_What are earthly honours
But sins glorious banners?
Let not golden gifts delight thee,
Let not death nor torments fright thee;
From thy place thy Captaine gives thee
When thou faintest he relieves thee.
Hearke, how the Larke
Is to the Morning singing;
Harke how the Bells are ringing.
It is for joy that thou to Heaven art flying:
This is not life, true life is got by dying_.
_Eugen_. The light and sound are vanisht, but my feare
Sticks still upon my forehead: what's written here? (_Reads_.)
Goe, and the bold Physitian play;
But touch the King and drive away
The paine he feeles; but first assay
To free the Christians: if the King pay
Thy service ill, expect a day
When for reward thou shalt not stay.
All writ in golden Letters and cut so even
As if some hand had hither reacht from Heaven
To print this Paper.
_Enter Epidophorus_.
_Epi_. Come, you must to the King.
_Eugen_. I am so laden with Irons
I scarce can goe.
_Epi_. Wyer-whips shall drive you,
The King is counsell'd for his health to bath him
In the warme blood of Christians; and you, I thinke,
Must give him ease.
_Eugen_. Willingly; my fetters
Hang now, methinks, like feathers at my heeles.
On, any whither; I can runne, sir.
_Epi_. Can you? not very farre, I feare.
_Eugen_. No windes my Faith shake, nor rock[s] split in sunder:
The poore ship's tost here, my strong Anchor's yonder.
[_Exeunt_.
(SCENE 3.)
_Enter Bellizarius and Hubert_.
_Hub_. My Lord?
_Belliz_. Ha!
_Hub_. Affraid in a close room where no foe comes
Unlesse it be a Weezle or a Rat
(And those besiege your Larder or your Pantry),
Whom the arm'd Foe never frighted in the field?
_Belliz_. 'Tis true, my Lord, there danger was a safety; here
To be secure I thinke most dangerous.
Or what could[157] famine, wounds or all th'extreames
That still attend a Souldiers actions
Could not destroy, one sillable from a Kings breath
Can thus, thus easily win.
_Hub_. Oh, 'tis their long observed policy
To turne away these roaring boyes
When they intend to rock licentious thoughts
In a soft roome, where every long Cushion is
Embroydered with old Histories of peace,
And all the hangings of Warre thrust into the Wardrobe
Till they grow musty or moth-eaten.
_Belliz_. One of those rusty Monuments am I.
_Hub_. A little oyle of favour will secure thee agen,
And make thee shine as bright as in that day
We wonne the famous battaile 'gainst the Christians.
_Enter Bellina and kneeles weeping_.
_Belliz_. Never, _Hubert_, never.
What newes now, Girle? thy heart
So great it cannot tell me?
_Hub_. Sfoot, why shouldst thou be troubled, that art thus visited? Let
the King put me into any roome, the closer the better, and turne but
such a keeper to me, and if ever I strive to runne away, though the
doores be open, may the Virgins curse destroy me, and let me lamentably
and most unmanly dye of the Greene-sicknesse.
_Belliz_. My blessing bring thee patience, gentle Girle;
It is the best thy wronged Father can
Invoke for thee.--Tis my _Bellina, Hubert_:
Know her, honour'd Sir, and pittie her.
_Hub_. How sweetly she becomes the face of woe!
Shee teacheth misery to court her beauty
And to affliction lends a lovely looke.
Happy folkes would sell their blessings for her griefes
But to be sure to meete them thus.
_Bellina_. My honourd Father, your griev'd Daughter thus
Thrice every day to Heaven lifts her poore hand
And payes her vowes to the incensed Powers
For your release and happy patience,
And will grow old in vowes unto those Powers
Till they fall on me loaden with my wishes.
_Belliz_. Thou art the comfort of my Treasure, Girle:
Wee'le live together, if it please the King,
And tell sad Stories of thy wretched Mother;
Give equall sighes to one anothers griefe,
And by discourse of happinesse to come
Trample upon our present miseries.
_Hub_. There is a violent fire runnes round about me,
Which my sighes blow to a consuming flame.
To be her Martyr is a happinesse,
The sainted souls would change their merit for it.
Methinkes griefe dwells about her purest eyes,
As if it begg'd a pardon for those teares
Exhausted hence and onely due to love:
Her Vaile hangs like a Cloud over her face,
Through which her beauty, like a glimmering Starre,
Gives a transparent lustre to the night,
As if no sorrow could Ecclipse her light:
Her lips, as they discourse, methinks, looke pale
For feare they should not kisse agen; but, met,
They blush for joy, as happy Lovers doe
After a long divorce when they encounter.
_Belliz_. Noble Lord, if you dare lose so much precious time
As to be companion to my misery
But one poor houre,
And not esteeme your selfe too prodigall
For that expence, this wretched Maid my Child
Shall waite upon you with her sorrows stories;
Vouchsafe but you to heare it.
