Belliz.  Poore King, I sorrow for thy weakned sence,
Wishing thy eye-sight cleare that Eagle-like,
As I doe now, thou might’st gaze on the Sunne,
The Sunne of brightnesse, Sunne of peace, of plenty. 
Made you me great in that you made me miserable,
Thy selfe more wretched farre? in that thy hand
The Engine was to make me persecute
Those Christian soules whom I have sent to death,
For which I ever, ever shall lament?

King.  Ha, what’s this?—­Within there!

Belliz.  Nay, heare me, Henrick, and when thou hast heard me out With Bellizarius thinke that thou art blest If that with me thou canst participate.

King.  Thou art mad.

Belliz.  No; ’tis thou art mad,
And with thy frenzie make this Kingdome franticke. 
Forgive me, thou great Power in whom I trust,
Forgive me, World, and blot out all my deeds
From those black Kalends; else, when I lye dead,
My Name will ever lie in obliquie. 
Is it a Sinne that can make great men good? 
Is prophanation turn’d to sanctity,
Vices to vertues? if such disorder stand
Then Bellizarius Acts may be held iust;
Otherwise nothing.

King.  Some Furie hath possest my Bellizarius That thus he railes.  Oh, my dearest, Call on great Iupiter.

Belliz.  Alas, poore Idoll! 
On him! on him that is not, unlesse made: 
Had I your Iove I’de tosse him in the Ayre,
Or sacrifice him to his fellow-gods
And see what he could doe to save himselfe. 
You call him Thunderer, shaker of Olympus,
The onely and deare Father of all gods;
When silly love is shooke with every winde,
A fingers touch can hurle him from his Throne. 
Is this a thing to be ador’d or pray’d too?

King.  My love turnes now to rage.—­Attendance there,
    Enter all the Lords. 
And helpe to binde this mad man, that’s possest!—­
By the powers that we adore thou dyest.

Belliz.  Here me, thou ignorant King, you dull-brain’d Lords,
Oh heare me for your owne sakes, for your soules sake: 
Had you as many gods as you have dayes,
As once the Assyrians had, yet have yee nothing. 
Such service as they gave such you may give,
And have reward as had the blinde Molossians: 
A Toad one day they worship; one of them drunke
A health with ’s god and poyson’d so himselfe. 
Therefore with me looke up, and as regenerate soules—­

Dam.  Can you suffer this? 
This his affront will scare up the devotion
Of all your people.  He that persecuted
Become a convertite!

Belliz.  ’Tis ioy above my ioy:  oh, had you scene
What these eyes saw, you would not then
Disswade me from it; nor will I leave that power
By whom I finde such infinite contentments.

Hen. Epidophorus; your eare:—­see’t done.