2 Off.  If all these stiles, so hard to climbe over, belong to the office of a Constable, what kin is he to the Divell?

Const.  Why to the Devill, my friend?

Clown.  Ile tell you:  because a Constable is King of Nights and the other is Prince of Darknesse.

Const.  Darke as it is, by the twilight of my Lanthorne methinks I see a company of Woodcocks.

2 Off.  How can you discerne them?

    Enter Epidophorus, Victoria and Bellina.

Clown.  Oh excellent well, by their bills:  see, see, here comes the Lieutenant.

Epi.  Well sayd, my friends:  you keep good watch, I see.

Clown.  Yes, Sir, we Officers have breath as strong as Garlick:  no Christian by their good wills dare come neare us.

Epi.  ’Tis well, forbeare.—­
Oh, Madam, had you scene with what a vehemency
He did blaspheme the gods,
Like to a man pearcht on some lofty Spire
Amazed which way to relieve himselfe,
You would have stood, as did the King, amaz’d.

Vict.  God grant him liberty, And with that give us privacy; I doubt not But our sweet conference shall work much on him.

Epi. Iove grant it:  Ile leave the roome.
                                            [Exit Epi.

Clown.  A Iaylor seldome lookes for a bribe but hee’s prevented.

[Exeunt Officers.

Enter Bellizarius in his night-gown, with Epidophorus.

Epi.  My Lord, your Lady and her most beauteous daughter Are come to visit you, and here attend.

Belliz.  My Wife and Daughter? oh welcome, love, And blessing Crowne thee, my beloved Bellina.

Vict.  My Lord, pray leave us.

Epi.  Your will be your owne Law.
                                    [Exit Epidoph.

Vict.  Why study you, my Lord? why is your eye fixt On your Bellina more than on me?

Belliz.  Good, excellent good: 
What pretty showes our fancies represent us! 
My faire Bellina shines like to an Angel;
Has such a brightnesse in her Christall eyes
That even the radiancy duls my sight. 
See, my Victoria, lookes she not sweetly?

Vict.  Shee does, my Lord; but not much better than she was wont.

Belliz.  Oh shee but beginnes to shine as yet, But will I hope ere long be stellified.  Alas, my Victoria, thou look’st nothing like her.

Vict.  Not like her? why, my Lord?

Belliz.  Marke and Ile tell thee how: 
Thou art too much o’er growne with sinne and shame,
Hast pray’d too much, offered too much devotion
To him and those that can nor helpe nor hurt,
Which my Bellina has not: 
Her yeares in sinne are not, as thine are, old;
Therefore me thinks she’s fairer farre than thou.