The Spanish Tragedy

Texto utilizado para esta edición digital:
Kyd, Thomas. The Spanish Tragedy. Edited by T.W. Craik. In: Craik, T.W. (ed.) Minor Elizabethan Tragedies. London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1974.

Adaptación digital para EMOTHE:

Barreda Villafranca, Cristina (Artelope)

Introducción del editor digital

Modifications unique to the EMOTHE digital edition:
Speech prefixes have been expanded, and when needed, added (e.g. III.xiii.1)
All the 1602 quarto “additions” are printed in italics and enfolded by superscript abbreviations Q4, including the stage directions in II.i.69 and 79 that Craik inserts between square brackets.
In III.ii, the second “addition” has been transposed from Craik’s footnote to the main body of the text, and the following “direction” added:
[The last two lines are replaced, in all the quartos from 1602 onwards, by the following lines.]
In IV.iv, section signs “§” have been placed at the beginning and end of the twenty-four lines in the 1592 quarto that are replaced by the fifth “addition”; and whereas Craik inserts the first part of the fifth “addition” in the main text, and the second part in a footnote, this edition includes the whole “additional” passage in the main text, preceded by the following “direction”:
[The previous twenty-four lines, signposted between § signs, are replaced, in all the quartos from 1602 onwards, by the following “addition”.]
Minor corrections:
- II.iv.78 O no] On no

Elenco

Ghost of Andrea, chorus

a Spanish nobleman, chorus

Revenge, chorus

KING OF SPAIN

CYPRIAN DUKE OF CASTILE, his brother

LORENZO, the Duke’s son

BEL-IMPERIA, Lorenzo’s sister

VICEROY OF PORTUGAL

BALTHAZAR, his son

DON PEDRO, the Viceroy’s brother

HIERONIMO, Marshal of Spain

ISABELLA, his wife

HORATIO, their son

Spanish General

Deputy

DON BAZULTO, an old man

Three Citizens

Portuguese Ambassador

ALEXANDRO, portuguese Nobleman

VILLUPPO, Portuguese Nobleman

Two Portuguese

PEDRINGANO, Bel-imperia’s servant

CHRISTOPHIL, Bel-imperia’s custodian

Lorenzo’s Page

SERBERINE, Balthazar’s servant

Isabella’s Maid

Messenger

Hangman

Three Kings and three Knights in the first Dumb-show.

Hymen and two torch-bearers in the second

BAZARDO, a Painter

PEDRO, Hieronimo’s servant

JAQUES, Hieronimo’s servant

Army

Noblemen

Halberdiers

Officers

Three Watchmen

Drummer

Trumpeters

Servants

Act I

[SCENE I]

Enter the Ghost of Andrea, and with him Revenge.

GHOST

When this eternal substance of my soul

Did live imprison’d in my wanton flesh,

Each in their function serving other’s need,

I was a courtier in the Spanish court.

My name was Don Andrea; my descent,

Though not ignoble, yet inferior far

To gracious fortunes of my tender youth:

For there in prime and pride of all my years,

By duteous service and deserving love,

In secret I possess’d a worthy dame,

Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.

But in the harvest of my summer joys

Death’s winter nipp’d the blossoms of my bliss,

Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me.

For in the late conflict with Portingale

My valour drew me into danger’s mouth

Till life to death made passage through my wounds.

When I was slain, my soul descended straight

To pass the flowing stream of Acheron;

But churlish Charon, only boatman there,

Said that, my rites of burial not perform’d,

I might not sit amongst his passengers.

Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis’ lap

And slaked his smoking chariot in her flood,

By Don Horatio, our Knight Marshal’s son,

My funerals and obsequies were done.

Then was the ferryman of hell content

To pass me over to the slimy strand

That leads to fell Avernus’ ugly waves.

There, pleasing Cerberus with honey’d speech,

I pass’d the perils of the foremost porch.

Not far from hence, amidst ten thousand souls,

Sat Minos, Aeacus and Rhadamanth,

To whom no sooner gan I make approach

To crave a passport for my wandering ghost,

But Minos’ engraven leaves of lottery

Drew forth the manner of my life and death.

‘This knight’, quoth he, ‘both liv’d and died in love,

And for his love tried fortune of the wars,

And by war’s fortune lost both love and life’.

‘Why then’, said Aeacus, ‘convey him hence

To walk with lovers in our fields of love,

And spend the course of everlasting time

Under green myrtle trees and cypress shades’.

‘No, no’, said Rhadamanth, ‘it were not well

With loving souls to place a martialist.

He died in war, and must to martial fields,

Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain,

And Achilles’ Myrmidons do scour the plain’.

Then Minos, mildest censor of the three,

Made this device to end the difference:

‘Send him’, quoth he, ‘to our infernal king

To doom him as best seems his majesty’.

To this effect my passport straight was drawn.

In keeping on my way to Pluto’s court

Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night,

I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell,

Or pens can write, or mortal hearts can think.

Three ways there were. That on the right hand side

Was ready way unto the foresaid fields

Where lovers live and bloody martialists,

But either sort contain’d within his bounds.

The left hand path, declining fearfully,

Was ready downfall to the deepest hell,

Where bloody Furies shakes their whips of steel,

And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel;

Where usurers are chok’d with melting gold,

And wantons are embrac’d with ugly snakes,

And murderers groan with never-killing wounds,

And perjur’d wights scalded in boiling lead,

And all foul sins with torments overwhelm’d.

’Twixt these two ways I trod the middle path,

Which brought me to the fair Elysian green,

In midst whereof there stands a stately tower,

The walls of brass, the gates of adamant.

Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine,

I show’d my passport, humbled on my knee,

Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile,

And begg’d that only she might give my doom.

Pluto was pleas’d and seal’d it with a kiss.

Forthwith, Revenge, she rounded thee in th’ear,

And bade thee lead me through the gates of horn,

Where dreams have passage in the silent night.

No sooner had she spoke but we were here —

I wot not how —in twinkling of an eye.

REVENGE

Then know, Andrea, that thou art arriv’d

ErrorMetrica

Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,

Don Balthazar, the Prince of Portingale,

Depriv’d of life by Bel-imperia.

Here sit we down to see the mystery,

And serve for chorus in this tragedy.

[SCENE II]

Enter SPANISH KING, GENERAL, CASTILE, and HIERONIMO.

KING

Now say, Lord General, how fares our camp?

GENERAL

All well, my sovereign liege, except some few

That are deceas'd by fortune of the war.

KING

But what portends thy cheerful countenance

And posting to our presence thus in haste?

Speak, man, hath fortune given us victory?

GENERAL

Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.

KING

Our Portingales will pay us tribute then?

GENERAL

Tribute and wonted homage therewithal.

KING

Then bless'd be heaven and guider of the heavens,

From whose fair influence such justice flows.

CASTILE

O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,

Et conjuratae curvato poplite gentes

Succumbunt: recti soror est victoria juris.

KING

Thanks to my loving brother of Castile.

But, General, unfold in brief discourse

Your form of battle and your war’s success,

That, adding all the pleasure of thy news

Unto the height of former happiness,

With deeper wage and greater dignity

We may reward thy blissful chivalry.

GENERAL

Where Spain and Portingale do jointly knit

Their frontiers, leaning on each other’s bound,

There met our armies in their proud array;

Both furnish'd well, both full of hope and fear,

Both menacing alike with daring shows,

Both vaunting sundry colours of device,

Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes,

Both raising dreadful clamours to the sky,

That valleys, hills, and rivers made rebound,

And heaven itself was frighted with the sound.

Our battles both were pitch'd in squadron form,

Each corner strongly fenc'd with wings of shot;

But ere we join'd and came to push of pike,

I brought a squadron of our readiest shot

From out our rearward to begin the fight;

They brought another wing to encounter us.

Meanwhile, our ordnance play'd on either side,

And captains strove to have their valours tried.

Don Pedro, their chief horsemen’s colonel,

Did with his cornet bravely make attempt

To break the order of our battle ranks.

But Don Rogero, worthy man of war,

March'd forth against him with our musketeers,

And stopp'd the malice of his fell approach

While they maintain hot skirmish too and fro,

Both battles join and fall to handy blows,

Their violent shot resembling th’ocean’s rage

When, roaring loud and with a swelling tide,

It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks

And gapes to swallow neighbour-bounding lands.

Now while Bellona rageth here and there,

Thick storms of bullets rain like winter’s hail,

And shivered lances dark the troubled air.

Pede pes et cuspide cuspis;

Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro.

On every side drop captains to the ground,

And soldiers, some ill-maim’d, some slain outright;

Here falls a body sundered from his head,

There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass,

Mingled with weapons and unbowell’d steeds

That, scattering, overspread the purple plain.

In all this turmoil, three long hours and more

The victory to neither part inclined,

Till Don Andrea with his brave lancers

In their main battle made so great a breach

That, half dismayed, the multitude retired.

But Balthazar, the Portingales’ young prince,

Brought rescue and encouraged them to stay.

Here-hence the fight was eagerly renewed,

And in that conflict was Andrea slain,

Brave man-at-arms, but weak to Balthazar.

Yet while the Prince, insulting over him,

Breathed out proud vaunts sounding to our reproach,

Friendship and hardy valour, joined in one,

Pricked forth Horatio, our Knight Marshal’s son,

To challenge forth that Prince in single fight.

Not long between these twain the fight endured,

But straight the Prince was beaten from his horse

And forced to yield him prisoner to his foe.

When he was taken, all the rest they fled,

And our carbines pursued them to the death

Till, Phoebus waning to the western deep,

Our trumpeters were charged to sound retreat.

KING

Thanks, good Lord General, for these good news,

And, for some argument of more to come,

Take this and wear it for thy sovereign’s sake.

Gives him his chain.

But tell me now, hast thou confirmed a peace?

GENERAL

No peace, my liege, but peace conditional,

That if with homage tribute be well paid,

The fury of your forces will be stayed.

And to this peace their Viceroy hath subscribed,

Gives the King a paper.

And made a solemn vow that during life

His tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.

KING

These words, these deeds, become thy person well. —

But now, Knight Marshal, frolic with thy King,

For ’tis thy son that wins this battle’s prize.

HIERONIMO

Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege,

And soon decay unless he serve my liege.

KING

100

Nor thou nor he shall die without reward.

A tucket afar off.

What means this warning of this trumpet’s sound?

GENERAL

This tells me that your grace’s men of war,

Such as war’s fortune hath reserved from death,

Come marching on towards your royal seat

105

To show themselves before your majesty —

For so I gave in charge at my depart —

Whereby by demonstration shall appear

That all, except three hundred or few more,

Are safe returned and by their foes enriched.

The army enters; BALTHAZAR, between LORENZO and HORATIO, captive.

KING

110

A gladsome sight! I long to see them here!

They enter and pass by.

Was that the warlike Prince of Portingale,

That by our nephew was in triumph led?

GENERAL

It was, my liege, the Prince of Portingale.

KING

But what was he that on the other side

115

Held him by th’ arm as partner of the prize?

HIERONIMO

That was my son, my gracious sovereign,

Of whom though from his tender infancy

My loving thoughts did never hope but well,

He never pleas’d his father’s eyes till now,

120

Nor fill’d my heart with over-cloying joys.

KING

Go, let them march once more about these walls,

That, staying them, we may confer and talk

With our brave prisoner and his double guard.

Hieronimo, it greatly pleaseth us

125

That in our victory thou have a share

By virtue of thy worthy son’s exploit.

Enter again.

Bring hither the young Prince of Portingale:

The rest march on, but ere they be dismiss’d,

We will bestow on every soldier

130

Two ducats, and on every leader ten,

That they may know our largess welcomes them.

Exeunt all [the army] but Balthazar, Lorenzo, and Horatio.

Welcome, Don Balthazar; welcome, nephew;

And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too.

Young Prince, although thy father’s hard misdeeds

135

In keeping back the tribute that he owes

Deserve but evil measure at our hands,

Yet shalt thou know that Spain is honourable.

BALTHAZAR

The trespass that my father made in peace

Is now controll’d by fortune of the wars;

140

And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so.

His men are slain, a weakening to his realm;

His colours seiz’d, a blot unto his name;

His son distress’d, a corsive to his heart:

These punishments may clear his late offence.

KING

145

Ay, Balthazar, if he observe this truce,

Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars.

Meanwhile, live thou, though not in liberty,

Yet free from bearing any servile yoke;

For, in our hearing, thy deserts were great,

150

And, in our sight, thyself art gracious.

BALTHAZAR

And I shall study to deserve this grace.

KING

But tell me, —for their holding makes me doubt—

To which of these twain art thou prisoner?

LORENZO

To me, my liege.

HORATIO

To me, my sovereign.

LORENZO

155

This hand first took his courser by the reins.

HORATIO

But first my lance did put him from his horse.

LORENZO

I seiz’d his weapon and enjoy’d it first.

HORATIO

But first I forc’d him lay his weapons down.

KING

Let go his arm, upon our privilege.

Let him go.

160

Say, worthy Prince, to whether did’st thou yield?

BALTHAZAR

To him in courtesy, to this perforce:

He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes;

He promis’d life, this other threaten’d death;

He won my love, this other conquer’d me;

165

And truth to say, I yield myself to both.

HIERONIMO

But that I know your grace for just and wise,

And might seem partial in this difference,

Enforc’d by nature and by law of arms

My tongue should plead for young Horatio’s right.

170

He hunted well that was a lion’s death,

Not he that in a garment wore his skin;

So hares may pull dead lions by the beard.

KING

Content thee, Marshal, thou shalt have no wrong,

And, for thy sake, thy son shall want no right.

175

Will both abide the censure of my doom?

LORENZO

I crave no better than your grace awards.

HORATIO

Nor I, although I sit beside my right.

KING

Then by my judgement, thus your strife shall end:

You both deserve and both shall have reward.

180

Nephew, thou took’st his weapon and his horse:

His weapons and his horse are thy reward.

Horatio, thou did’st force him first to yield:

His ransom therefore is thy valour’s fee;

Appoint the sum as you shall both agree.

185

But, nephew, thou shalt have the Prince in guard,

For thine estate best fitteth such a guest:

Horatio’s house were small for all his train.

Yet, in regard thy substance passeth his,

And that just guerdon may befall desert,

190

To him we yield the armour of the Prince.

How likes Don Balthazar of this device?

BALTHAZAR

Right well, my liege, if this provison were,

That Don Horatio bear us company,

Whom I admire and love for chivalry.

KING

195

Horatio, leave him not that loves thee so.

Now let us hence to see our soldiers paid,

And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest.

Exeunt.

[SCENE III]

Enter VICEROY, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO [and Attendants].

VICEROY

Is our Ambassador dispatch’d for Spain?

ALEXANDRO

Two days, my liege, are pass’d since his depart.

VICEROY

And tribute-payment gone along with him?

ALEXANDRO

Ay, my good lord.

VICEROY

Then rest we here awhile in our unrest,

And feed our sorrows with some inward sighs,

For deepest cares break never into tears.

But wherefore sit I in a regal throne?

This better fits a wretch’s endless moan.

Falls to the ground.

Yet this is higher than my fortunes reach,

And therefore better than my state deserves.

Ay, ay, this earth, image of melancholy,

Seeks him whom fates adjudge to misery.

Here let me lie; now am I at the lowest.

Qui jacet in terra, non habet unde cadat.

In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo:

Nil superest ut jam possit obesse magis.

Yes, Fortune may bereave me of my crown:

Here, take it now; — let Fortune do her worst,

She will not rob me of this sable weed:

O no, she envies none but pleasant things.

Such is the folly of despiteful chance!

Fortune is blind, and sees not my deserts;

So is she deaf, and hears not my laments;

And could she hear, yet is she wilful mad,

And therefore will not pity my distress.

Suppose that she could pity me, what then?

What help can be expected at her hands

Whose foot is standing on a rolling stone,

And mind more mutable than fickle winds?

Why wail I then, where’s hope of no redress?

O yes, complaining makes my grief seem less.

My late ambition hath distain’d my faith,

My breach of faith occasion’d bloody wars,

Those bloody wars have spent my treasure,

And with my treasure my people’s blood,

And with their blood, my joy and best belov’d,

My best belov’d, my sweet and only son.

Oh, wherefore went I not to war myself?

The cause was mine; I might have died for both:

My years were mellow, his but young and green;

My death were natural, but his was forc’d.

ALEXANDRO

No doubt, my liege, but still the Prince survives.

VICEROY

Survives! ay, where?

ALEXANDRO

In Spain, a prisoner by mischance of war.

VICEROY

Then they have slain him for his father’s fault.

ALEXANDRO

That were a breach to common law of arms.

VICEROY

They reck no laws that meditate revenge.

ALEXANDRO

His ransom’s worth will stay from foul revenge.

VICEROY

No, if he liv’d the news would soon be here.

ALEXANDRO

Nay, evil news fly faster still than good.

VICEROY

Tell me no more of news, for he is dead.

VILLUPPO

My sovereign, pardon the author of ill news,

And I’ll bewray the fortune of thy son.

VICEROY

Speak on, I’ll guerdon thee whate’er it be:

Mine ear is ready to receive ill news,

My heart grown hard ’gainst mischief’s battery.

Stand up, I say, and tell thy tale at large.

VILLUPPO

[Rises.]

Then hear that truth which these mine eyes have seen:

When both the armies were in battle join’d,

Don Balthazar, amidst the thickest troops,

To win renown, did wondrous feats of arms:

Amongst the rest I saw him hand to hand

In single fight with their Lord general;

Till Alexandro, that here counterfeits

Under the colour of a duteous friend,

Discharg’d his pistol at the Prince’s back,

As though he would have slain their general:

But therewithal Don Balthazar fell down;

And when he fell, then we began to fly:

But had he liv’d, the day had sure been ours.

ALEXANDRO

O wicked forgery! O traitorous miscreant!

VICEROY

Hold thou thy peace! But now, Villuppo, say,

Where then became the carcase of my son?

VILLUPPO

I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.

VICEROY

Ay, ay, my nightly dreams have told me this. —

Thou false, unkind, unthankful traitorous beast,

Wherein had Balthazar offended thee

That thou shouldst thus betray him to our foes?

