Eug.  Your Gods! wretched soules!

King.  My worke is done; and, Henricke, as thou lov’st
Thy Fathers soule, see every thing perform’d. 
This last iniunction tyes thee:  so, farewell. 
Let those I hated in thy hate still dwell,
I meane the Christians.
                                 (Dyes.)

Hen.  Oh, what a deale of greatnesse Is struck down at one blow.

Hub.  Give me a battell:  ’Tis brave being struck downe there.

Anth. Henrick, my Lord,
And now my Soveraigne, I am by office bound
To offer to your Royall hands this Crowne
Which on my knees I tender, all being ready
To set it on your head.

Omnes.  Ascend your throne:  Long live the King of Vandals and of Goths, The mighty Henrick.

 Hen.  What must now be done?

Anth.  By me each Officer of State resignes The Patten that he holds his office by, To be dispos’d as best shall please your Grace.

Hen.  And I returne them back to all their trusts.  I rise in clouds, my Morning is begun From the eternall set of a bright sunne.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE 2.)

    Drumnel flourish:  Enter Victoria and Bellina with servants.

To gratulate his safe and wisht Arrival. 
Let Musick with her sweet-tongu’d Rhetorick
Take out those horrours which the loud clamoures
Of Warres harsh harmony hath long besieg’d
His tender sences with.  Your Father’s come, Bellina.

Bell.  I feele the ioy of it with you, sweet Mother, And am as ready to receive a blessing from him As you his chaste imbraces.

Vic.  So, so, bestirre; Let all our loves and duties be exprest In our most diligent and active care.

    Enter Bellizarius.

Here comes my comfort-bringer,
My Bellizarius.

Belliz.  Dearest Victoria; My second ioy, take thou a Fathers blessing.

Vic.  Not wounded, Sir, I hope?

Belliz.  No, Victoria;
Those were Rewards that we bestow’d on others;
We gave, but tooke none backe.  Had we not you
At home to heare our noble Victories
Our Fame should want her Crowne, although she flew
As high as yonder Axle tree above
And spred in latitude throughout the world. 
We have subdu’d those men of strange beleefe
Which Christians call themselves; a race of people
—­This must I speake of them—­as resolute
And full of courage in their bleeding falls
As should they tryumph for a Victory. 
When the last groanes of many thousand mett
And like commixed Whirlwindes fill’d our eares.