light, Open stands for thee this night, Night? no, no; here is ever day:  Come, oh come, oh come, oh come away.

1 Ang.  This battaile is thy last; fight well, and winne A Crowne set full of Starres.

Belliz.  I spy an arme Plucking [me] up to heaven; more waights, you are best; I shall be gone else.

Vict.  Doe, Ile follow thee.