Was’t Spanish gold that bleared so thine eyes

That thou couldst see no part of our deserts?

Perchance because thou art Terceira’s lord,

Thou hadst some hope to wear this diadem,

If first my son and then myself were slain;

But thy ambitious thought shall break thy neck.

Ay, this was it that made thee spill his blood:

Takes the crown and puts it on again.

But I’ll now wear it till thy blood be spilt.

ALEXANDRO

Vouchsafe, dread sovereign, to hear me speak.

VICEROY

Away with him; his sight is second hell.

Keep him till we determine of his death.

[Exit Alexandro, guarded.]

If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live.

Villuppo, follow us for thy reward.

Exit Viceroy.

VILLUPPO

Thus have I with an envious, forged tale

Deceiv’d the King, betray’d mine enemy,

And hope for guerdon of my villainy.

Exit.

[SCENE IV]

Enter HORATIO and BEL-IMPERIA.

BEL-IMPERIA

Signor Horatio, this is the place and hour

Wherein I must entreat thee to relate

The circumstance of Don Andrea’s death,

Who, living, was my garland’s sweetest flower,

And in his death hath buried my delights.

HORATIO

For love of him and service to yourself,

I nill refuse this heavy doleful charge;

Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me.

When both our armies were enjoin’d in fight,

Your worthy chevalier amidst the thick’st,

For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest,

Was at the last by young Don Balthazar

Encounter’d hand to hand: Their fight was long,

Their hearts were great, their clamours menacing,

Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous.

But wrathful Nemesis, that wicked power,

Envying at Andrea’s praise and worth,

Cut short his life to end his praise and worth.

She, she herself, disguis’d in armour’s mask —

As Pallas was before proud Pergamus —

Brought in a fresh supply of halberdiers,

Which paunch’d his horse and ding’d him to the ground.

Then young Don Balthazar with ruthless rage,

Taking advantage of his foe’s distress,

Did finish what his halberdiers begun,

And left not, till Andrea’s life was done.

Then, though too late, incens’d with just remorse,

I with my band set forth against the prince,

And brought him prisoner from his halberdiers.

BEL-IMPERIA

Would thou hadst slain him that so slew my love!

But then was Don Andrea’s carcase lost?

HORATIO

No, that was it for which I chiefly strove,

Nor stepp’d I back till I recover’d him:

I took him up, and wound him in mine arms,

And, wielding him unto my private tent,

There laid him down, and dew’d him with my tears,

And sigh’d and sorrow’d as became a friend.

But neither friendly sorrow, sighs, nor tears

Could win pale death from his usurpèd right.

Yet this I did, and less I could not do:

I saw him honour’d with due funeral.

This scarf I pluck’d from off his lifeless arm,

And wear it in remembrance of my friend.

BEL-IMPERIA

I know the scarf: would he had kept it still;

For, had he liv’d, he would have kept it still,

And worn it for his Bel-imperia’s sake:

For ’twas my favour at his last depart.

But now wear thou it both for him and me;

For, after him, thou hast deserv’d it best.

But, for thy kindness in his life and death,

Be sure, while Bel-imperia’s life endures,

She will be Don Horatio’s thankful friend.

HORATIO

And, madam, Don Horatio will not slack

Humbly to serve fair Bel-imperia.

But now, if your good liking stand thereto,

I’ll crave your pardon to go seek the prince;

For so the Duke, your father, gave me charge.Exit.

BEL-IMPERIA

Ay, go, Horatio, leave me here alone;

For solitude best fits my cheerless mood.

Yet what avails to wail Andrea’s death,

From whence Horatio proves my second love?

Had he not lov’d Andrea as he did,

He could not sit in Bel-imperia’s thoughts.

But how can love find harbour in my breast,

Till I revenge the death of my belov’d?

Yes, second love shall further my revenge.

I’ll love Horatio, my Andrea’s friend,

The more to spite the Prince that wrought his end;

And where Don Balthazar, that slew my love,

Himself now pleads for favour at my hands,

He shall, in rigour of my just disdain,

Reap long repentance for his murderous deed.

For what was’t else but murderous cowardice,

So many to oppress one valiant knight,

Without respect of honour in the fight?

And here he comes that murder’d my delight.

Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR.

LORENZO

Sister, what means this melancholy walk?

BEL-IMPERIA

That for a while I wish no company.

LORENZO

But here the Prince is come to visit you.

BEL-IMPERIA

That argues that he lives in liberty.

BALTHAZAR

No, madam, but in pleasing servitude.

BEL-IMPERIA

Your prison then belike is your conceit.

BALTHAZAR

Ay, by conceit my freedom is enthrall’d.

BEL-IMPERIA

Then with conceit enlarge yourself again.

BALTHAZAR

What if conceit have laid my heart to gage?

BEL-IMPERIA

Pay that you borrow’d and recover it.

BALTHAZAR

I die, if it return from whence it lies.

BEL-IMPERIA

A heartless man, and live? A miracle!

BALTHAZAR

Ay, lady, love can work such miracles.

LORENZO

Tush, tush, my lord! let go these ambages,

And in plain terms acquaint her with your love.

BEL-IMPERIA

What boots complaint when there’s no remedy?

BALTHAZAR

Yes, to your gracious self must I complain,

In whose fair answer lies my remedy,

On whose perfection all my thoughts attend,

In whose aspect mine eyes find beauty’s bower,

In whose translucent breast my heart is lodg’d.

BEL-IMPERIA

Alas, my lord, these are but words of course,

And but devise to drive me from this place.

She, in going in, lets fall her glove, which Horatio, coming out, takes up.

HORATIO

100

Madam, your glove.

BEL-IMPERIA

Thanks, good Horatio; take it for thy pains.

BALTHAZAR

Signior Horatio stoop’d in happy time.

HORATIO

I reap’d more grace than I deserv’d or hop’d.

LORENZO

My lord, be not dismay’d for what is past:

105

You know that women oft are humorous;

These clouds will overblow with little wind;

Let me alone, I’ll scatter them myself.

Meanwhile let us devise to spend the time

In some delightful sports and revelling.

HORATIO

110

The King, my lords, is coming hither straight

To feast the Portingale ambassador;

Things were in readiness before I came.

BALTHAZAR

Then here it fits us to attend the King,

To welcome hither our ambassador,

115

And learn my father and my country’s health.

Enter the Banquet, Trumpets, the KING and Ambassador.

KING

See, lord Ambassador, how Spain entreats

Their prisoner Balthazar, thy Viceroy’s son:

We pleasure more in kindness than in wars.

AMBASSADOR

Sad is our King, and Portingale laments,

120

Supposing that Don Balthazar is slain.

BALTHAZAR

[aside.]

So am I slain, by beauty’s tyranny. —

You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slain:

I frolic with the Duke of Castile’s son,

Wrapp’d every hour in pleasures of the court,

125

And grac’d with favours of his majesty.

KING

Put off your greetings till our feast be done.

Now come and sit with us, and taste our cheer.

Sit to the banquet.

Sit down, young Prince, you are our second guest;

Brother, sit down; and, nephew, take your place.

130

Signior Horatio, wait thou upon our cup,

For well thou hast deserved to be honour’d.

Now, lordings, fall to. Spain is Portugal,

And Portugal is Spain; we both are friends,

Tribute is paid, and we enjoy our right.

135

But where is old Hieronimo, our Marshal?

He promis’d us in honour of our guest,

To grace our banquet with some pompous jest.

Enter HIERONIMO, with a Drum, three Knights, each [hangs up] his scutcheon; Then he fetches three Kings, they take their crowns and them captive.

Hieronimo, this masque contents mine eye,

Although I sound not well the mystery.

HIERONIMO

140

The first arm’d knight that hung his scutcheon up,

He takes the scutcheon and gives it to the King.

Was English Robert, Earl of Gloucester,

Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,

Arriv’d with five and twenty thousand men

In Portingale and by success of war

145

Enforc’d the king, then but a Saracen,

To bear the yoke of the English monarchy.

KING

My lord of Portingale, by this you see

That which may comfort both your King and you,

And make your late discomfort seem the less.

150

But say, Hieronimo, what was the next?

HIERONIMO

The second knight that hung his scutcheon up

He doth as he did before.

Was Edmund, Earl of Kent in Albion,

When English Richard wore the diadem.

He came likewise and razed Lisbon walls,

155

And took the king of Portingale in fight;

For which, and other such-like service done,

He after was created Duke of York.

KING

This is another special argument

That Portingale may deign to bear our yoke,

160

When it by little England hath been yok’d.

But now, Hieronimo, what were the last?

HIERONIMO

The third and last, not least in our account,

Doing as before

Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman,

Brave John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster,

165

As by his scutcheon plainly may appear.

He with a puissant army came to Spain,

And took our King of Castile prisoner.

AMBASSADOR

This is an argument for our Viceroy

That Spain may not insult for her success,

170

Since English warriors likewise conquer’d Spain

And made them bow their knees to Albion.

KING

Hieronimo, I drink to thee for this device,

Which hath pleas’d both the ambassador and me:

Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou love thy King.

Takes the cup of Horatio.

175

My lord, I fear we sit but over-long,

Unless our dainties were more delicate;

But welcome are you to the best we have.

Now let us in, that you may be dispatch’d:

I think our council is already set.

Exeunt omnes.

[SCENE V]

Ghost of Andrea, Revenge.

ANDREA

Come we for this from depth of underground,

To see him feast that gave me my death’s wound?

These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soul:

Nothing but league, and love, and banqueting?

REVENGE

Be still, Andrea; ere we go from hence,

I’ll turn their friendship into fell despite,

Their love to mortal hate, their day to night,

Their hope into despair, their peace to war,

Their joys to pain, their bliss to misery.

Act II

[SCENE I]

Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR.

LORENZO

My lord, though Bel-imperia seem thus coy,

Let reason hold you in your wonted joy:

In time the savage bull sustains the yoke,

In time all haggard hawks will stoop to lure,

In time small wedges cleave the hardest oak,

In time the flint is pierc’d with softest shower,

And she in time will fall from her disdain,

And rue the suff’rance of your friendly pain.

BALTHAZAR

No, she is wilder and more hard withal.

Than beast, or bird, or tree, or stony wall.

But wherefore blot I Bel-imperia’s name?

It is my fault, not she, that merits blame.

My feature is not to content her sight,

My words are rude and work her no delight.

The lines I send her are but harsh and ill,

Such as do drop from Pan and Marsyas’ quill.

My presents are not of sufficient cost,

And being worthless, all my labour’s lost.

Yet might she love me for my valiancy:

Ay, but that’s slandered by captivity.

Yet might she love me to content her sire:

Ay, but her reason masters his desire.

Yet might she love me as her brother’s friend:

Ay, but her hopes aim at some other end.

Yet might she love me to uprear her state:

Ay, but perhaps she hopes some nobler mate.

Yet might she love me as her beauty’s thrall:

Ay, but I fear she cannot love at all.

LORENZO

My lord, for my sake, leave these ecstasies,

And doubt not but we’ll find some remedy.

Some cause there is that lets you not be lov’d;

First that must needs be known and then remov’d.

What if my sister love some other knight?

BALTHAZAR

My summer’s day will turn to winter’s night.

LORENZO

I have already found a stratagem,

To sound the bottom of this doubtful theme.

My lord, for once you shall be rul’d by me;

Hinder me not, whate’er you hear or see.

By force or fair means will I cast about

To find the truth of all this question out.

Ho, Pedringano!

PEDRINGANO

Signior!

LORENZO

Vien qui presto.

Enter PEDRINGANO.

PEDRINGANO

Hath your lordship any service to command me?

LORENZO

Ay, Pedringano, service of import;

And, not to spend the time in trifling words,

Thus stands the case: it is not long, thou know’st,

Since I did shield thee from my father’s wrath,

For thy conveyance in Andrea’s love,

For which thou wert adjudg’d to punishment:

I stood betwixt thee and thy punishment,

And since, thou know’st how I have favour’d thee.

Now to these favours will I add reward,

Not with fair words, but store of golden coin,

And lands and living join’d with dignities,

If thou but satisfy my just demand:

Tell truth and have me for thy lasting friend.

PEDRINGANO

Whate’er it be your lordship shall demand,

My bounden duty bids me tell the truth.

If case it lie in me to tell the truth.

LORENZO

Then, Pedringano, this is my demand:

Whom loves my sister Bel-imperia?

For she reposeth all her trust in thee.

Speak, man, and gain both friendship and reward:

I mean, whom loves she in Andrea’s place?

PEDRINGANO

Alas, my lord, since Don Andrea’s death

I have no credit with her as before;

And therefore know not if she love or no.

LORENZO

Nay, if thou dally, then I am thy foe,

^Q4 [Draws his sword.] Q4

And fear shall force what friendship cannot win:

Thy death shall bury what thy life conceals;

Thou diest for more esteeming her than me.

PEDRINGANO

Oh, stay, my lord!

LORENZO

Yet speak the truth and I will guerdon thee,

And shield thee from whatever can ensue,

And will conceal whate’er proceeds from thee.

But if thou dally once again, thou diest.

PEDRINGANO

If Madam Bel-imperia be in love —

LORENZO

What, villain! ifs and ands?

^Q4 [Offers to kill him.] Q4

PEDRINGANO

Oh, stay, my lord! She loves Horatio.

Balthazar starts back.

LORENZO

What? Don Horatio, our Knight Marshal’s son?

PEDRINGANO

Even him, my lord.

LORENZO

Now say but how tohu know’st he is her love,

And thou shalt find me kind and liberal:

Stand up, I say, and fearless tell the truth.

PEDRINGANO

She sent him letters, which myself perus’d,

Full-fraught with lines and arguments of love,

Preferring him before Prince Balthazar.

LORENZO

Swear on this cross that what thou say’st is true,

And that thou wilt conceal what thou hast told.

PEDRINGANO

I swear to both, by him that made us all.

LORENZO

In hope thine oath is true, here’s thy reward:

But if I prove thee perjur’d and unjust,

This very sword whereon thou took’st thine oath,

Shall be the worker of thy tragedy.

PEDRINGANO

What I have said is true, and shall, for me,

Be still conceal’d from Bel-imperia.

Besides, your honour’s liberality

Deserves my duteous service, even till death.

LORENZO

100

Let this be all that thou shalt do for me:

Be watchful when and where these lovers meet,

And give me notice in some secret sort.

PEDRINGANO

I will, my lord.

LORENZO

Then shalt thou find that I am liberal.

105

Thou know’st that I can more advance thy state

Than she; be therefore wise and fail me not.

Go and attend her as thy custom is,

Lest absence make her think thou dost amiss.

Exit Pedringano.

Why so, tam armis quam ingenio:

110

Where words prevail not, violence prevails;

But gold doth more than either of them both.

How likes Prince Balthazar this stratagem?

BALTHAZAR

Both well and ill; it makes me glad and sad:

Glad, that I know the hinderer of my love;

115

Sad, that I fear she hates me whom I love.

Glad, that I know on whom to be reveng’d;

Sad, that she’ll fly me if I take revenge.

Yet must I take revenge or die myself,

For love resisted grows impatient.

120

I think Horatio be my destin’d plague:

First in his hand he brandished a sword,

And with that sword he fiercely waged war,

And in that war he gave me dangerous wounds,

And by those wounds he forced me to yield,

125

And by my yielding I became his slave.

Now in his mouth he carries pleasing words,

Which pleasing words do harbour sweet conceits,

Which sweet conceits are lim’d with sly deceits,

Which sly deceits smooth Bel-imperia’s ears,

130

And through her ears dive down into her heart,

And in her heart set him where I should stand.

Thus hath he ta’en my body by his force,

And now by sleight would captivate my soul:

But in his fall I’ll tempt the destinies,

135

And either lose my life, or win my love.

LORENZO

Let’s go, my lord; your staying stays revenge.

Do you but follow me, and gain your love:

Her favour must be won by his remove.

Exeunt.

[SCENE II]

Enter HORATIO and BEL-IMPERIA.

HORATIO

Now, madam, since by favour of your love

Our hidden smoke is turn’d to open flame,

And that with looks and words we feed our thoughts

(Two chief contents, where more cannot be had),

Thus, in the midst of love’s fair blandishments,

Why show you sign of inward languishments?

PEDRINGANO showeth all to the Prince and LORENZO, placing them in secret [above].

BEL-IMPERIA

My heart, sweet friend, is like a ship at sea:

She wisheth port, where, riding all at ease,

She may repair what stormy times have worn,

And leaning on the shore, may sing with joy

That pleasure follows pain, and bliss annoy.

Possession of thy love is th’ only port

Wherein my heart, with fears and hopes long toss’d,

Each hour doth wish and long to make resort,

There to repair the joys that it hath lost,

And, sitting safe, to sing in Cupid’s quire

That sweetest bliss is crown of love’s desire.

BALTHAZAR above.

BALTHAZAR

O sleep, mine eyes, see not my love profan’d;

Be deaf, my ears, hear not my discontent;

Die, heart: another joys what thou deserv’st.

LORENZO

Watch still, mine eyes, to see this love disjoin’d;

Hear still, mine ears, to hear them both lament;

Live, heart, to joy at fond Horatio’s fall.

BEL-IMPERIA

Why stands Horatio speechless all this while?

HORATIO

The less I speak, the more I meditate.

BEL-IMPERIA

But whereon dost thou chiefly meditate?

HORATIO

On dangers past, and pleasures to ensue.

BALTHAZAR

On pleasures past, and dangers to ensue.

BEL-IMPERIA

What dangers and what pleasures dost thou mean?

HORATIO

Dangers of war, and pleasures of our love.

LORENZO

Dangers of death, but pleasures none at all.

BEL-IMPERIA

Let dangers go, thy war shall be with me:

But such a war as breaks no bond of peace.

Speak thou fair words, I’ll cross them with fair words;

Send thou sweet looks, I’ll meet them with sweet looks;

Write loving lines, I’ll answer loving lines;

Give me a kiss, I’ll countercheck thy kiss:

Be this our warring peace, or peaceful war.

HORATIO

But, gracious madam, then appoint the field,

Where trial of this war shall first be made.

BALTHAZAR

Ambitious villain, how his boldness grows!

BEL-IMPERIA

Then be thy father’s pleasant bower the field,

Where first we vow’d a mutual amity;

The court were dangerous; that place is safe.

