. I am going to live with a farre greater King.

_King_. Binde the coy strumpet; she dyes, too.
Let her braines be beaten on an Anvill:
For some new plagues for her!

_Omnes_. Vexe him.

_Belliz_. Doe more.

_Vict_. Heavens, pardon you.

_Eugen_. And strengthen him in all his sufferings.

_Two Angels descend_.

2 ANGEL SINGS.

_Come, oh come, oh come away;
A Quire of Angels for thee stay;
A home where Diamonds borrow light,
Open stands for thee this night,
Night? no, no; here is ever day:
Come, oh come, oh come, oh come away_.

1 _Ang_. This battaile is thy last; fight well, and winne
A Crowne set full of Starres.

_Belliz_. I spy an arme
Plucking [me] up to heaven; more waights, you are best;
I shall be gone else.

_Vict_. Doe, Ile follow thee.

_King_. Is he not yet dispatcht?

_Belliz_. Yes, King, I thanke thee;
I have all my life time trod on rotten ground,
And still so deepe beene sinking that my soule
Was oft like to bee lost; but now I see
A guide, sweete guide, a blessed messenger
Who having brought me up a little way
Up yonder hill, I then am sure to buy
For a few stripes here rich eternity.

2 ANGEL SINGS.

_Victory, victory! hell is beaten downe,
The Martyr has put on a golden Crowne;
Ring Bels of Heaven, him welcome hither,
Circle him Angels round together_.

1 _Angel_. Follow!

_Vict_. I will; what sacred voice cryes 'follow'!
I am ready: Oh send me after him.

_King_. Thou shalt not,
Till thou hast fed my lust.

_Vict_. Thou foole, thou canst not;
All my mortality is shaken off;
My heart of flesh and blood is gone; my body
Is chang'd; this face is not that once was mine.
I am a Spirit, and no racke of thine
Can touch me.

_King_. Not a racke of mine shall touch thee.
Why should the world loose such a paire of Sunnes
As shine out from thine eyes? Why art thou cruell,
To make away thy selfe and murther mee?
Since whirle-winds cannot shake thee thou shalt live,
And Ile fanne gentle gales upon thy face.
Fetch me a day bed, rob the earths perfumes
Of all the ravishing sweetes to feast her sence;
Pillowes of roses shall beare up her head;
O would a thousand springs might grow in one
To weave a flowry mantle o're her limbes
As she lyes downe.

_Enter two Angels about the bed_.

_Vict_. O that some rocke of Ice
Might fall on me and freeze me into nothing.

_King_. Enchant our [her?] eares with Musicke; would