Foure hundred Virgins ravisht.

_King_. Christian Whores; common, 'tis common.

_Anth_. And then their trembling bodies tost on the Pikes
Of those that spoyl'd 'em, sacrific'd to _Pallas_.

_King_. More, more; hang Mayden-heads, Christian Maiden-heads.

_Anth_. This leafe is full of tortur'd Christians:
Some pauncht, some starv'd, some eyes and braines bor'd out,
Some whipt to death, some torne by Lyons.

_King_. _Damianus_, I cannot live to heare my service out;
Such haste the Gods make to reward me.

_Omnes_. Looke to the King. (_Shouts within_.)

_Enter Hubert_.

_King_. What shouts are these? see, _Cosmo_.

_Cosmo_. Good newes, my Lord; here comes _Hubert_ from the warres.

_Hub_. Long life and health wait ever on the King.

_King_. _Hubert_, thy wishes are come short of both.
Hast thou good newes? be briefe then and speake quickly:
I must else heare thee in another World.

_Hub_. In briefe, then, know: _Henrick_, your valiant sonne,
With _Bellizarius_ and my selfe come laden
With spoiles to lay them at your feet.
What lives the sword spar'd serve to grace your Triumph,
Till from your lips they have the doome of death.

_King_. What are they?

_Hub_. Christians, and their Chiefe a Church-man,
_Eugenius_, Bishop of _Carthage_, and with him
Seven hundred Captives more, all Christians.

_King_. Hold, Death; let me a little taste these ioyes,
Then take me ravisht hence. Glad mine eyes, _Hubert_,
With the victorious Boy.

_Hub_. Your Starre comes shining.
[_Exit Hubert_.

_King_. Lift me a little higher, yet more:
Doe the Immortall Powers poure blessings downe,
And shall I not returne them?

_Omnes_. See, they come.

_A Flourish; Enter Henricke the Prince, Bellizarius, Hubert,
leading Eugenius in Chaines with other Prisoners and Souldiers_.

_King_. I have now liv'd my full time; tell me, my _Henricke_,[135]
Thy brave successe, that my departing soule
May with the story blesse another world
And purchase me a passage.

_Hen_. O, great Sir,
All we have done dyes here if that you dye,
And heaven, before too prodigal to us,
Shedding beames over-glorious on our heads,
Is now full of Eclipses.

_King_. No, boy; thy presence
Has fetcht life home to heare thee.

_Hen_. Then, Royal Father, thus:
Before our Troopes had reacht the _Affrick_ bounds,
Wearied with tedious Marches and those dangers
Which waite on g