_Hub_. Yes, with full eare.
_Belliz_. To your best thoughts I leave you;
I will but read, and answer this my Letter.
[_Exit. Belliz_.
_Bellina_. Why do you, seeme to loose your eyes on me?
Here's nothing but a pile of wretchednesse;
A branch that every way is shooke at roote
And would (I think) even fall before you now,
But that Divinity which props it up
Inspires it full of comfort, since the Cause
My father suffers for gives a full glory
To his base fetters of Captivity.
And I beseech you, Sir, if there but dwell
So much of Vertue in you as your lookes
Seeme to expresse possesse your honour'd thoughts,
Bestow your pitty on us, not your scorne;
And wish, for goodnesse sake and your soules weale,
You were a sharer in these sufferings,
So the same cause expos'd your fortunes too't.
_Hub_. Oh, happy woman, know I suffer more,
And for a cause as iust.
_Bellina_. Be proud then of that tryumph; but I am yet
A stranger to the Character of what
You say you suffer for. Is it for Conscience?
_Hub_. For love, divine perfection.
_Bellina_. If of Heaven's love, how rich is your reward!
_Hub_. Of Heaven's best blessing, your most perfect selfe.
_Bellina_. Alas, Sir, here perfection keeps no Court,
Love dresses here no wanton amorous bowers;
Sorrow has made perpetuall winter here,
And all my thoughts are Icie, past the reach
Of what Loves fires can thaw.
_Hub_. Oh doe but take away a part of that
My breast is full of, of that holy fire
The Queene of Loves faire Altar holds not purer
Nor more effectuall; and, sweet, if then
You melt not into passion for my wounds,
Effuse your Virgin vowes to chaine mine ears,
Weepe on my necke and with your fervent sighes
Infuse a soule of comfort into me;
He break the Altar of the foolish God,
Proclaime them guilty of Idolatry
That sacrifice to _Cytheraeas_ sonne.
_Bellina_. Did not my present fortunes and my vowes,
Register'd in the Records of Heaven,
Tye me too strictly from such thoughts as these,
I feare me I should softly yeeld to what
My yet condition has beene stranger to.
To love, my Lord, is to be miserable.
_Hub_. Oh to thy sweetnesse Envy would prove kind,
Tormentor humble, no pale Murderer;
And the Page of death a smiling Courtier.
_Venus_ must then, to give thee noble welcome,
Perfume her Temple with the breath of Nunnes,
Not _Vesta's_ but her owne; with Roses strow
The paths that bring thee to her blessed shrine;
Cloath all her Altares in her richest Robes
And hang her walles with stories of such loves
Have rais'd her Tryumphs; and 'bove all at last
Record this day, the happy day in which
_Bellina_ prov'd to love a Convertite.
Be mercifull and save me.
_Bellina_. You are defil'd with Seas of Christians blood,
An enemy to Heaven and which is good;
And cannot be a loving friend to me.
_Hub_. If I have sinn'd forgive me, you iust powers:
My ignorance, not cruelty has don't.
And here I vow my selfe to be hereafter
What ere _Bellina_ shall instruct me in:
For she was never made but to possesse
The highest Mansion 'mongst your Dignities,
Nor can Heaven let her erre.
_Bellina_. On that condition thus I spread my armes,
Whose chaste embraces ne're toucht man before;
And will to _Hubert_ all the favour shew
His vertuous love can covet.
I will be ever his; goe thou to Warre,
These hands shall arme thee; and Ile watch thy Tent
Till from the battaile thou bring'st victory.
In peace Ile sit by thee and read or sing
Stanzaes of chaste love, of love purifi'd
From desires drossie blacknesse; nay when our clouds
Of ignorance are quite vanisht, and that a holy
Religious knot between us may be tyed,
_Bellina_ here vowes to be _Hubert's_ bride:
Else doe I sweare perpetuall chastity.
_Hub_. Thy vowes I seale, be thou my ghostly Tutor;
And, all my actions levell'd to thy thoughts,
I am thy Creature.
_Bellina_. Let Heaven, too, but now propitious prove
And for thy soule thou hast wonne a happy love.
Come, shall we to my Father.
[_Exeunt_.
(_Soft Musick_)
(SCENE 4.)
_Enter the King on his bed, two Physitians,
Anthony Damianus and Cosmo_.
_King_. Are you Physitians?
Are you those men that proudly call your selves
The helps of Nature?
_Ant_. Oh, my good Lord, have patience.
_King_. What should I doe? lye like a patient Asse?
Feele my selfe tortur'd by this diffused poyson,
But tortur'd more by these unsavoury drugges?
_Ant_. Come one of you your selves and speake to him.