Our hour shall be when Vesper ‘gins to rise,

That summons home distressful travellers:

There none shall hear us but the harmless birds;

Haply the gentle nightingale

Shall carol us asleep ere we be ware,

And, singing with the prickle at her breast,

Tell our delight and mirthful dalliance.

Till then each hour will seem a year and more.

HORATIO

But, honey sweet and honourable love,

Return we now into your father’s sight:

Dangerous suspicion waits on our delight.

LORENZO

Ay, danger mixed with jealous despite

Shall send thy soul into eternal night.

Exeunt.

[SCENE III]

Enter KING OF SPAIN, Portingale Ambassador, DON CYPRIAN, etc.

KING

Brother of Castile, to the Prince’s love

What says your daughter Bel-imperia?

CYPRIAN

Although she coy it as becomes her kind,

And yet dissemble that she loves the prince,

I doubt not, I, but she will stoop in time.

And were she froward, which she will not be,

Yet herein shall she follow my advice,

Which is to love him or forgo my love.

KING

Then, lord Ambassador of Portingale,

Advise thy King to make this marriage up,

For strengthening of our late-confirmed league;

I know no better means to make us friends.

Her dowry shall be large and liberal:

Besides that she is daughter and half-heir

Unto our brother here, Don Cyprian,

And shall enjoy the moiety of his land,

I’ll grace her marriage with an uncle’s gift,

And this it is: in case the match go forward,

The tribute which you pay shall be releas’d,

And if by Balthazar she have a son,

He shall enjoy the kingdom after us.

AMBASSADOR

I’ll make the motion to my sovereign liege,

And work it, if my counsel may prevail.

KING

Do so, my lord, and, if he give consent,

I hope his presence here will honour us,

In celebration of the nuptial day;

And let himself determine of the time.

AMBASSADOR

Will’t please your grace command me ought beside?

KING

Commend me to the King, and so farewell.

But where’s Prince Balthazar to take his leave?

AMBASSADOR

That is perform’d already, my good lord.

KING

Amongst the rest of what you have in charge,

The prince’s ransom must not be forgot:

That’s none of mine, but his that took him prisoner,

And well his forwardness deserves reward:

It was Horatio, our Knight Marshal’s son.

AMBASSADOR

Between us there’s a price already pitch’d,

And shall be sent with all convenient speed.

KING

Then once again farewell, my lord.

AMBASSADOR

Farewell, my lord of Castile and the rest.

Exit.

KING

Now, brother, you must take some little pains

To win fair Bel-imperia from her will:

Young virgins must be ruled by their friends.

The prince is amiable and loves her well;

If she neglect him and forgo his love,

She both will wrong her own estate and ours.

Therefore, whiles I do entertain the prince

With greatest pleasure that our court affords,

Endeavour you to win your daughter’s thought:

If she give back, all this will come to naught.

Exeunt.

[SCENE IV]

Enter HORATIO, BEL-IMPERIA, and PEDRINGANO.

HORATIO

Now that the night begins with sable wings

To overcloud the brightness of the sun,

And that in darkness pleasures may be done,

Come, Bel-imperia, let us to the bower,

And there in safety pass a pleasant hour.

BEL-IMPERIA

I follow thee, my love, and will not back,

Although my fainting heart controls my soul.

HORATIO

Why, make you doubt of Pedringano’s faith?

BEL-IMPERIA

No, he is as trusty as my second self. —

Go, Pedringano, watch without the gate,

And let us know if any make approach.

PEDRINGANO

[aside.]

Instead of watching, I’ll deserve more gold

By fetching Don Lorenzo to this match.

Exit Pedringano.

HORATIO

What means my love?

BEL-IMPERIA

I know not what myself;

And yet my heart foretells me some mischance.

HORATIO

Sweet, say not so; fair fortune is our friend,

And heavens have shut up day to pleasure us.

The stars, thou see’st, hold back their twinkling shine,

And Luna hides herself to pleasure us.

BEL-IMPERIA

Thou hast prevail’d; I’ll conquer my misdoubt,

And in thy love and counsel drown my fear.

I fear no more; love now is all my thoughts.

Why sit we not? for pleasure asketh ease.

HORATIO

The more thou sitt’st within these leavy bowers,

The more will Flora deck it with her flowers.

BEL-IMPERIA

Ay, but if Flora spy Horatio here,

Her jealous eye will think I sit too near.

HORATIO

Hark, madam, how the birds record by night,

For joy that Bel-imperia sits in sight.

BEL-IMPERIA

No, Cupid counterfeits the nightingale,

To frame sweet music to Horatio’s tale.

HORATIO

If Cupid sing, then Venus is not far:

Ay, thou art Venus, or some fairer star.

BEL-IMPERIA

If I be Venus, thou must needs be Mars;

And where Mars reigneth, there must needs be wars.

HORATIO

Then thus begin our wars: put forth thy hand,

That it may combat with my ruder hand.

BEL-IMPERIA

Set forth thy foot to try the push of mine.

HORATIO

But first my looks shall combat against thine.

BEL-IMPERIA

Then ward thyself: I dart this kiss at thee.

HORATIO

Thus I retort the dart thou threw’st at me.

BEL-IMPERIA

Nay then, to gain the glory of the field,

My twining arms shall yoke and make thee yield.

HORATIO

Nay, then, my arms are large and strong withal:

Thus elms by vines are compass’d till they fall.

BEL-IMPERIA

O, let me go; for in my troubled eyes

Now may’st thou read that life in passion dies.

HORATIO

O, stay a while, and I will die with thee;

So shalt thou yield, and yet have conquer’d me.

BEL-IMPERIA

Who’s there? Pedringano! we are betray’d!

Enter LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, SERBERINE, PEDRINGANO, disguised.

LORENZO

My lord, away with her, take her aside. —

O sir, forbear: your valour is already tried.

Quickly dispatch, my masters.

They hang him in the arbour.

HORATIO

What, will you murder me?

LORENZO

Ay, thus, and thus: these are the fruits of love.

They stab him.

BEL-IMPERIA

O, save his life, and let me die for him!

O, save him, brother, Save him, Balthazar:

I lov’d Horatio, but he lov’d not me.

BALTHAZAR

But Balthazar loves Bel-imperia.

LORENZO

Although his life were still ambitious-proud,

Yet is he at the highest now he is dead.

BEL-IMPERIA

Murder! Murder! Help, Hieronimo, help!

LORENZO

Come, stop her mouth, away with her.

Exeunt [leaving Horatio’s body].

Enter HIERONIMO in his shirt, etc.

HIERONIMO

What outcries pluck me from my naked bed,

And chill my throbbing heart with trembling fear,

Which never danger yet could daunt before?

Who calls Hieronimo? Speak, here I am.

I did not slumber, therefore ’twas no dream.

No, no, it was some woman cried for help,

And there within this garden did she cry,

And in this garden must I rescue her. —

But stay, what murd’rous spectacle is this?

A man hang’d up, and all the murderers gone!

And in my bower, to lay the guilt on me!

This place was made for pleasure, not for death.

He cuts him down.

Those garments that he wears I oft have seen.—

Alas, it is Horatio, my sweet son!

O no, but he that whilom was my son!

O, was it thou that call’dst me from my bed?

O speak, if any spark of life remain:

I am thy father; who hath slain my son?

What savage monster, not of human kind,

Hath here been glutted with thy harmless blood,

And left thy bloody corpse dishonour’d here,

For me, amidst these dark and deathful shades,

To drown thee with an ocean of my tears?

O heavens, why made you night to cover sin?

By day this deed of darkness had not been.

O earth, why didst thou not in time devour

The vild profaner of this sacred bower?

O poor Horatio, what hadst thou misdone,

To leese thy life, ere life was new begun?

O wicked butcher, whatsoe’er thou wert,

How could thou strangle virtue and desert?

Ay me most wretched, that have lost my joy,

In leesing my Horatio, my sweet boy!

Enter ISABELLA.

ISABELLA

My husband’s absence makes my heart to throb. —

Hieronimo!

HIERONIMO

Here, Isabella, help me to lament;

100

For sighs are stopp’d and all my tears are spent.

ISABELLA

What world of grief — My son Horatio!

O, where’s the author of this endless woe?

HIERONIMO

To know the author were some ease of grief;

For in revenge my heart would find relief.

ISABELLA

105

Then is he gone? And is my son gone too?

O, gush out, tears, fountains and floods of tears;

Blow, sighs, and raise an everlasting storm;

For outrage fits our cursed wretchedness.

^Q4 Ay me, Hieronimo, sweet husband, speak!

HIERONIMO

110

He supp’d with us to-night, frolic and merry,

And said he would go visit Balthazar

At the Duke’s palace: there the Prince doth lodge.

He had no custom to stay out so late;

He may be in his chamber; Some go see.

115

Rodorigo, ho!

Enter PEDRO and JAQUES.

ISABELLA

Ay me, he raves! Sweet Hieronimo!

HIERONIMO

True, all Spain takes note of it.

Besides, he is so generally belov’d;

His majesty the other day did grace him

120

With waiting on his cup: these be favours,

Which do assure he cannot be short-liv’d.

ISABELLA

Sweet Hieronimo!

HIERONIMO

I wonder how this fellow got his clothes!

Sirrah, sirrah, I’ll know the truth of all:

125

Jaques, run to the Duke of Castile’s presently,

And bid my son Horatio to come home:

I and his mother have had strange dreams to-night.

Do ye hear me, sir?

JAQUES

Ay, sir.

HIERONIMO

Well, sir, begone.

Pedro, come hither; Know’st thou who this is?

PEDRO

130

Too well, sir.

HIERONIMO

Too well, who? Who is it? Peace, Isabella!

Nay, blush not, man.

PEDRO

It is my lord Horatio.

HIERONIMO

Ha, ha! Saint James, but this doth make me laugh,

That there are more deluded than myself.

PEDRO

Deluded?

HIERONIMO

Ay:

135

I would have sworn myself, within this hour,

That this had been my son Horatio,

His garments are so like.

Ha! are they not great persuasions?

ISABELLA

O, would to God it were not so!

HIERONIMO

140

Were not, Isabella? Dost thou dream it is?

Can thy soft bosom entertain a thought,

That such a black deed of mischief should be done

On one so pure and spotless as our son?

Away, I am ashamèd.

ISABELLA

Dear Hieronimo,

145

Cast a more serious eye upon thy grief:

Weak apprehension gives but weak belief.

HIERONIMO

It was a man, sure, that was hanged up here;

A youth, as I remember: I cut him down.

If it should prove my son now after all —

150

Say you? say you? — Light! Lend me a taper;

Let me look again. —O God!

Confusion, mischief, torment, death and hell,

Drop all your stings at once in my cold bosom,

That now is stiff with horror: Kill me quickly!

155

Be gracious to me, thou infective night,

And drop this deed of murder down on me;

Gird in my waste of grief with thy large darkness,

And let me not survive to see the light

May put me in the mind I had a son.

ISABELLA

160

O sweet Horatio! O my dearest son!

HIERONIMO

How strangely had I lost my way to grief! Q4

Sweet lovely rose, ill-pluck’d before thy time,

Fair worthy son, not conquer’d but betray’d,

I’ll kiss thee now, for words with tears are stay’d.

ISABELLA

165

And I’ll close up the glasses of his sight,

For once these eyes were only my delight.

HIERONIMO

See’st thou this handkerchief besmear’d with blood?

It shall not from me, till I take revenge.

See’st thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh?

170

I’ll not entomb them, till I have reveng’d.

Then will I joy amidst my discontent;

Till then my sorrow never shall be spent.

ISABELLA

The heavens are just; murder cannot be hid:

Time is the author both of truth and right,

175

And time will bring this treachery to light.

HIERONIMO

Meanwhile, good Isabella, cease thy plaints,

Or, at the least, dissemble them a while:

So shall we sooner find the practice out,

And learn by whom all this was brought about.

180

Come, Isabel, now let us take him up,

They take him up.

And bear him in from out this cursèd place.

I’ll say his dirge; singing fits not this case.

O aliquis mihi quas pulchrum ver educat herbas

Hieronimo sets his breast unto his sword.

Misceat, et nostro detur medicina dolori;

185

Aut, si qui faciunt annorum oblivia, succos

Praebeat; ipse metam magnum quaecunque per orbem

Gramina Sol pulchras effert in luminis oras;

Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni,

Quicquid et herbarum vi caeca nenia nectit:

190

Omnia perpetiar, lethum quoque, dum semel omnis

Noster in extincto moriatur pectore sensus.—

Ergo tuos oculos nunquam, mea vita, videbo,

Et tua perpetuus sepelivit lumina somnus?

Emoriar tecum: sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras.—

195

At tamen absistam properato cedere letho,

Ne mortem vindicta tuam tum nulla sequatur.

Here he throws it from him and bears the body away.

[SCENE V]

Ghost of ANDREA, REVENGE.

ANDREA

Brought’st thou me hither to increase my pain?

I look’d that Balthazar should have been slain:

But ’tis my friend Horatio that is slain,

And they abuse fair Bel-imperia,

On whom I doted more than all the world,

Because she lov’d me more than all the world.

REVENGE

Thou talk’st of harvest when the corn is green:

The end is crown of every work well done;

The sickle comes not till the corn be ripe.

Be still, and ere I lead thee from this place,

I’ll show thee Balthazar in heavy case.

Act III

[SCENE I]

Enter VICEROY OF PORTINGALE, NOBLES, VILLUPPO.

VICEROY

Infortunate condition of kings,

Seated amidst so many helpless doubts!

First we are plac’d upon extremest height,

And oft supplanted with exceeding heat,

But ever subject to the wheel of Chance;

And at our highest never joy we so,

As we both doubt and dread our overthrow.

So striveth not the waves with sundry winds,

As Fortune toileth in the affairs of kings,

That would be fear’d, yet fear to be belov’d,

Sith fear or love to kings is flattery.

For instance, lordings, look upon your King,

By hate deprivèd of his dearest son,

The only hope of our successive line.

NOBLEMAN

I had no t thought that Alexandro’s heart

Had been envenom’d with such extreme hate;

But now I see that words have several works,

And there’s no credit in the countenance.

VILLUPPO

No: for, my lord, had you beheld the train

That feignèd love had coloured in his looks,

When he in camp consorted Balthazar,

Far more inconstant had you thought the sun,

That hourly coasts the centre of the earth,

Than Alexandro’s purpose to the Prince.

VICEROY

No more, Villuppo, thou hast said enough,

And with thy words thou slay’st our wounded thoughts.

Nor shall I longer dally with the world,

Procrastinating Alexandro’s death:

Go some of you, and fetch the traitor forth,

That, as he is condemnèd, he may die.

Enter ALEXANDRO with a NOBLEMAN and Halberts.

NOBLEMAN

In such extremes will naught but patience serve.

ALEXANDRO

But in extremes, what patience shall I use?

Nor discontents it me to leave the world,

With whom there nothing can prevail but wrong.

NOBLEMAN

Yet hope the best.

ALEXANDRO

’Tis Heaven is my hope:

As for the earth, it is too much infect

To yield me hope of any of her mould.

VICEROY

Why linger ye? Bring forth that daring fiend,

And let him die for his accursèd deed.

ALEXANDRO

Not that I fear the extremity of death

(For nobles cannot stoop to servile fear)

Do I, O King, thus discontented live.

But this, O this, torments my labouring soul,

That thus I die suspected of a sin

Whereof, as heav’ns have known my secret thoughts,

So am I free from this suggestion.

VICEROY

No more, I say! To the tortures! When?

Bind him, and burn his body in those flames,

They bind him to the stake.

That shall prefigure those unquenchèd fires

Of Phlegethon, prepared for his soul.

ALEXANDRO

My guiltless death will be aveng’d on thee,

On thee, Villuppo, that hath malic’d thus,

Or for thy meed hast falsely me accus’d.

VILLUPPO

Nay, Alexandro, if thou menace me,

I’ll lend a hand to send thee to the lake,

Where those thy words shall perish with thy works:

Injurious traitor! monstrous homicide!

Enter AMBASSADOR [and Attendants].

AMBASSADOR

Stay, hold a while;

And here —with pardon of his majesty —

Lay hands upon Villuppo.

VICEROY

Ambassador,

What news hath urg’d this sudden entrance?

AMBASSADOR

Know, sovereign lord, that Balthazar doth live.

VICEROY

What say’st thou? Liveth Balthazar our son?

AMBASSADOR

Your highness’ son, lord Balthazar, doth live;

And, well entreated in the court of Spain,

Humbly commends him to your majesty.

These eyes beheld; and these my followers,

With these, the letters of the King’s commends,

Gives him letters

Are happy witnesses of his highness’ health.

The Viceroy looks on the letters, and proceeds.

VICEROY

“Thy son doth live, your tribute is receiv’d;

The peace is made and we are satisfied.

The rest resolve upon as things propos’d

For both our honours and thy benefit.”

AMBASSADOR

These are his highness’ farther articles.

He gives him more letters.

VICEROY

Accursèd wretch, to intimate these ills

Against the life and reputation

Of noble Alexandro! Come, my lord,

[Unbind him.]

Let him unbind thee, that is bound to death,

To make a quittal for thy discontent.

They unbind him.

ALEXANDRO

Dread lord, in kindness you could do no less,

Upon report of such a damnèd fact;

But thus we see our innocence hath sav’d

The hopeless life which thou, Villuppo, sought

By thy suggestions to have massacred.

VICEROY

Say, false Villuppo, wherefore didst thou thus

Falsely betray lord Alexandro’s life?

Him whom thou know’st that no unkindness else

But ev’n the slaughter of our dearest son

Could once have mov’d us to have misconceiv’d.

ALEXANDRO

Say, treacherous Villuppo, tell the King:

Wherein hath Alexandro us’d thee ill?

VILLUPPO

Rent with remembrance of so foul a deed,

My guilty soul submits me to thy doom:

For, not for Alexandro’s injuries,

But for reward and hope to be preferr’d,

Thus have I shamelessly hazarded his life.

VICEROY

Which, villain, shall be ransom’d with thy death,

And not so mean a torment as we here

Devis’d for him who thou said’st, slew our son,

100

But with the bitterest torments and extremes

That may be yet invented for thine end.

