A Thunder-bolt strikes him.

Omnes.  The King is strucke with thunder!

Eugen.  Thankes, Divine Powers; Yours be the triumph and the wonder ours.

Anton.  Unbinde him till a new King fill the throne; And he shall doome him.

A Hubert, a Hubert, a Hubert!

Flourish:  Enter Hubert, armed with shields and swords. 
Bellina and a company of Souldiers with him.

Hub.  What meanes this cry, ‘a Hubert’?  Where’s your King?

Omnes.  Strucke dead by thunder.

Hub.  So I heare; you see, then,
There is an arme more rigorous than your Iove,
An arme stretcht from above to beate down Gyants,
The mightiest Kings on Earth, for all their shoulders
Carry Colossi heads:  the memory
Of Genzericks name dyes here:  Henricke gives buriall
To the successive glory of that race
Who had both voyce and title to the Crowne,
And meanes to guard it.—­Who must now be King?

Anton.  We know not till we call the Lords together.

Hub.  What Lords?

Cosmo.  Our selves and others.

Hub.  Who makes you Lords?  The Tree upon whose boughs your honours grew, Your Lordships and your lives, is falne to th’ground.

Dam.  We stand on our owne strength.

Hub.  Who must be King?

Within:  A Hubert, a Hubert a Hubert!

Hub.  Deliver to my hand that reverent [sic] man.

Epi.  Take him and torture him, for he cald down Vengeance On Henricks head.

Hub.  Good Eugenius, lift thy hands up,
For thou art say’d from Henricke and from these. 
You heare what ecchoes
Rebound from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth,
Casting the name of King onely on me? 
This golden apple is a tempting fruit;
It is within my reach; this sword can touch it,
And lop the weake branch off on which it hangs. 
Which of you all would spurne at such a Starre,
Lay it i’th the dust when ’tis let down from heaven
For him to weare?

Anton.  Who then must weare that Starre?

Within:  Hubert, Hubert, Hubert!

Hub.  The Oracle tells you; Oracle? ’tis a voyce
From above tells you; for the peoples tongues,
When they pronounce good things, are ty’d to chaines
Of twenty thousand linkes, which chaines are held
By one supernall hand, and cannot speake
But what that hand will suffer.  I have then
The people on my side; I have the souldiers;
I have that army which your rash young King
Had bent against the Christians,—­they now are mine: 
I am the Center, and they all are lines
Meeting in me.  If, therefore, these strong sinewes,
The Souldiers and the Commons, have a vertue
To lift me into the Throne, Ile leape into it. 
Will you consent or no? be quick in answer;
I must be swift in execution else.