rning cough pittifully; upon which I gave her
a messe of Porredge piping-hot.

_Epi_. Thou Dog, 'tis Death.

_Clown_. Nay but, Sir, I powr'd 'em downe scalding as they were on her
head, because they say they are good for a cold, and I thinke that
kill'd her; for to try if she were alive or no I did but even now tye a
Crust to a packe-threed on a pinne, but shee leapt not at it; so that I
am sure shee's worms meate by this.

_Epi_. Rewards in golden showers shall raine upon us,
Be thy words true: fall downe and kisse the earth.

_Clown_. Kisse earth? Why? and so many wenches come to the Iayle?

_Epi_. Slave, downe and clap thy eare to the caves mouth
And make me glad or heavy; if she speake not
I shall cracke my ribs and spend my spleene in laughter;
But if thou hear'st her pant I am gon.

_Clown_. Farewell, then.

_Epi_. Breaths shee?

_Clown_. No, Sir; her winde instrument is out of tune.

_Epi_. Call, cal.

_Clown_. Do you heare, you low woman? hold not downe your head so for
shame; creepe not thus into a corner, no honest woman loves to be
fumbling thus in the darke. Hang her; she has no tongue.

_Epi_. Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none.

_Clown_. Foxe, foxe, come out of your hole.

_An Angel ascends from the cave, singing_.

_Epi_. Horrour! what's this?

_Clown_. Alas, I know not what my selfe am.

ANGEL SINGS.

_Fly, darknesse, fly in spight of Caves;
Truth can thrust her armes through Graves.
No Tyrant shall confine
A white soule that's divine
And does more brightly shine
Than Moone or Sunne;
She lasts when they are done_.

_Epi_. I am bewitcht,
Mine Eyes faile me; lead me to [the] King.

_Clown_. And tell we heard a Mermaide sing.

[_Exeunt_.

ANGEL SINGS.

_Goe, fooles, and let your feares
Glow as your sins[174] and eares;
The good, how e're trod under,
Are Lawreld safe in thunder;
Though lockt up in a Den
One Angel frees you from an host of men_.

_The Angel descends as the King enters, who comes
in with his Lords, Epidophorus and the Clowne_.

_King_. Where is this piece of witchcraft?

_Epi_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir,

_Clown_. 'Twas here, just at the Caves mouth, where shee lyes.

_Anton_. What manner of thing was it?

_Epi_. An admirable face, and when it sung
All the Clouds danc't methought above our heads,

_Clown_. An