Alexandro seems to entreat.

Entreat me not! go, take the traitor hence:

Exit Villuppo [guarded].

And, Alexandro, let us honour thee

With public notice of thy loyalty. —

105

To end those things articulated here

By our great lord the mighty King of Spain,

We with our council will deliberate.

Come, Alexandro, keep us company.

Exeunt.

[SCENE II]

Enter HIERONIMO.

HIERONIMO

O eyes! no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears;

O life! no life, but lively form of death;

O world! no world, but mass of public wrongs,

Confus’d and fill’d with murder and misdeeds!

O sacred heavens, if this unhallow’d deed,

If this inhuman and barbarous attempt,

If this incomparable murder thus

Of [son of] mine, but now no more my son,

Shall unreveal’d and unrevenged pass,

How should we term your dealings to be just,

If you unjustly deal with those that in your justice trust?

The night, sad secretary to my moans,

With direful visions wake my vexèd soul,

And with the wounds of my distressful son

Solicits me for notice of his death.

The ugly fiends do sally forth of hell,

And frame my steps to unfrequented paths,

And fear my heart with fierce inflamèd thoughts.

The cloudy day my discontents records,

Early begins to register my dreams,

And drive me forth to seek the murderer.

Eyes, life, world, heav’ns, hell, night and day,

See, search, shew, send some man, some mean that may —

A letter falleth.

What’s here? A letter? Tush! it is not so! —

A letter written to Hieronimo!

Red ink.

“For want of ink, receive this bloody writ:

Me hath my hapless brother hid from thee;

Revenge thyself on Balthazar and him,

For these were they that murderèd thy son.

Hieronimo, revenge Horatio’s death,

And better fare than Bel-imperia doth.”

What means this unexpected miracle?

My son slain by Lorenzo and the prince!

What cause had they Horatio to malign?

Or what might move thee, Bel-imperia,

To accuse thy brother, had he been the mean?

Hieronimo, beware! thou art betray’d,

And to entrap thy life this train is laid.

Advise thee therefore, be not credulous:

This is devisèd to endanger thee,

That thou, by this, Lorenzo shouldst accuse,

And he, for thy dishonour done, should draw

Thy life in question and thy name in hate.

Dear was the life of my belovèd son,

And of his death behoves me be reveng’d:

Then hazard not thine own, Hieronimo,

But live t’effect thy resolution.

I therefore will by circumstances try,

What I can gather to confirm this writ;

And, heark’ning near the Duke of Castile’s house,

Close, if I can, with Bel-imperia,

To listen more, but nothing to bewray.

Enter PEDRINGANO.

Now, Pedringano!

PEDRINGANO

Now, Hieronimo!

HIERONIMO

Where’s thy lady?

PEDRINGANO

I know not; here’s my lord.

Enter LORENZO.

LORENZO

How now, who’s this? Hieronimo?

HIERONIMO

My lord!

PEDRINGANO

He asketh for my lady Bel-imperia.

LORENZO

What to do, Hieronimo? The Duke, my father, hath,

Upon some disgrace awhile remov’d her hence;

But if it be aught I may inform her of,

Tell me, Hieronimo, and I’ll let her know it.

HIERONIMO

Nay, nay, my lord, I thank you; it shall not need.

I had a suit unto her, but too late,

And her disgrace makes me unfortunate.

LORENZO

Why so, Hieronimo? Use me.

HIERONIMO

Oh no, my lord; I dare not; it must not be;

I humbly thank your lordship[N]

Nota del editor digital

"lordship"

«[The last two lines are replaced, in all the quartos from 1602 onwards, by the following lines.]»

HIERONIMO

^Q4 Who? you, my lord?

I reserve your favour for a greater honour;

This is a very toy, my lord, a toy.

LORENZO

All’s one, Hieronimo, acquaint me with it.

HIERONIMO

I’faith, my lord, it is an idle thing;

I must confess I ha’ been too slack, too tardy,

Too remiss unto your honour.

LORENZO

How now, Hieronimo?

HIERONIMO

In troth, my lord, it is a thing of nothing:

The murder of a son, or so —

A thing of nothing, my lord! Q4

LORENZO

Why then, farewell.

HIERONIMO

My grief no heart, my thoughts no tongue can tell.

Exit.

LORENZO

Come hither, Pedringano, see’st thou this?

PEDRINGANO

My lord, I see it, and suspect it too.

LORENZO

This is that damned villain Serberine,

That hath, I fear, reveal’d Horatio’s death.

PEDRINGANO

My lord, he could not, ’twas so lately done;

And since, he hath not left my company.

LORENZO

Admit he have not, his condition’s such,

As fear or flattering words may make him false.

I know his humour, and therewith repent

That e’er I us’d him in this enterprise.

But, Pedringano, to prevent the worst,

And ’cause I know thee secret as my soul,

Here, for thy further satisfaction, take thou this.

Gives him more gold.

And hearken to me —thus it is devis’d:

This night thou must (and, prithee, so resolve)

Meet Serberine at Saint Luigi’s park —

Thou know’st ’tis here hard by behind the house —

There take thy stand, and see thou strike him sure:

For die he must, if we do mean to live.

PEDRINGANO

But how shall Serberine be there, my lord?

LORENZO

100

Let me alone; I’ll send to him to meet

The prince and me, where thou must do this deed.

PEDRINGANO

It shall be done, my lord, it shall be done;

And I’ll go arm myself to meet him there.

LORENZO

When things shall alter, as I hope they will,

105

Then shalt thou mount for this; thou know’st my mind.

Exit Pedringano.

Chi l’è? Jeron!

Enter PAGE.

PAGE

My lord?

LORENZO

Go, sirrah, to Serberine,

And bid him forthwith meet the Prince and me

At Saint Luigi’s park, behind the house;

This evening, boy!

PAGE

I go, my lord.

LORENZO

110

But sirrah, let the hour be eight o’clock:

Bid him not fail.

PAGE

I fly, my lord.

Exit.

LORENZO

Now, to confirm the complot thou hast cast

Of all these practices, I’ll spread the watch,

Upon precise commandment from the King,

115

Strongly to guard the place where Pedringano

This night shall murder hapless Serberine.

Thus must we work that will avoid distrust;

Thus must we practise to prevent mishap,

And thus one ill another must expulse.

120

This sly enquiry of Hieronimo

For Bel-imperia breeds suspicion,

And this suspicion bodes a further ill.

As for myself, I know my secret fault,

And so do they; but I have dealt for them:

125

They that for coin their souls endangerèd,

To save my life, for coin shall venture theirs;

And better ’tis that base companions die,

Than by their life to hazard our good haps.

Nor shall they live for me to fear their faith:

130

I’ll trust myself, myself shall be my friend;

For die they shall, slaves are ordain’d to no other end.

Exit.

[SCENE III]

Enter PEDRINGANO with a pistol.

PEDRINGANO

Now, Pedringano, bid thy pistol hold,

And hold on, Fortune! once more favour me;

Give but success to mine attempting spirit,

And let me shift for taking of mine aim.

Here is the gold: this is the gold propos’d;

It is no dream that I adventure for,

But Pedringano is possess’d thereof.

And he that would not strain his conscience

For him that thus his liberal purse hath stretch’d,

Unworthy such a favour, may he fail,

And, wishing, want, when such as I prevail.

As for the fear of apprehension,

I know, if need should be, my noble lord

Will stand between me and ensuing harms;

Besides, this place is free from all suspect:

Here therefore will I stay and take my stand.

Enter the WATCH.

1 WATCH

I wonder much to what intent it is

That we are thus expressly charg’d to watch.

2 WATCH

’Tis by commandment in the King’s own name.

3 WATCH

But we were never wont to watch and ward

So near the duke, his brother’s house before.

2 WATCH

Content yourself, stand close, there’s somewhat in’t.

Enter SERBERINE.

SERBERINE

Here, Serberine, attend and stay thy pace;

For here did Don Lorenzo’s page appoint

That thou by his command shouldst meet with him.

How fit a place, if one were so dispos’d,

Methinks this corner is to close with one.

PEDRINGANO

Here comes the bird that I must seize upon:

Now, Pedringano, or never, play the man!

SERBERINE

I wonder that his lordship stays so long,

Or wherefore should he send for me so late?

PEDRINGANO

For this, Serberine! — and thou shalt ha’t.

Shoots the dag.

So, there he lies; my promise is perform’d.

The Watch.

1 WATCH

Hark, gentlemen, this is a pistol shot.

2 WATCH

And here’s one slain; —Stay the murderer.

PEDRINGANO

Now by the sorrows of the souls in hell,

He strives with the Watch.

Who first lays hand on me, I’ll be his priest.

3 WATCH

Sirrah, confess, and therein play the priest,

Why hast thou thus unkindly kill’d the man?

PEDRINGANO

Why? because he walk’d abroad so late.

3 WATCH

Come, sir, you had been better kept your bed,

Than have committed this misdeed so late.

2 WATCH

Come, to the Marshal’s with the murderer!

1 WATCH

On to Hieronimo’s! help me here

To bring the murder’d body with us too.

PEDRINGANO

Hieronimo? carry me before whom you will:

Whate’er he be, I’ll answer him and you;

And do your worst, for I defy you all.

Exeunt.

[SCENE IV]

Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR.

BALTHAZAR

How now, my lord, what makes you rise so soon?

LORENZO

Fear of preventing our mishaps too late.

BALTHAZAR

What mischief is it that we not mistrust?

LORENZO

Our greatest ills we least mistrust, my lord,

And inexpected harms do hurt us most.

BALTHAZAR

Why, tell me, Don Lorenzo, tell me, man,

If ought concerns our honour and your own.

LORENZO

Nor you, nor me, my lord, but both in one:

For I suspect, and the presumption’s great,

That, by those base confederates in our fault

Touching the death of Don Horatio,

We are betray’d to old Hieronimo.

BALTHAZAR

Betray’d, Lorenzo? Tush! it cannot be.

LORENZO

A guilty conscience, urged with the thought

Of former evils, easily cannot err:

I am persuaded, and dissuade me not,

That all’s revealèd to Hieronimo.

And therefore know that I have cast it thus: —

[Enter PAGE.]

But here’s the page. How now? what news with thee?

PAGE

My lord, Serberine is slain.

BALTHAZAR

Who? Serberine, my man?

PAGE

Your highness’ man, my lord.

LORENZO

Speak, page, who murder’d him?

PAGE

He that is apprehended for the fact.

LORENZO

Who?

PAGE

Pedringano.

BALTHAZAR

Is Serberine slain that lov’d his lord so well?

Injurious villain, murderer of his friend!

LORENZO

Hath Pedringano murder’d Serberine?

My lord, let me entreat you to take the pains

To exasperate and hasten his revenge

With your complaints unto my lord the King.

This their dissension breeds a greater doubt.

BALTHAZAR

Assure thee, Don Lorenzo, he shall die,

Or else his highness hardly shall deny.

Meanwhile, I’ll haste the marshal-sessions:

For die he shall for this his damnèd deed.

Exit Balthazar.

LORENZO

Why so, this fits our former policy,

And thus experience bids the wise to deal.

I lay the plot: he prosecutes the point;

I set the trap: he breaks the worthless twigs,

And sees not that wherewith the bird was lim’d.

Thus hopeful men, that mean to hold their own,

Must look like fowlers to their dearest friends.

He runs to kill whom I have holp to catch,

And no man knows it was my reaching fatch.

’Tis hard to trust unto a multitude,

Or any one, in mine opinion,

When men themselves their secrets will reveal.

Enter a MESSENGER with a letter.

Boy!

PAGE

My lord.

LORENZO

What’s he?

MESSENGER

I have a letter to your lordship.

LORENZO

From whence?

MESSENGER

From Pedringano that’s imprison’d.

LORENZO

So, he is in prison then?

MESSENGER

Ay, my good lord.

LORENZO

What would he with us? —He writes us here,

To stand good, lord and help him in distress.

Tell him I have his letters, know his mind,

And what we may, let him assure him of.

Fellow, begone; my boy shall follow thee.

Exit Messenger.

This works like wax, yet once more try thy wits.

Boy, go, convey this purse to Pedringano;

Thou know’st the prison, closely give it him,

And be advis’d that none be there about:

Bid him be merry still, but secret;

And, though the marshal-sessions be to-day,

Bid him not doubt of his delivery.

Tell him his pardon is already sign’d,

And thereon bid him boldly be resolv’d,

For, were he ready to be turnèd off —

As ’tis my will the uttermost be tried —

Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still.

Show him this box, tell him his pardon’s in’t;

But open’t not, an if thou lovest thy life;

But let him wisely keep his hopes unknown.

He shall not want while Don Lorenzo lives.

Away!

PAGE

I go, my lord, I run.

LORENZO

But, sirrah, see that this be cleanly done.

Exit Page.

Now stands our fortune on a tickle point,

And now or never ends Lorenzo’s doubts.

One only thing is uneffected yet,

And that’s to see the executioner.

But to what end? I list not trust the air

With utterance of our pretence therein,

For fear the privy whisp’ring of the wind

Convey our words amongst unfriendly ears

That lie too open to advantages.

E quel che voglio io, nessun lo sa,

Intendo io; quel mi basterà.

Exit.

[SCENE V]

Enter Boy, with the box.

BOY

My master hath forbidden me to look in this box; and, by
my troth, ’tis likely, if he had not warned me, I should not
have had so much idle time; for we men’s-kind in our
minority, are like women in their uncertainty: that they
are most forbidden, they will soonest attempt: so I now.
—By my bare honesty, here’s nothing but the bare
empty box: were it not sin against secrecy, I would say it
were a piece of gentlemanlike knavery. I must go to
Pedringano, and tell him his pardon is in this box: nay, I
would have sworn it, had I not seen the contrary. I cannot
choose but smile to think how the villain will flout the
gallows, scorn the audience and descant on the hangman,
and all presuming of his pardon from hence. Will’t not be
an odd jest for me to stand and grace every jest he makes,
pointing my finger at this box, as who would say: “Mock
on, here’s thy warrant.” Is’t not a scurvy jest that a man
should jest himself to death? Alas! Por Pedringano, I
am in a sort sorry for thee, but if I should be hanged with
thee, I cannot weep.

Exit.

[SCENE VI]

Enter HIERONIMO and the DEPUTY.

HIERONIMO

Thus must we toil in other men’s extremes,

That know not how to remedy our own;

And do them justice, when unjustly we,

For all our wrongs, can compass no redress.

But shall I never live to see the day,

That I may come, by justice of the heavens,

To know the cause that may my cares allay?

This toils my body, this consumeth age,

That only I to all men just must be,

And neither gods nor men be just to me.

DEPUTY

Worthy Hieronimo, your office asks

A care to punish such as do transgress.

HIERONIMO

So is’t my duty to regard his death

Who, when he liv’d, deserv’d my dearest blood.

But come, for that we came for: let’s begin;

For here lies that which bids me to be gone.

Enter Officers, Boy, and PEDRINGANO, with a letter in his hand, bound.

DEPUTY

Bring forth the prisoner, for the court is set.

PEDRINGANO

Gramercy, boy, but it was time to come;

For I had written to my lord anew

A nearer matter that concerneth him,

For fear his lordship had forgotten me.

But sith he hath remember’d me so well —

Come, come, come on, when shall we to this gear?

HIERONIMO

Stand forth, thou monster, murderer of men,

And here, for satisfaction of the world,

Confess thy folly, and repent thy fault;

For there’s thy place of execution.

PEDRINGANO

This is short work: Well, to your marshalship

First I confess —nor fear I death therefore —

I am the man, ’twas I slew Serberine.

But, sir, then you think this shall be the place

Where we shall satisfy you for this gear?

DEPUTY

Ay, Pedringano.

PEDRINGANO

Now I think not so.

HIERONIMO

Peace, impudent, for thou shalt find it so.

For blood with blood shall, while I sit as judge,

Be satisfied, and the law discharg’d.

And though myself cannot receive the like,

Yet will I see that others have their right.

Despatch: the fault’s approvèd and confess’d,

And by our law he is condemn’d to die.

HANGMAN

Come on, sir, are you ready?

PEDRINGANO

To do what, my fine officious knave?

HANGMAN

To go to this gear.

PEDRINGANO

O sir, you are too forward: thou wouldst fain furnish me
with a halter to disfurnish me of my habit. So I should
go out of this gear, my raiment, into that gear, the rope.
But, hangman, now I spy your knavery, I’ll not change
without boot, that’s flat.

HANGMAN

Come, sir.

PEDRINGANO

So, then, I must up?

HANGMAN

No remedy.

PEDRINGANO

Yes, but there shall be for my coming down.

HANGMAN

Indeed, here’s a remedy for that.

PEDRINGANO

How? be turned off?

HANGMAN

Ay, truly; come, are you ready? I pray, sir, despatch;
the day goes away.

PEDRINGANO

What, do you hang by the hour? If you do, I may chance
to break your old custom.

HANGMAN

Faith, you have reason; for I am like to break your
young neck.

PEDRINGANO

Dost thou mock me, hangman? Pray God, I be not preserved
to break your knave’s pate for this.

HANGMAN

Alas, sir! you are a foot too low to reach it, and I hope
you will never grow so high while I am in the office.

PEDRINGANO

Sirrah, dost see yonder boy with the box in his hand?

HANGMAN

What, he that points to it with his finger?

PEDRINGANO

Ay, that companion.

HANGMAN

I know him not; but what of him?

PEDRINGANO

Dost thou think to live till his old doublet will make thee
a new truss?

HANGMAN

Ay, and many a fair year after, to truss up many a
honester man than either thou or he.

PEDRINGANO

What hath he in his box, as thou thinkest?

HANGMAN

Faith, I cannot tell, nor I care not greatly; Methinks
you should rather hearken to your soul’s health.

PEDRINGANO

Why, sirrah hangman, I take it that that is good for
the body is likewise good for the soul; and, it may be, in that
box is balm for both.

HANGMAN

Well, thou art even the merriest piece of man’s flesh
that e’er groaned at my office door.

PEDRINGANO

Is your roguery become an office with a knave’s name?

HANGMAN

Ay, and that shall all they witness that see you seal it
with a thief’s name.

PEDRINGANO

I prithee, request this good company to pray with me.

HANGMAN

Ay, marry, sir, this is a good motion: my masters, you
see here’s a good fellow —

PEDRINGANO

Nay, nay, now I remember me, let them alone till some
other time; for now I have no great need.

HIERONIMO

I have not seen a wretch so impudent.

Oh, monstrous times where murder’s set so light,

And where the soul, that should be shrin’d in heaven,

Solely delights in interdicted things,

Still wand’ring in the thorny passages,

That intercepts itself of happiness.

Murder! O bloody monster! God forbid

A fault so foul should ’scape unpunishèd.

Despatch, and see this execution done! —

This makes me to remember thee, my son.

Exit Hieronimo.

PEDRINGANO

Nay, soft, no haste.

DEPUTY

Why, wherefore stay you? Have you hope of life?

PEDRINGANO

Why, ay!

HANGMAN

As how?

PEDRINGANO

Why, rascal, by my pardon from the King.

HANGMAN

Stand you on that? Then you shall off with this.

He turns him off.

DEPUTY

105

So, executioner; —convey him hence;

But let his body be unburièd.

Let not the earth be chokèd or infect

With that which heaven contemns, and men neglect.

Exeunt.

[SCENE VII]

Enter HIERONIMO.

HIERONIMO

Where shall I run to breathe abroad my woes,

My woes whose weight hath wearièd the earth?

Or mine exclaims, that have surchargèd the air

With ceaseless plaints for my deceasèd son?

The blust’ring winds, conspiring with my words,

At my lament have mov’d the leafless trees,

Disrob’d the meadows of their flower’d green,

Made mountains marsh with spring-tides of my tears,

And broken through the brazen gates of hell.

Yet still tormented is my tortur’d soul

With broken sighs and restless passions,

That wingèd, mount; and, hovering in the air,

Beat at the windows of the brightest heavens,

Soliciting for justice and revenge:

But they are plac’d in those empyreal heights,

Where, countermur’d with walls of diamond,

I find the place impregnable; and they

Resist my woes, and give my words no way.

Enter HANGMAN with a letter.

HANGMAN

O lord, sir! God bless you, sir! the man, sir, Petergade,
sir, he that was so full of merry conceits —

HIERONIMO

Well, what of him?

HANGMAN

O Lord, sir, he went the wrong way; the fellow had a
fair commission to the contrary. Sir, here is his passport;
I pray you, sir, we have done him wrong.

HIERONIMO

I warrant thee, give it me.

HANGMAN

You will stand between the gallows and me?

HIERONIMO

Ay, ay.

HANGMAN

I thank your lord worship.

Exit Hangman.

HIERONIMO

And yet, though somewhat nearer me concerns,

I will, to ease the grief that I sustain,

Take truce with sorrow while I read on this.

“My lord, I writ, as mine extremes requirèd,

That you would labour my delivery:

If you neglect, my life is desperate,

And in my death I shall reveal the truth.

You know, my lord, I slew him for your sake,

And was confederate with the prince and you,

Won by rewards and hopeful promises,

I holp to murder Don Horatio too.” —

Holp he to murder mine Horatio?

And actors in th’accursèd tragedy

Wast thou Lorenzo, Balthazar, and thou,

Of whom my son, my son deserv’d so well?

What have I heard? what have mine eyes beheld?

O sacred heavens, may it come to pass

That such a monstrous and detested deed,

So closely smother’d and so long conceal’d,

Shall thus by this be vengèd or reveal’d?

Now see I what I durst not then suspect,

That Bel-imperia’s letter was not feign’d,

Nor feignèd she, though falsely they have wrong’d

Both her, myself, Horatio, and themselves.

Now may I make compare ’twixt hers and this,

Of every accident; I ne’er could find

Till now, and now I feelingly perceive

They did what heaven unpunish’d would not leave.

O false Lorenzo! are these thy flatt’ring looks?

Is this the honour that thou didst my son?

And Balthazar —bane to thy soul and me! —

Was this the ransom he reserv’d thee for?

Woe to the cause of these constrainèd wars!

Woe to thy baseness and captivity,

Woe to thy birth, thy body, and thy soul,

Thy cursèd father, and thy conquer’d self!

And bann’d with bitter execrations be

The day and place where he did pity thee!

But wherefore waste I mine unfruitful words,

When naught but blood will satisfy my woes?

I will go plain me to my lord the King,

And cry aloud for justice through the court,

Wearing the flints with these my wither’d feet,

And either purchase justice by entreats,

Or tire them all with my revenging threats.

Exit.

[SCENE VIII]

Enter ISABELLA and her MAID.

ISABELLA

So that, you say, this herb will purge the eye,

And this, the head? —

Ah, but none of them will purge the heart!

No, there’s no medicine left for my disease,

Nor any physic to recure the dead.

She runs lunatic

Horatio! Oh, where’s Horatio?

MAID

Good madam, affright not thus yourself

With outrage for your son Horatio:

He sleeps in quiet in the Elysian fields.

ISABELLA

Why, did I not give you gowns and goodly things,

Bought you a whistle and a whipstock too,

To be revengèd on their villainies?

MAID

Madam, these humours do torment my soul.

ISABELLA

My soul! —poor soul! thou talks of things

Thou know’st not what. My soul hath silver wings,

That mounts me up unto the highest heavens;

To heav’n: ay, there sits my Horatio,

Backed with a troop of fiery Cherubins

Dancing about his newly healed wounds,

Singing sweet hymns and chanting heavenly notes:

Rare harmony to greet his innocence,

That died, ay died, a mirror in our days.

But say, where shall I find the men, the murderers,

That slew Horatio? Whither shall I run

To find them out that murdered my son?

Exeunt.

[SCENE IX]

BEL-IMPERIA at a window [above].

BEL-IMPERIA

What means this outrage that is offer’d me?

Why am I thus sequester’d from the court?

No notice! Shall I not know the cause

Of these my secret and suspicious ills?

Accursèd brother, unkind murderer,

Why bends thou thus thy mind to martyr me?

Hieronimo, why writ I of thy wrongs,

Or why art thou so slack in thy revenge?

Andrea, O Andrea! that thou saw’st

Me for thy friend Horatio handled thus,

And him for me thus causeless murdered! —

Well, force perforce, I must constrain myself

To patience, and apply me to the time,

Till heav’n, as I have hop’d, shall set me free.

Enter CHRISTOPHIL

Come, madam Bel-imperia, this may not be.

Exeunt.

[SCENE X]

Enter LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, and the PAGE.

LORENZO

Boy, talk no further; thus far things go well.

Thou art assurèd that thou saw’st him dead?

PAGE

Or else, my lord, I live not.

LORENZO

That’s enough.

As for his resolution in his end,

Leave that to him with whom he sojourns now.

Here, take my ring, and give it Christophil;

And bid him let my sister be enlarg’d,

And bring her hither straight. —

Exit Page.

This that I did was for a policy,

To smooth and keep the murder secret,

Which, as a nine-days’ wonder, being o’erblown,

My gentle sister will I now enlarge.

BALTHAZAR

And time, Lorenzo: for my lord the duke,

You heard, enquirèd for her yester-night.

LORENZO

Why, and my lord, I hope you heard me say

Sufficient reason why she kept away;

But that’s all one. My lord, you love her?

BALTHAZAR

Ay.

LORENZO

Then in your love beware; deal cunningly:

Salve all suspicions, only soothe me up;

And if she hap to stand on terms with us,

As for her sweetheart and concealment so,

Jest with her gently; under feigned jest

Are things conceal’d that else would breed unrest. —

But here she comes.

Enter BEL-IMPERIA.

Now, sister!

BEL-IMPERIA

Sister? —No!

Thou art no brother, but an enemy;

Else wouldst thou not have us’d thy sister so:

First, to affright me with thy weapons drawn,

And with extremes abuse my company;

And then to hurry me like whirlwind’s rage

Amidst a crew of thy confederates,

And clap me up, where none might come at me,

Nor I at any to reveal my wrongs.

What madding fury did possess thy wits?

Or wherein is’t that I offended thee?

LORENZO

Advise you better, Bel-imperia,

For I have done you no disparagement;

Unless, by more discretion than deserv’d,

I sought to save your honour and mine own.

BEL-IMPERIA

Mine honour? why, Lorenzo, wherein is’t

That I neglect my reputation so,

As you, or any, need to rescue it?

LORENZO

His highness and my father were resolv’d

To come confer with old Hieronimo,

Concerning certain matters of estate,

That by the Viceroy was determinèd.

BEL-IMPERIA

And wherein was mine honour touch’d in that?

BALTHAZAR

Have patience, Bel-imperia; hear the rest.

LORENZO

Me (next in sight) as messenger they sent,

To give him notice that they were so nigh:

Now when I came, consorted with the prince,

And, unexpected in an arbour there,

Found Bel-imperia with Horatio —

BEL-IMPERIA

How then?

LORENZO

Why, then, remembering that old disgrace,

Which you for Don Andrea had endur’d,

And now were likely longer to sustain,

By being found so meanly accompanied,

Thought rather —for I knew no readier mean —

To thrust Horatio forth my father’s way.

BALTHAZAR

And carry you obscurely somewhere else,

Lest that his highness should have found you there.

BEL-IMPERIA

Ev’n so, my lord? And you are witness

That this is true which he entreateth of?

You, gentle brother, forg’d this for my sake,

And you, my lord, were made his instrument?

A work of worth, worthy the noting too!

But what’s the cause that you conceal’d me since?

LORENZO

Your melancholy, sister, since the news

Of your first favourite Don Andrea’s death,

My father’s old wrath hath exasperate.

BALTHAZAR

And better was’t for you, being in disgrace,

To absent yourself and give his fury place.

BEL-IMPERIA

But why had I no notice of his ire?

LORENZO

That were to add more fuel to your fire,

Who burnt like Aetna for Andrea’s loss.

BEL-IMPERIA

Hath not my father then enquir’d for me?

LORENZO

Sister, he hath, and thus excus’d I thee.

He whispereth in her ear.

But, Bel-imperia, see the gentle Prince;

Look on thy love, behold young Balthazar,

Whose passions by thy presence are increas’d,

And in whose melancholy thou may’st see

Thy hate, his love; thy flight, his following thee.

BEL-IMPERIA

Brother, you are become an orator —

I know not, I, by what experience —

Too politic for me, past all compare,

Since last I saw you; but content yourself:

The prince is meditating higher things.

BALTHAZAR

’Tis of thy beauty then that conquers kings;

Of those thy tresses, Ariadne’s twines,

Wherewith my liberty thou hast surpris’d;

Of that thine ivory front, my sorrow’s map,

Wherein I see no haven to rest my hope.

BEL-IMPERIA

To love and fear, and both at once, my lord,

In my conceit, are things of more import

Than women’s wits are to be busied with.

BALTHAZAR

’Tis I that love.

BEL-IMPERIA

Whom?

BALTHAZAR

Bel-imperia.

BEL-IMPERIA

But I that fear.

BALTHAZAR

Whom?

BEL-IMPERIA

Bel-imperia.

LORENZO

Fear [you] yourself?

BEL-IMPERIA

Ay, brother.

LORENZO

How?

BEL-IMPERIA

As those

That, what they love, are loath and fear to lose.

BALTHAZAR

100

Then, fair, let Balthazar your keeper be.

BEL-IMPERIA

No, Balthazar doth fear as well as we:

Et tremulo metui pavidum iunxere timorem,

Et vanum stolidae proditionis opus.

LORENZO

Nay, an you argue things so cunningly,

105

We’ll go continue this discourse at court.

BALTHAZAR

Led by the lodestar of her heavenly looks,

Wends poor, oppressèd Balthazar,

As o’er the mountains walks the wanderer,

Incertain to effect his pilgrimage.

Exeunt.

[SCENE XI]

Enter two PORTINGALES, and HIERONIMO meets them.

1 PORTINGALE

By your leave, sir.

HIERONIMO

^Q4’Tis neither as you think, nor as you think,

Nor as you think; you’re wide all:

These slippers are not mine, they were my son Horatio’s.

My son! and what’s a son? A thing begot

Within a pair of minutes, thereabout;

A lump bred up in darkness, and doth serve

To ballace these light creatures we call women;

And, at nine moneths’ end, creeps forth to light.

What is there yet in a son,

To make a father dote, rave, or run mad?

Being born, it pouts, cries, and breeds teeth.

What is there yet in a son? He must be fed,

Be taught to go, and speak. Ay, or yet?

Why might not a man love a calf as well?

Or melt in passion o’er a frisking kid,

As for a son? Methinks, a young bacon,

Or a fine little smooth horse colt,

Should move a man as much as doth a son:

For one of these, in very little time,

Will grow to some good use; whereas a son,

The more he grows in stature and in years,

The more unsquar’d, unbevell’d, he appears,

Reckons his parents among the rank of fools,

Strikes care upon their heads with his mad riots;

Makes them look old, before they meet with age.

This is a son! —And what a loss were this,

Consider’d truly? —O, but my Horatio

Grew out of reach of these insatiate humours:

He lov’d his loving parents;

He was my comfort, and his mother’s joy,

The very arm that did hold up our house:

Our hopes were storèd up in him,

None but a damnèd murderer could hate him.

He had not seen the back of nineteen year,

When his strong arm unhors’d the proud Prince Balthazar,

and his great mind,

Too full of honour, took him unto mercy —

That valiant, but ignoble Portugal!

Well, heaven is heaven still!

And there is Nemesis, and Furies,

And things call’d whips,

And they sometimes do meet with murderers:

They do not always ’scape, that’s some comfort.

Ay, ay, ay; and then time steals on,

And steals, and steals till violence leaps forth

Like thunder wrapp’d in a ball of fire,

And so doth bring confusion to them all.] Q4

Good leave have you: nay, I pray you go,

For I’ll leave you, if you can leave me so.

2 PORTINGALE

Pray you, which is the next way to my lord the duke’s?

HIERONIMO

The next way from me.

1 PORTINGALE

To his house, we mean.

HIERONIMO

Oh, hard by; ’tis yon house that you see.

2 PORTINGALE

You could not tell us if his son were there?

HIERONIMO

Who, my lord Lorenzo?

1 PORTINGALE

Ay, sir.

He goeth in at one door and comes out at another.

HIERONIMO

Oh, forbear!

For other talk for us far fitter were.

But if you be importunate to know

The way to him and where to find him out,

Then list to me, and I’ll resolve your doubt.

There is a path upon your left-hand side,

That leadeth from a guilty conscience

Unto a forest of distrust and fear,

A darksome place, and dangerous to pass;

There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts,

Whose baleful humours if you but uphold,

It will conduct you to Despair and Death;

Whose rocky cliffs when you have once beheld,

Within a hugy dale of lasting night,

That, kindl’d with the world’s iniquities,

Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes,

Not far from thence, where murderers have built

A habitation for their cursèd souls,

There, in a brazen cauldron fix’d by Jove

In his fell wrath upon a sulphur flame,

Yourselves shall find Lorenzo bathing him

In boiling lead and blood of innocents.

1 PORTUGAL

Ha, ha, ha!

HIERONIMO

Ha, ha, ha!

Why, ha, ha, ha! Farewell, good ha, ha, ha!

Exit.

2 PORTUGAL

Doubtless this man is passing lunatic,

Or imperfection of his age doth make him dote.

Come, let’s away to seek my lord the duke.

Exeunt.

[SCENE XII]

Enter HIERONIMO, with a poniard in one hand and a rope in the other.

HIERONIMO

Now, sir, perhaps I come and see the King;

The King sees me, and fain would hear my suit:

Why, is not this a strange and seld-seen thing,

That standers-by with toys should strike me mute?

Go to, I see their shifts, and say no more.

Hieronimo, ’tis time for thee to trudge:

Down by the dale that flows with purple gore,

Standeth a fiery tower; There sits a judge

Upon a seat of steel and molten brass,

And ’twixt his teeth he holds a fire-brand,

That leads unto the lake where hell doth stand.

Away, Hieronimo! to him be gone:

He’ll do thee justice for Horatio’s death.

Turn down this path, thou shalt be with him straight;

Or this, and then thou need’st not take thy breath:

This way, or that way! —Soft and fair, not so:

For if I hang or kill myself, let’s know

Who will revenge Horatio’s murder then?

No, no, fie, no. Pardon me, I’ll none of that.

He flings away the dagger and halter.

This way I’ll take, and this way comes the King:

He takes them up again.

And here I’ll have a fling at him, that’s flat:

And, Balthazar, I’ll be with thee to bring,

And thee, Lorenzo! Here’s the King —nay, stay;

And here, ay, here —there goes the hare away.

Enter KING, AMBASSADOR, CASTILE, and LORENZO.

KING

Now show, Ambassador, what our Viceroy saith:

Hath he receiv’d the articles we sent?

HIERONIMO

Justice, O, justice to Hieronimo!

LORENZO

Back! See’st thou not the King is busy?

HIERONIMO

Oh, is he so?

KING

Who is he that interrupts our business?

HIERONIMO

Not I. Hieronimo, beware! go by, go by!

AMBASSADOR

Renownèd King, he hath receiv’d and read

Thy kingly proffers and thy promised league;

And, as a man extremely overjoy’d

To hear his son so princely entertain’d,

Whose death he had so solemnly bewail’d,

This for thy further satisfaction

And kingly love, he kindly lets thee know:

First, for the marriage of his princely son

With Bel-imperia, thy belovèd niece,

The news are more delightful to his soul,

Than myrrh or incense to the offended heavens.

In person, therefore, will he come himself,

To see the marriage rites solemnisèd,

And, in the presence of the court of Spain,

To knit a sure inexplicable band

Of kingly love and everlasting league

Betwixt the crowns of Spain and Portingale.

There will he give his crown to Balthazar,

And make a queen of Bel-imperia.

KING

Brother, how like you this our Viceroy’s love?

CASTILE

No doubt, my lord, it is an argument

Of honourable care to keep his friend,

And wondrous zeal to Balthazar his son;

Nor am I least indebted to his grace,

That bends his liking to my daughter thus.

AMBASSADOR

Now last, dread lord, here hath his highness sent

(Although he send not that his son return)

His ransom due to Don Horatio.

HIERONIMO

Horatio! who calls Horatio?

KING

And well remember’d: Thank his majesty.

Here, see it given to Horatio.

HIERONIMO

Justice, O, justice, justice, gentle King!

KING

Who is that? Hieronimo?

HIERONIMO

Justice, O, justice! O my son, my son!

My son, whom naught can ransom or redeem!

LORENZO

Hieronimo, you are not well-advis’d.

HIERONIMO

Away, Lorenzo, hinder me no more;

For thou hast made me bankrupt of my bliss.

Give me my son! you shall not ransom him!

Away! I’ll rip the bowels of the earth,

He diggeth with his dagger

And ferry over to th’Elysian plains,

And bring my son to show his deadly wounds.

Stand from about me!

I’ll make a pickaxe of my poniard,

And here surrender up my marshalship;

For I’ll go marshal up the fiends in hell

To be avengèd on you all for this.

KING

What means this outrage?

Will none of you restrain his fury?

HIERONIMO

Nay, soft and fair! you shall not need to strive:

Needs must he go that the devils drive.

Exit.

KING

What accident hath happ’d Hieronimo?

I have not seen him to demean him so.

LORENZO

My gracious lord, he is with extreme pride,

Conceiv’d of young Horatio his son,

And covetous of having to himself

The ransom of the young Prince Balthazar,

Distract and in a manner lunatic.

KING

Believe me, nephew, we are sorry for’t:

This is the love that fathers bear their sons.

But, gentle brother, go give to him this gold,

The Prince’s ransom; let him have his due.

For what he hath, Horatio shall not want;

Haply Hieronimo hath need thereof.

LORENZO

But if he be thus helplessly distract,

’Tis requisite his office be resign’d

100

And given to one of more discretion.

KING

We shall increase his melancholy so.

’Tis best that we see further in it first,

Till when ourself will not exempt the place.

And, brother, now bring in the Ambassador,

105

That he may be a witness of the match

’Twixt Balthazar and Bel-imperia,

And that we may prefix a certain time,

Wherein the marriage shall be solemnis’d,

That we may have thy lord the Viceroy, here.

AMBASSADOR

110

Therein your highness highly shall content

His majesty, that longs to hear from hence.

KING

On, then, and hear you, Lord Ambassador. —

Exeunt.

^Q4[SCENE XIIA]

Enter JAQUES and PEDRO.

JAQUES

I wonder, Pedro, why our master thus

At midnight sends us with our torches light,

When man, and bird, and beast, are all at rest,

Save those that watch for rape and bloody murder?

PEDRO

O Jaques, know thou that our master’s mind

Is much distraught, since his Horatio died,

And — now his agèd years should sleep in rest,

His heart in quiet — like a desperate man,

Grows lunatic and childish for his son.

Sometimes, as he doth at his table sit,

He speaks as if Horatio stood by him;

Then starting in a rage, falls on the earth,

Cries out ‘Horatio, where is my Horatio?’

So that with extreme grief and cutting sorrow

There is not left in him one inch of man:

See, where he comes.

Enter HIERONIMO.

HIERONIMO

I pry through every crevice of each wall,

Look on each tree, and search through every brake,

Beat at the bushes, stamp our grandam earth,

Dive in the water, and stare up to heaven:

Yet cannot I behold my son Horatio. —

How now, who’s there? Sprits, sprits?

PEDRO

We are your servants that attend you, sir.

HIERONIMO

What make you with your torches in the dark?

PEDRO

You bid us light them and attend you here.

HIERONIMO

No, no, you are deceiv‘d, not I, —you are deceiv’d!

Was I so mad to bid you light your torches now?

Light me your torches at the mid of noon,

Whenas the sun-god rides in all his glory;

Light me your torches then.

PEDRO

Then we burn daylight.

HIERONIMO

Let it be burnt; Night is a murd‘rous slut,

That would not have her treasons to be seen;

And yonder pale-fac‘d Hecate there, the moon,

Doth give consent to that is done in darkness,

And all those stars that gaze upon her face,

Are aglets on her sleeve, pins on her train;

And those that should be powerful and divine,

Do sleep in darkness, when they most should shine.

PEDRO

Provoke them not, fair sir, with tempting words:

The heav‘ns are gracious, and your miseries

And sorrow makes you speak you know not what.

HIERONIMO

Villain, thou liest, and thou doest naught

But tell me I am mad: thou liest, I am not mad!

I know thee to be Pedro, and he Jaques.

I’ll prove it to thee; and were I mad, how could I?

Where was she that same night when my Horatio

Was murder‘d?

She should have shone: Search thou the book.

Had the moon shone

In my boy’s face there was a kind of grace,

That I know —nay, I do know—had the murderer seen him,

His weapon would have fall‘n and cut the earth,

Had he been fram‘d of naught but blood and death.

Alack! when mischief doth it knows not what,

What shall we say to mischief?

Enter ISABELLA.

ISABELLA

Dear Hieronimo, come in a-doors;

O, seek not means so to increase thy sorrow.

HIERONIMO

Indeed, Isabella, we do nothing here:

I do not cry: ask Pedro, and ask Jaques;

Not I, indeed; we are very merry, very merry.

ISABELLA

How? be merry here, be merry here?

Is not this the place, and this the very tree,

Where my Horatio died, where he was murder‘d?

HIERONIMO

Was — do not say what: Let her weep it out.

This was the tree; I set it of a kernel:

And when our hot Spain could not let it grow,

But that the infant and the human sap

Began to wither, duly twice a morning

Would I be sprinkling it with fountain-water.

At last it grew and grew, and bore and bore,

Till at the length

It grew a gallows, and did bear our son:

It bore thy fruit and mine —O wicked, wicked plant!

One knocks within at the door.

See who knock there.

PEDRO

It is a painter, sir.

HIERONIMO

Bid him come in, and paint some comfort,

For surely there’s none lives but painted comfort.

Let him come in! —One knows not what may chance:

God’s will that I should set this tree! —But even so

Masters ungrateful servants rear from naught,

And then they hate them that did bring them up.

Enter the PAINTER.

PAINTER

God bless you, sir.

HIERONIMO

Wherefore? why, thou scornful villain?

How, where, or by what means should I be bless‘d?

ISABELLA

What wouldst thou have, good fellow?

PAINTER

Justice, madam.

HIERONIMO

O ambitious beggar!

Wouldst thou have that that lives not in the world?

Why, all the undelv‘d mines cannot buy

An ounce of justice. ’tis a jewel so inestimable.

I tell thee,

God hath engross‘d all justice in his hands,

And there is none but what comes from him.

PAINTER

Oh, then I see

That God must right me for my murder‘d son.

HIERONIMO

How, was thy son murder‘d?

PAINTER

Ay, sir; no man did hold a son so dear.

HIERONIMO

What, not as thine? That’s a lie,

As massy as the earth: I had a son,

Whose least unvalu‘d hair did weigh

A thousand of thy son’s: and he was murder‘d.

PAINTER

Alas, sir, I had no more but he.

HIERONIMO

100

Nor I, nor I: but this same one of mine

Was worth a legion. But all is one.

Pedro, Jaques, go in a-doors; Isabella, go,

And this good fellow here and I

Will range this hideous orchard up and down,

105

Like to two lions reavèd of their young.

Go in a-doors, I say.

Exeunt. The Painter and he sits down

Come, let’s talk wisely now.

Was thy son murder‘d?

PAINTER

Ay, sir.

HIERONIMO

So was mine.

How dost take it? art thou not sometimes mad?

Is there no tricks that comes before thine eyes?

PAINTER

110

O Lord, yes, sir.

HIERONIMO

Art a painter? Canst paint me a tear, or a wound, a groan,
or a sigh? Canst paint me such a tree as this?

PAINTER

Sir, I am sure you have heard of my painting: My name’s
Bazardo.

HIERONIMO

Bazardo! afore God, an excellent fellow. Look you, sir,
do you see, I’d have youpaint me in my gallery, in your
oil-colours, matted, and draw me five years younger than I
am —do ye see, sir, let five years go; let them go — like
the Marshal of Spain. My wife Isabella standing by me, with
a speaking look to my son Horatio, which should intend to
this or some such-like purpose: God bless thee, my sweet
son;’ and my hand leaning upon his head, thus, sir; do you
see? —May it be done?

PAINTER

Very well, sir.

HIERONIMO

Nay, I pray, mark me, sir: then, sir, would I have you
paint me this tree, this very tree. Canst paint a doleful cry?

PAINTER

Seemingly, sir.

HIERONIMO

Nay, it should cry: but all is one. Well, sir, paint me a
youth run through and through with villains’ swords, hanging
upon this tree. Canst thou draw a murderer?

PAINTER

I’ll warrant you, sir, I have the pattern of the most notorious villains that ever lived in all Spain.

HIERONIMO

O, let them be worse, worse; stretch thine art, and let their
beards be of Judas his own colour; and let their eye-brows
jutty over: in any case observe that. Then, sir, after some
violent noise, bring me forth in my shirt, and my gown under
mine arm, with my torch in my hand, and my sword reared up
thus: —and with these words:
‘What noise is this? Who calls Hieronimo?’
May it be done?

PAINTER

Yea, sir.

HIERONIMO

Well, sir; then bring me forth, bring me through alley and
alley, still with a distracted countenance going along, and let
my hair heave up my night-cap. Let the clouds scowl, make
the moon dark, the stars extinct, the winds blowing, the bells
tolling, the owl shrieking, the toads croaking, the minutes
jarring, an the clock striking twelve. And then at last, sir,
starting, behold a man hanging, and tottering, and tottering, as
you know the wind will wave a man, and I with a trice to cut him
down. And looking upon him by the advantage of my torch, find
it to be my son Horatio. There you may show a passion, there
you may show a passion! Draw me like old Priam of Troy,
crying: ‘The house is afire, the house is afire, as the torch
over my head!‘ Make me curse, make me rave, make me cry,
make me mad, make me well again, make me curse hell,
invocate heaven, and in the end eave me in a trance —and so
forth.

PAINTER

And is this the end?

HIERONIMO

O no, there is no end: the end is death and madness! As
I am never better tan when I am mad, then methinks I am
a brave fellow, then I do wonders: but reason abuseth me,
and there’s the torment, there’s the hell. At the last, sir, bring
me to one of the murderers; were he as strong as Hector,
thus would I tear and drag him up and down.

He beats the Painter in, then comes out again,with a book in his hand.Q4

[SCENE XIII]

Enter HIERONIMO with a book in his hand.

[HIERONIMO]

Vindicta mihi!

Ay, heaven will be reveng’d of every ill;

Nor will they suffer murder unrepaid.

Then stay, Hieronimo, attend their will:

For mortal men may not appoint their time! —

“Per scelus semper tutum est sceleribus iter.”

Strike, and strike home, where wrong is offer’d thee;

For evils unto ills conductors be,

And death’s the worst of resolution.

For he that thinks with patience to contend

To quiet life, his life shall easily end. —

“Fata si miseros iuvant, habes salutem;

Fata si vitam negant, habes sepulchrum:”

If destiny thy miseries do ease,

Then hast thou health, and happy shalt thou be;

If destiny deny thee life, Hieronimo,

Yet shalt thou be assurèd of a tomb:

If neither, yet let this thy comfort be:

Heaven covereth him that hath no burial.

And to conclude, I will revenge his death!

But how? Not as the vulgar wits of men,

With open but inevitable ills,

As by a secret, yet a certain mean,

Which under kindship will be cloakèd best.

Wise men will take their opportunity

Closely and safely fitting things to time.

But in extremes advantage hath no time;

And therefore all times fit not for revenge.

Thus therefore will I rest me in unrest,

Dissembling quiet in unquietness,

Not seeming that I know their villainies,

That my simplicity may make them think

That ignorantly I will let all slip;

For ignorance, I wot, and well they know,

Remedium malorum iners est.

Nor aught avails it me to menace them,

Who, as a wintry storm upon a plain,

Will bear me down with their nobility.

No, no, Hieronimo, thou must enjoin

Thine eyes to observation, and thy tongue

To milder speeches than thy spirit affords,

Thy heart to patience, and thy hands to rest,

Thy cap to courtesy, and thy knee to bow,

Till to revenge thou know, when, where and how.

A noise within.

How now, what noise? What coil is that you keep?

Enter a SERVANT.

SERVANT

Here are a sort of poor petitioners,

That are importunate, an it shall please you, sir,

That you should plead their cases to the King.

HIERONIMO

That I should plead their several actions?

Why, let them enter, and let me see them.

Enter three CITIZENS and an OLD MAN.

1 CITIZEN

[to the other Citizens]

So I tell you this: for learning and for law,

There is not any advocate in Spain

That can prevail, or will take half the pain

That he will, in pursuit of equity.

HIERONIMO

Come near, you men that thus importune me. —

[Aside.]

Now must I bear a face of gravity;

For thus I us’d before my marshalship,

To plead in causes as corregidor. —

Come on, sirs, what’s the matter?

2 CITIZEN

Sir, an action.

HIERONIMO

Of battery?

1 CITIZEN

Mine of debt.

HIERONIMO

Give place.

2 CITIZEN

No, sir, mine is an action of the case.

3 CITIZEN

Mine an ejectione firmae by a lease.

HIERONIMO

Content you, sirs; Are you determinèd

That I should plead your several actions?

1 CITIZEN

Ay, sir, and here’s my declaration.

2 CITIZEN

And here is my bond.

3 CITIZEN

And here is my lease.

They give him papers.

HIERONIMO

But wherefore stands yon silly man so mute,

With mournful eyes and hands to heav’n uprear’d?

Come hither, father, let me know thy cause.

OLD MAN

O worth y sir, my cause, but slightly known,

May move the hearts of warlike Myrmidons,

And melt the Corsic rocks with ruthful tears.

HIERONIMO

Say, father, tell me, what’s thy suit?

OLD MAN

No, sir, could my woes

Give way unto my most distressful words,

Then could I not in paper, as you see,

With ink bewray what blood began in me.

HIERONIMO

What’s here? ‘The humble supplication

of Don Bazulto for his murder’d son.’

OLD MAN

Ay, sir.

HIERONIMO

No, sir, it was my murder’d son:

Oh, my son, my son, oh, my son Horatio!

But mine, or thine, Bazulto, be content.

Here, take my handkercher, and wipe thine eyes,

Whiles wretched I in thy mishaps may see

The lively portrait of my dying self.

He draweth out a bloody napkin.

O no, not this; Horatio, this was thine;

And when I dy’d it in thy dearest blood,

This was a token ’twixt thy soul and me,

That of thy death revengèd I should be.

But here, take this, and this —what, my purse? —

Ay, this, and that, and all of them are thine;

For all as one are our extremities.

1 CITIZEN

O, see the kindness of Hieronimo!

2 CITIZEN

This gentleness shows him a gentleman.

HIERONIMO

See, see, O see thy shame, Hieronimo;

See here a loving father to his son!

Behold the sorrows and the sad laments,

That he delivereth for his son’s decease!

If love’s effects so strives in lesser things,

100

If love enforce such moods in meaner wits,

If love express such power in poor estates:

Hieronimo, whenas a raging sea,

Toss’d with the wind and tide, o’erturneth them,

The upper billows’ course of waves to keep,

105

Whilst lesser waters labour in the deep:

Then sham’st thou not, Hieronimo, to neglect

The sweet revenge of thy Horatio?

Though on this earth justice will not be found,

I’ll down to hell, and in this passion

110

Knock at the dismal gates of Pluto’s court,

Getting by force, as once Alcides did,

A troop of Furies and tormenting hags

To torture Don Lorenzo and the rest.

Yet lest the triple-headed porter should

115

Deny my passage to the slimy strand,

The Thracian poet thou shalt counterfeit:

Come on, old father, be my Orpheus,

And if thou canst no notes upon the harp,

Then sound the burden of thy sore heart’s grief,

120

Till we do gain that Proserpine may grant

Revenge on them that murderèd my son.

Then will I rend and tear them thus and thus,

Shiv’ring their limbs in pieces with my teeth.

Tears the papers.

1 CITIZEN

O sir, my declaration!

Exit Hieronimo, and they after.

2 CITIZEN

Save my bond!

Enter HIERONIMO

3 CITIZEN

125

Alas, my lease! it cost me ten pound,

And you, my lord, have torn the same.

HIERONIMO

That cannot be, I gave it never a wound;

Show me one drop of blood fall from the same:

How is it possible I should slay it then?

130

Tush, no; run after, catch me if you can.

Exeunt all but the old man. Bazulto remains till HIERONIMO enters again, who, staring him in the face, speaks.

HIERONIMO

And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth,

To ask for justice in this upper earth,

To tell thy father thou art unreveng’d,

To wring more tears from Isabella’s eyes,

135

Whose lights are dimm’d with over-long laments?

Go back, my son, complain to Aeacus,

For here’s no justice; gentle boy, be gone,

For justice is exilèd from the earth:

Hieronimo will bear thee company.

140

Thy mother cries on righteous Rhadamanth

For just revenge against the murderers.

OLD MAN

Alas, my lord, whence springs this troubled speech?

HIERONIMO

But let me look on my Horatio.

Sweet boy, how art thou chang’d in death’s black shade!

145

Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth,

But suffer’d thy fair crimson-colour’d spring

With wither’d winter to be blasted thus?

Horatio, thou art older than thy father:

Ah, ruthless fate, that favour thus transforms!

OLD MAN

150

Ah, my good lord, I am not your young son.

HIERONIMO

What, not my son? Thou then a Fury art,

Sent from the empty kingdom of black night

To summon me to make appearance

Before grim Minos and just Rhadamanth,

155

To plague Hieronimo that is remiss,

And seeks not vengeance for Horatio’s death.

OLD MAN

I am a grievèd man, and not a ghost,

That came for justice for my murder’d son.

HIERONIMO

Ay, now I know thee, now thou nam’st thy son:

160

Thou art the lively image of my grief;

Within thy face, my sorrows I may see.

Thy eyes are gumm’d with tears, thy cheeks are wan,

Thy forehead troubled, and thy mutt’ring lips

Murmur sad words abruptly broken off

165

By force of windy sighs thy spirit breathes,

And all this sorrow riseth for thy son:

And selfsame sorrow feel I for my son.

Come in, old man, thou shalt to Isabel;

Lean on my arm; I thee, thou me shalt stay;

170

And thou, and I, and she will sing a song,

Three parts in one, but all of discords fram’d.

Talk not of cords, but let us now be gone,

For with a cord Horatio was slain.

Exeunt.

[SCENE XIV]

Enter KING of Spain, the Duke, VICEROY, and LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, DON PEDRO, and BEL-IMPERIA.

KING

Go, brother, ‘tis the Duke of Castile’s cause;

Salute the Viceroy in our name.

CASTILE

I go.

VICEROY

Go forth, Don Pedro, for thy nephew’s sake,

And greet the Duke of Castile.

DON PEDRO

It shall be so.

KING

And now to meet these Portuguese:

For as we now are, so sometimes were these,

Kings and commanders of the western Indies.

Welcome, brave Viceroy, to the court of Spain,

And welcome, all his honourable train!

’Tis not unknown to us for why you come,

Or have so kingly cross’d the seas:

Sufficeth it, in this we note the troth,

And more than common love you lend to us.

So is it that mine honourable niece

(For it beseems us now that it be known)

Already is betroth’d to Balthazar:

And by appointment and our condescent

To-morrow are they to be marrièd.

To this intent we entertain thyself,

Thy followers, their pleasure, and our peace.

Speak, men of Portingale, shall it be so?

If ay, say so; if not, say flatly no.

VICEROY

Renownèd King, I come not as thou think’st,

With doubtful followers, unresolvèd men,

But such as have upon thine articles

Confirm’d thy motion and contented me.

Know, sovereign, I come to solemnise

The marriage of thy belovèd niece,

Fair Bel-imperia, with my Balthazar,

With thee, my son; whom sith I live to see,

Here take my crown; I give it her and thee;

And let me live a solitary life,

In ceaseless prayers,

To think how strangely heav’n hath thee preserv’d.

KING

See, brother, see, how nature strives in him!

Come, worthy Viceroy, and accompany

Thy friend [, to strive] with thine extremities:

A place more private fits this princely mood.

VICEROY

Or here, or where your highness thinks it good.

Exeunt all but Castile and Lorenzo.

CASTILE

Nay, stay, Lorenzo, let me talk with you.

See’st thou this entertainment of these kings?

LORENZO

I do, my lord, and joy to see the same.

CASTILE

And know’st thou why this meeting is?

LORENZO

For her, my lord, whom Balthazar doth love,

And to confirm their promis’d marriage.

CASTILE

She is thy sister?

LORENZO

Who, Bel-imperia? Ay,

My gracious lord, and this is the day,

That I have longed so happily to see.

CASTILE

Thou wouldst be loath that any fault of thine

Should intercept her in her happiness?

LORENZO

Heavens will not let Lorenzo err so much.

CASTILE

Why then, Lorenzo, listen to my words:

It is suspected, and reported too,

That thou, Lorenzo, wrong’st Hieronimo,

And in his suits towards his majesty

Still keep’st him back, and seeks to cross his suit.

LORENZO

That I, my lord —?

CASTILE

I tell thee, son, myself have heard it said,

When (to my sorrow) I have been asham’d

To answer for thee. Though thou art my son.

Lorenzo, know’st thou not the common love

And kindness that Hieronimo hath won

By his deserts within the court of Spain?

Or see’st thou not the King my brother’s care

In his behalf, and to procure his health?

Lorenzo, shouldst thou thwart his passions,

And he exclaim against thee to the King,

What honour were’t in this assembly,

Or what a scandal were’t among the Kings

To hear Hieronimo exclaim on thee?

Tell me —and look thou tell me truly too —

Whence grows the ground of this report in court?

LORENZO

My lord, it lies not in Lorenzo’s power

To stop the vulgar, liberal of their tongues:

A small advantage makes a water-breach,

And no man lives that long contenteth all.

CASTILE

Myself have seen thee busy to keep back

Him and his supplications from the King.

LORENZO

Yourself, my lord, hath seen his passions,

That ill beseem’d the presence of a king:

And, for I pitied him in his distress,

I held him thence with kind and courteous words,

As free from malice to Hieronimo

As to my soul, my lord.

CASTILE

Hieronimo, my son, mistakes thee then.

LORENZO

My gracious father, believe me so he doth.

But what’s a silly man, distract in mind,

To think upon the murder of his son?

Alas! how easy is it for him to err!

But for his satisfaction and the world’s,

’Twere good, my lord, that Hieronimo and I

Were reconcil’d, if he misconster me.

CASTILE

Lorenzo, thou hast said, it shall be so.

Go one of you, and call Hieronimo.

Enter BALTHAZAR and BEL-IMPERIA.

BALTHAZAR

Come, Bel-imperia, Balthazar’s content,

My sorrow’s ease and sovereign of my bliss,

Sith heaven hath ordained thee to be mine:

Disperse those clouds and melancholy looks,

And clear them up with those thy sun-bright eyes,

100

Wherein my hope and heaven’s fair beauty lies.

BEL-IMPERIA

My looks, my lord, are fitting for my love,

Which, new begun, can show no brighter yet.

BALTHAZAR

New-kindled flames should burn as morning sun.

BEL-IMPERIA

But not too fast, lest heat and all be done.

105

I see my lord my father.

BALTHAZAR

Truce, my love,

I’ll go salute him.

CASTILE

Welcome, Balthazar,

Welcome, brave Prince, the pledge of Castile’s peace!

And welcome, Bel-imperia! —How now, girl?

Why com’st thou sadly to salute us thus?

110

Content thyself, for I am satisfied:

It is not now as when Andrea liv’d.

We have forgotten and forgiven that,

And thou art gracèd with a happier love. —

But, Balthazar, here comes Hieronimo;

115

I’ll have a word with him.

Enter HIERONIMO and a SERVANT.

HIERONIMO

And where’s the Duke?

SERVANT

Yonder.

HIERONIMO

Even so. —

What new device have they devisèd, trow?

Pocas palabras! mild as the lamb!

Is’t I will be reveng’d? No, I am not the man. —

CASTILE

120

Welcome, Hieronimo.

LORENZO

Welcome, Hieronimo.

BALTHAZAR

Welcome, Hieronimo.

HIERONIMO

My lords, I thank you for Horatio.

CASTILE

Hieronimo, the reason that I sent

125

To speak with you, is this.

HIERONIMO

What, so short?

Then I’ll be gone. I thank you for’t.

CASTILE

Nay, stay, Hieronimo! —go, call him, son.

LORENZO

Hieronimo, my father craves a word with you.

HIERONIMO

With me, sir? Why, my lord, I thought you had done.

LORENZO

130

[aside.]

No; Would he had!

CASTILE

Hieronimo, I hear

You find yourself aggrievèd at my son,

Because you have not access unto the King;

And say ’tis he that intercepts your suits.

HIERONIMO

Why, is not this a miserable thing, my lord?

CASTILE

135

Hieronimo, I hope you have no cause,

And would be loath that one of your deserts

Should once have reason to suspect my son,

Considering how I think of you myself.

HIERONIMO

Your son Lorenzo! whom, my noble lord?

140

The hope of Spain, mine honourable friend?

Grant me the combat of them, if they dare:

Draws out his sword.

I’ll meet him face to face to tell me so!

These be the scandalous reports of such

As loves not me, and hate my lord too much:

145

Should I suspect Lorenzo would prevent

Or cross my suit, that loved my son so well?

My lord, I am asham’d it should be said.

LORENZO

Hieronimo, I never gave you cause.

HIERONIMO

My good lord, I know you did not.

CASTILE

150

There then pause;

And for the satisfaction of the world,

Hieronimo, frequent my homely house,

The Duke of Castile, Cyprian’s ancient seat;

And when thou wilt, use me, my son and it:

155

But here, before Prince Balthazar and me,

Embrace each other, and be perfect friends.

HIERONIMO

Ay, marry, my lord, and shall.

Friends, quoth he? see, I’ll be friends with you all:

Especially with you, my lovely lord;

160

For divers causes it is fit for us

That we be friends: the world is suspicious,

And men may think what we imagine not.

BALTHAZAR

Why, this is friendly done, Hieronimo.

LORENZO

And thus, I hope, old grudges are forgot.

HIERONIMO

165

What else? it were a shame it should not be so.

CASTILE

Come on, Hieronimo, at my request;

Let us entreat your company to-day.

Exeunt.

HIERONIMO

Your lordship’s to command. — Pah! keep your way:

Chi mi fa più carezze che non suole,

Exit.

170

Tradito mi ha, o tradir vuole.

[SCENE XV]

GHOST and REVENGE

GHOST

Awake, Erichtho! Cerberus, awake!

Solicit Pluto, gentle Proserpine!

To combat, Acheron and Erebus!

For ne’er by Styx and Phlegethon, in hell

[Was I distress’d with outrage sore as this,]

Nor ferried Charon to the fiery lakes

Such fearful sights, as poor Andrea sees!

Revenge, awake!

REVENGE

Awake? For why?

GHOST

Awake, Revenge; for thou art ill-advis’d

To sleep —awake! What, thou art warn’d to watch!

REVENGE

Content thyself, and do not trouble me.

GHOST

Awake, Revenge, if love —as love hath had —

Have yet the power or prevalence in hell!

Hieronimo with Lorenzo is join’d in league,

And intercepts our passage to revenge:

Awake, Revenge, or we are woe-begone!

REVENGE

Thus worldlings ground, what they have dream’d upon.

Content thyself, Andrea: though I sleep,

Yet is my mood soliciting their souls.

Sufficeth thee that poor Hieronimo

Cannot forget his son Horatio.

Nor dies Revenge, although he sleep awhile;

For in unquiet, quietness is feign’d,

And slumb’ring is a common worldly wile.

Behold, Andrea, for an instance, how

Revenge hath slept, and then imagine thou,

What ’tis to be subject to destiny.

Enter a Dumb Show.

GHOST

Awake, Revenge; reveal this mystery.

REVENGE

[Lo!] the two first the nuptial torches bore

As brightly burning as the mid-day’s sun;

But after them doth Hymen hie as fast,

Clothèd in sable and a saffron robe,

And blows them out, and quencheth them with blood,

As discontent that things continue so.

GHOST

Sufficeth me; thy meaning’s understood,

And thanks to thee and those infernal powers,

That will not tolerate a lover’s woe.

Rest thee, for I will sit to see the rest.

REVENGE

Then argue not, for thou hast thy request.

Act IV

[SCENE I]

Enter BEL-IMPERIA and HIERONIMO.

BEL-IMPERIA

Is this the love thou bear’st Horatio?

Is this the kindness that thou counterfeits?

Are these the fruits of thine incessant tears?

Hieronimo, are these thy passions,

Thy protestations and thy deep laments,

That thou wert wont to weary men withal?

O unkind father! O deceitful world!

With what excuses canst thou show thyself

From this dishonour and the hate of men?

Thus to neglect the loss and life of him

Whom both my letters and thine own belief

Assures thee to be causeless slaughtered!

Hieronimo, for shame, Hieronimo,

Be not a history to after-times

Of such ingratitude unto thy son:

Unhappy mothers of such children then,

But monstrous fathers to forget so soon

The death of those, whom they, with care and cost

Have tender’d so, thus careless should be lost.

Myself, a stranger in respect of thee,

So lov’d his life, as still I wish their deaths.

Nor shall his death be unreveng’d by me,

Although I bear it out for fashion’s sake:

For here I swear, in sight of heaven and earth,

Shouldst thou neglect the love thou shouldst retain,

And give it over, and devise no more,

Myself should send their hateful souls to hell,

That wrought his downfall with extremest death.

HIERONIMO

But may it be that Bel-imperia

Vows such revenge as she hath deign’d to say?

Why, then I see that heaven applies our drift,

And all the saints do sit soliciting

For vengeance on those cursèd murderers.

Madam, ’tis true, and now I find it so,

I found a letter, written in your name,

And in that letter, how Horatio died.

Pardon, O pardon, Bel-imperia,

My fear and care in not believing it;

Nor think I thoughtless think upon a mean

To let his death be unreveng’d at full.

And here I vow —so you but give consent,

And will conceal my resolution —

I will ere long determine of their deaths

That causeless thus have murderèd my son.

BEL-IMPERIA

Hieronimo, I will consent, conceal,

And aught that may effect for thine avail,

Join with thee to revenge Horatio’s death.

HIERONIMO

On, then; whatsoever I devise,

Let me entreat you, grace my practices,

For why the plot’s already in mine head.

Here they are.

Enter BALTHAZAR and LORENZO.

BALTHAZAR

How now, Hieronimo?

What, courting Bel-imperia?

HIERONIMO

Ay, my lord;

Such courting as (I promise you)

She hath my heart; but you, my lord, have hers.

LORENZO

But now, Hieronimo, or never,

We are to entreat your help.

HIERONIMO

My help?

Why, my good lords, assure yourselves of me;

For you have giv’n me cause,

Ay, by my faith, have you!

BALTHAZAR

It pleas’d you,

At the entertainment of the ambassador,

To grace the King so much as with a show.

Now, were your study so well furnished,

As for the passing of the first night’s sport

To entertain my father with the like,

Or any such-like pleasing motion,

Assure yourself, it would content them well.

HIERONIMO

Is this all?

BALTHAZAR

Ay, this is all.

HIERONIMO

Why then, I’ll fit you: say no more.

When I was young, I gave my mind

And plied myself to fruitless poetry;

Which though it profit the professor naught,

Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.

LORENZO

And how for that?

HIERONIMO

Marry, my good lord, thus:

(And yet methinks you are too quick with us)

When in Toledo there I studièd,

It was my chance to write a tragedy:

See here, my lords –

He shows them a book.

Which, long forgot, I found this other day.

Now would your lordships favour me so much

As but to grace me with your acting it —

I mean each one of you to play a part —

Assure you it will prove most passing strange,

And wondrous plausible to that assembly.

BALTHAZAR

What, would you have us play a tragedy?

HIERONIMO

Why, Nero thought it no disparagement,

And kings and emperors have ta’en delight

To make experience of their wits in plays.

LORENZO

Nay, be not angry, good Hieronimo;

The Prince but ask’d a question.

BALTHAZAR

In faith, Hieronimo, an you be in earnest,

I’ll make one.

LORENZO

And I another.

HIERONIMO

Now, my good lord, could you entreat

Your sister Bel-imperia to make one?

For what’s a play without a woman in it?

BEL-IMPERIA

Little entreaty shall serve me, Hieronimo;

For I must needs be employèd in your play.

HIERONIMO

Why, this is well: I tell you, lordings,

It was determinèd to have been acted,

By gentlemen and scholars too,

100

Such as could tell what to speak.

BALTHAZAR

And now it shall be play’d by princes and courtiers,

Such as can tell how to speak:

If, as it is our country manner,

You will but let us know the argument.

HIERONIMO

105

That shall I roundly. The chronicles of Spain

Record this written of a knight of Rhodes:

He was betroth’d and wedded at the length,

To one Perseda, an Italian dame,

Whose beauty ravish’d all that her beheld,

110

Especially the soul of Soliman,

Who at the marriage was the chiefest guest.

By sundry means sought Soliman to win

Perseda’s love, and could not gain the same.

Then ‘gan he break his passions to a friend,

115

One of his bashaws, whom he held full dear;

Her had this bashaw long solicited,

And saw she was not otherwise to be won,

But by her husband’s death, this knight of Rhodes,

Whom presently by treachery he slew.

120

She, stirr’d with an exceeding hate therefor,

As cause of this slew Soliman,

And, to escape the bashaw’s tyranny.

Did stab herself: and this the tragedy.

LORENZO

Oh, excellent!

BEL-IMPERIA

But say, Hieronimo,

125

What then became of him that was the bashaw?

HIERONIMO

Marry, thus: mov’d with remorse of his misdeeds,

Ran to a mountain-top and hung himself.

BALTHAZAR

But which of us is to perform that part?

HIERONIMO

O, that will I, my lords; make no doubt of it:

130

I’ll play the murderer, I warrant you,

For I already have conceited that.

BALTHAZAR

And what shall I?

HIERONIMO

Great Suleiman, the Turkish emperor.

LORENZO

And I?

HIERONIMO

Erastus, the Knight of Rhodes.

BEL-IMPERIA

135

And I?

HIERONIMO

Perseda, chaste and resolute. —

And here, my lords, are several abstracts drawn,

For each of you to note your parts,

And act it, as occasion’s offer’d you.

You must provide [you with] a Turkish cap,

140

A black mustachio and a falchion;

Gives a paper to Balthazar.

You with a cross, like to a knight of Rhodes;

Gives another to Lorenzo.

And, madam, you must attire yourself

He giveth Bel-imperia another.

Like Phoebe, Flora, or the Huntress,

Which to your discretion shall seem best.

145

And as for me, my lords, I’ll look to one,

And with the ransom that the Viceroy sent,

So furnish and perform this tragedy,

As all the world shall say, Hieronimo

Was liberal in gracing of it so.

BALTHAZAR

150

Hieronimo, methinks a comedy were better.

HIERONIMO

A comedy?

Fie! comedies are fit for common wits:

But to present a kingly troop withal,

Give me a stately-written tragedy;

155

Tragedia cothurnata, fitting kings,

Containing matter, and not common things.

My lords, all this must be perform’d

As fitting for the first night’s revelling.

The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit,

160

That in one hour’s meditation

They would perform anything in action.

LORENZO

And well it may; for I have seen the like

In Paris ’mongst the French tragedians.

HIERONIMO

In Paris? mass, and well rememberèd!

165

There’s one thing more that rests for us to do.

BALTHAZAR

What’s that, Hieronimo? Forget not anything.

HIERONIMO

Each one of us

Must act his part in unknown languages,

That it may breed the more variety:

170

As you, my lord, in Latin, I in Greek,

You in Italian, and for because I know

That Bel-imperia hath practis’d the French,

In courtly French shall all her phrases be.

BEL-IMPERIA

You mean to try my cunning, then, Hieronimo?

BALTHAZAR

175

But this will be a mere confusion,

And hardly shall we all be understood.

HIERONIMO

It must be so, for the conclusion

Shall prove the invention and all was good:

And I myself in an oration,

180

And with a strange and wondrous show besides,

That I will have there behind a curtain,

Assure yourself, shall make the matter known:

And all shall be concluded in one scene,

For there’s no pleasure ta’en in tediousness.

BALTHAZAR

185

How like you this?

LORENZO

Why, thus, my lord:

We must resolve to soothe his humours up.

BALTHAZAR

On, then, Hieronimo; Farewell till soon.

HIERONIMO

You’ll ply this gear?

LORENZO

I warrant you.

Exeunt all but Hieronimo.

HIERONIMO

Why so:

Now shall I see the fall of Babylon,

190

Wrought by the heav’ns in this confusion.

And if the world like not this tragedy,

Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo.

Exit.

[SCENE II]

Enter ISABELLA with a weapon.

ISABELLA

Tell me no more! —O monstrous homicides!

Since neither piety nor pity moves

The King to justice or compassion,

I will revenge myself upon this place,

Where thus they murder’d my belovèd son.

She cuts down the arbour.

Down with these branches and these loathsome boughs

Of this unfortunate and fatal pine:

Down with them, Isabella; rend them up,

And burn the roots from whence the rest is sprung.

I will not leave a root, a stalk, a tree,

A bough, a branch, a blossom, nor a leaf,

No, not an herb within this garden-plot —

Accursèd complot of my misery!

Fruitless for ever may this garden be,

Barren the earth, and blissless whosoe’er

Imagines not to keep it unmanur’d!

An eastern wind commix’d with noisome airs,

Shall blast the plants and the young saplings;

The earth with serpents shall be pester’d,

And passengers, for fear to be infect,

Shall stand aloof, and, looking at it, tell:

“There, murder’d, died the son of Isabel.”

Ay, here he died, and here I him embrace:

See, where his ghost solicits, with his wounds,

Revenge on her that should revenge his death.

Hieronimo, make haste to see thy son;

For sorrow and despair hath cited me

To hear Horatio plead with Rhadamanth:

Make haste, Hieronimo, to hold excus’d

Thy negligence in pursuit of their deaths

Whose hateful wrath bereav’d him of his breath. —

Ah, nay, thou dost delay their deaths,

Forgives the murderers of thy noble son,

And none but I bestir me—to no end!

And as I curse this tree from further fruit,

So shall my womb be cursèd for his sake,

And with this weapon will I wound the breast,

The hapless breast, that gave Horatio suck.

She stabs herself.[Exit]

[SCENE III.]

Enter HIERONIMO; he knocks up the curtain.

Enter the Duke of CASTILE.

CASTILE

How now, Hieronimo, where’s your fellows,

That you take all this pain?

HIERONIMO

O sir, it is for the author’s credit,

To look that all things may go well.

But, good my lord, let me entreat your grace

To give the King the copy of the play:

This is the argument of what we show.

CASTILE

I will, Hieronimo.

HIERONIMO

One thing more, my good lord.

CASTILE

What’s that?

HIERONIMO

Let me entreat your grace

That, when the train are pass’d into the gallery,

You would vouchsafe to throw me down the key.

CASTILE

I will, Hieronimo.

Exit Castile.

HIERONIMO

What, are you ready, Balthazar?

Bring a chair and a cushion for the King.

Enter BALTHAZAR, with a chair.

Well done, Balthazar! Hang up the title:

Our scene is Rhodes; —what, is your beard on?

BALTHAZAR

Half on; the other is in my hand.

HIERONIMO

Despatch, for shame, are you so long?

Exit Balthazar.

Bethink thyself, Hieronimo,

Recall thy wits, recount thy former wrongs

Thou hast receiv’d by murder of thy son,

And lastly, not least, how Isabel,

Once his mother and thy dearest wife,

All woe-begone for him, hath slain herself.

Behoves thee then, Hieronimo, to be reveng’d:

The plot is laid of dire revenge:

On then, Hieronimo, pursue revenge,

For nothing wants but acting of revenge.

Exit Hieronimo.

[SCENE IV.]

Enter Spanish KING, VICEROY, the Duke of CASTILE, and their train.

KING

Now, Viceroy, shall we see the tragedy

Of Soliman, the Turkish emperor,

Perform’d of pleasure by your son the prince,

My nephew Don Lorenzo, and my niece.

VICEROY

Who? Bel-imperia?

KING

Ay, and Hieronimo, our marshal,

At whose request they deign to do’t themselves:

These be our pastimes in the court of Spain.

Here, brother, you shall be the book-keeper:

This is the argument of that they show.

He giveth him a book.

Gentlemen, this play of Hieronimo, in sundry languages, was thought good to be set down in English more largely, for the easier understanding to every public reader.

Enter BALTHAZAR, BEL-IMPERIA, and HIERONIMO.

BALTHAZAR

Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours, yield heavens the honour,

And holy Mahomet, our sacred prophet!

And be thou grac’d with every excellence

That Soliman can give, or thou desire.

But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is less

Than in reserving this fair Christian nymph,

Perseda, blissful lamp of excellence,

Whose eyes compel, like powerful adamant,

The warlike heart of Suleiman to wait.

KING

See, Viceroy, that is Balthazar, your son,

That represents the emperor Soliman:

How well he acts his amorous passion!

VICEROY

Ay, Bel-imperia hath taught him that.

CASTILE

That’s because his mind runs all on Bel-imperia.

HIERONIMO

Whatever joy earth yields betide your majesty.

BALTHAZAR

Earth yields no joy without Perseda’s love.

HIERONIMO

Let then Perseda on your grace attend.

BALTHAZAR

She shall not wait on me, but I on her:

Drawn by the influence of her lights, I yield.

But let my friend, the Rhodian knight, come forth,

Erasto, dearer than my life to me,

That he may see Perseda, my belov’d.

Enter [LORENZO as] Erasto.

KING

Here comes Lorenzo: look upon the plot,

And tell me, brother, what part plays he?

BEL-IMPERIA

Ah, my Erasto, welcome to Perseda.

LORENZO

Thrice happy is Erasto that thou liv’st;

Rhodes’ loss is nothing to Erasto’s joy:

Sith his Perseda lives, his life survives.

BALTHAZAR

Ah, bashaw, here is love between Erasto

And fair Perseda, sovereign of my soul.

HIERONIMO

Remove Erasto, mighty Soliman,

And then Perseda will be quickly won.

BALTHAZAR

Erasto is my friend; and while he lives,

Perseda never will remove her love.

HIERONIMO

Let not Erasto live to grieve great Soliman.

BALTHAZAR

Dear is Erasto in our princely eye.

HIERONIMO

But if he be your rival, let him die.

BALTHAZAR

Why, let him die! —so love commandeth me.

Yet grieve I that Erasto should so die.

HIERONIMO

Erasto, Soliman saluteth thee,

And lets thee wit by me his highness’ will,

Which is, thou shouldst be thus employ’d.

Stabs him.

BEL-IMPERIA

Ay me!

Erasto! see, Soliman, Erasto’s slain!

BALTHAZAR

Yet liveth Soliman to comfort thee.

Fair queen of beauty, let not favour die,

But with a gracious eye behold his grief,

That with Perseda’s beauty is increas’d

If by Perseda grief be not releas’d.

BEL-IMPERIA

Tyrant, desist soliciting vain suits;

Relentless are mine ears to thy laments,

As thy butcher is pitiless and base,

Which seiz’d on my Erasto, harmless knight.

Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command,

And to thy power Perseda doth obey:

But, were she able, thus she would revenge

Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble Prince:

Stabs him.

And on herself she would be thus reveng’d.

Stabs herself.

KING

Well said, old Marshal, this was bravely done!

HIERONIMO

But Bel-imperia plays Perseda well!

VICEROY

Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia,

You would be better to my son than so.

KING

But now what follows for Hieronimo?

HIERONIMO

Marry, this follows for Hieronimo:

Here break we off our sundry languages,

And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue.

Haply you think —but bootless are your thoughts —

That this is fabulously counterfeit,

And that we do as all tragedians do:

To die to-day (for fashioning our scene)

The death of Ajax, or some Roman peer,

And in a minute starting up again,

Revive to please to-morrow’s audience.

No, princes; know I am Hieronimo,

The hopeless father of a hapless son,

Whose tongue is tun’d to tell his latest tale,

Not to excuse gross errors in the play.

I see your looks urge instance of these words;

Behold the reason urging me to this:

Shows his dead son.

See here my show, look on this spectacle:

Here lay my hope, and here my hope hath end;

Here lay my heart, and here my heart was slain;

Here lay my treasure, here my treasure lost;

Here lay my bliss, and here my bliss bereft:

But hope, heart, treasure, joy and bliss,

All fled, fail’d, died, yea, all decay’d with this.

From forth these wounds came breath that gave me life;

They murder’d me that made these fatal marks.

The cause was love, whence grew this mortal hate;

The hate, Lorenzo and young Balthazar;

100

The love, my son to Bel-imperia.

But night, the coverer of accursèd crimes,

With pitchy silence hush’d these traitors’ harms,

And lent them leave, for they had sorted leisure

To take advantage in my garden-plot

105

Upon my son, my dear Horatio:

There merciless, they butcher’d up my boy,

In black, dark night, to pale, dim, cruel death.

He shrieks: I heard (and yet, methinks, I hear)

His dismal outcry echo in the air.

110

With soonest speed I hasted to the noise,

Where hanging on a tree I found my son,

Through-girt with wounds, and slaughter’d as you see.

And griev’d I, think you, at this spectacle?

Speak, Portuguese, whose loss resembles mine:

115

If thou canst weep upon thy Balthazar,

’Tis like I wail’d for my Horatio.

And you, my lord, whose reconcilèd son

March’d in a net, and thought himself unseen,

And rated me for brainsick lunacy,

120

With “God amend that mad Hieronimo” —

How can you brook our play’s catastrophe?

And here behold this bloody handkercher,

Which at Horatio’s death I weeping dipp’d

Within the river of his bleeding wounds:

125

It as propitious, see, I have reserv’d,

And never hath it left my bloody heart,

Soliciting remembrance of my vow

With these, O, these accurs’d murderers:

Which now perform’d, my heart is satisfied.

130

And to this end the bashaw I became

That might revenge me on Lorenzo’s life,

Who therefore was appointed to the part,

And was to represent the Knight of Rhodes,

That I might kill him more conveniently.

135

So, Viceroy, was this Balthazar, thy son,

That Soliman which Bel-imperia,

In person of Perseda murderèd,

Solely appointed to that tragic part

That she might slay him that offended her.

140

Poor Bel-imperia miss’d her part in this:

For though the story saith she should have died,

Yet I of kindness and of care to her,

Did otherwise determine of her end;

But love of him whom they did hate too much

145

Did urge her resolution to be such. —

And, princes, now behold Hieronimo,

Author and actor in this tragedy,

Bearing his latest fortune in his fist;

And will as resolute conclude his part,

150

As any of the actors gone before.

And, gentles, thus I end my play;

Urge no more words: I have no more to say.

He runs to hang himself.

KING

O hearken, Viceroy! Hold, Hieronimo!

Brother, my nephew and thy son are slain!

VICEROY

155

We are betray’d; My Balthazar is slain!

Break ope the doors; run, save Hieronimo!

[They break in and hold Hieronimo.]

Hieronimo,

Do but inform the King of these events;

Upon mine honour, thou shalt have no harm.

HIERONIMO

160

Viceroy, I will not trust thee with my life,

Which I this day have offer’d to my son.

Accursèd wretch!

Why stay’st thou him that was resolv’d to die?

KING

Speak, traitor! damned, bloody murderer, speak!

165

For now I have thee, I will make thee speak.

Why hast thou done this undeserving deed?

VICEROY

Why hast thou murderèd my Balthazar?

CASTILE

Why hast thou butcher’d both my children thus?

HIERONIMO

§ Oh, good words!

170

As dear to me was my Horatio,

As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you.

My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain,

And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar

Am I at last revenged thoroughly,

175

Upon whose souls may heavens be yet avenged

With greater far than these afflictions.

CASTILE

But who were thy confederates in this?

VICEROY

That was thy daughter Bel-imperia,

For by her hand my Balthazar was slain.

180

I saw her stab him.

KING

Why speak’st thou not?

HIERONIMO

What lesser liberty can kings afford

Than harmless silence? Then afford it me.

Sufficeth I may not, nor I will not, tell thee.

KING

185

Fetch forth the tortures! —Traitor as thou art,

I’ll make thee tell.

HIERONIMO

Indeed

Thou mayst torment me as his wretched son

Hath done in murdering my Horatio.

But never shalt thou force me to reveal

190

The thing which I have vowed inviolate.

And therefore, in despite of all thy threats,

Pleased with their deaths, and eased with their revenge,

First take my tongue and afterwards my heart. §

^{Q4[N]
X
Nota del editor digital
"Q4"
«[The previous twenty-four lines, signposted between § signs, are replaced, in all the quartos from 1602 onwards, by the following “addition”.]»}But are you sure they are dead?

CASTILE

Ay, slave, too sure.

HIERONIMO

195

What, and yours too?

VICEROY

Ay, all are dead; not one of them survive.

HIERONIMO

Nay, then I care not; come, and we shall be friends,

Let us lay our heads together.

See, here’s a goodly noose will hold them all.

VICEROY

200

O damnèd devil, how secure he is!

HIERONIMO

Secure? Why, dost thou wonder at it?

I tell thee, Viceroy, this day I have seen revenge,

And in that sight am grown a prouder monarch,

Than ever sat under the crown of Spain.

205

Had I as many lives as there be stars,

As many heavens to go, to as those lives,

I’d give them all, ay, and my soul to boot,

But I would see thee ride in this red pool.

CASTILE

Speak! Who were thy confederates in this?

VICEROY

210

That was thy daughter Bel-imperia,

For by her hand my Balthazar was slain.

I saw her stab him.

HIERONIMO

Oh, good words!

As dear to me was my Horatio,

215

As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you.

My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain,

And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar

Am I at last reveng’d thoroughly,

Upon whose souls may heavens be yet aveng’d

220

With greater far than these afflictions.

Methinks since I grew inward with revenge,

I cannot look with scorn enough on death.

KING

What, dost thou mock us, slave? bring tortures forth.

HIERONIMO

Do, do, do: and meantime I’ll torture you.

225

You had a son, as I take it; and your son

Should ha’ been married to your daughter:

Ha, was’t not so? —You had a son too,

He was my liege’s nephew, he was proud

And politic; had he liv’d, he might have come

230

To wear the crown of Spain (I think ’twas so):

’Twas I that kill’d him; look you, this same hand,

’Twas it that stabb’d his heart — do you see this hand?

For one Horatio, if you ever knew him: a youth,

One that they hang’d up in his father’s garden:

235

One that did force your valiant son to yield,

While your more valiant son did take him prisoner.

VICEROY

Be deaf, my senses; I can hear no more.

KING

Fall, heav’n, and cover us with thy sad ruins.

CASTILE

Roll all the world within thy pitchy cloud.

HIERONIMO

240

Now do I applaud what I have acted.

Nunc iners cadat manus!

Now to express the rupture of my part,

First take my tongue, and afterward my heart.Q4

[He bites out his tongue.]

KING

O monstrous resolution of a wretch!

245

See, Viceroy, he hath bitten forth his tongue,

Rather than to reveal what we requir’d.

CASTILE

Yet can he write.

KING

And if in this he satisfy us not,

We will devise th’ extremest kind of death

250

That ever was invented for a wretch.

Then he makes signs for a knife to mend his pen.

CASTILE

O he would have a knife to mend his pen.

VICEROY

Here, and advise thee that thou write the troth.

KING

Look to my brother! Save Hieronimo!

Hieronimo with a knife stabs the duke and himself.

What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds?

255

My brother, and the whole succeeding hope

That Spain expected after my decease! —

Go, bear his body hence, that we may mourn

The loss of our belovèd brother’s death,

That he may be entomb’d whate’er befall;

260

I am the next, the nearest, last of all.

VICEROY

And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for us:

Take up our hapless son, untimely slain;

Set me with him, and he with woeful me,

Upon the main-mast of a ship unmann’d,

265

And let the wind and tide haul me along

To Scylla’s barking and untamèd gulf,

Or to the loathsome pool of Acheron,

To weep my want for my sweet Balthazar:

Spain hath no refuge for a Portingale.

The trumpets sound a dead march; the King of Spain

270

mourning after his brother’s body, and the King of

Portingale bearing the body of his son. [Exeunt.]

[SCENE V.]

GHOST and REVENGE.

GHOST

Ay, now my hopes have end in their effects,

When blood and sorrow finish my desires:

Horatio murder’d in his father’s bower,

Vile Serberine by Pedringano slain;

False Pedringano hang’d by quaint device;

Fair Isabella by herself misdone;

Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabb’d;

The Duke of Castile and his wicked son

Both done to death by old Hieronimo;

My Bel-imperia fall’n as Dido fell,

And good Hieronimo slain by himself:

Ay, these were spectacles to please my soul! —

Now will I beg at lovely Proserpine

That, by the virtue of her princely doom,

I may consort my friends in pleasing sort,

And on my foes work just and sharp revenge.

I’ll lead my friend Horatio through those fields,

Where never-dying wars are still inur’d;

I’ll lead fair Isabella to that train,

Where pity weeps, but never feeleth pain;

I’ll lead my Bel-imperia to those joys,

That vestal virgins and fair queens possess;

I’ll lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plays,

Adding sweet pleasure to eternal days.

But say, Revenge —for thou must help, or none —

Against the rest how shall my hate be shown?

REVENGE

This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell

Where none but Furies, bugs and tortures dwell.

GHOST

Then, sweet Revenge, do this at my request:

Let me be judge, and doom them to unrest.

Let loose poor Tityus from the vulture’s gripe,

And let Don Cyprian supply his room;

Place Don Lorenzo on Ixion’s wheel,

And let the lover’s endless pains surcease

(Juno forgets old wrath, and grants him ease);

Hang Balthazar about Chimaera’s neck,

And let him there bewail his bloody love,

Repining at our joys that are above;

Let Serberine go roll the fatal stone,

And take from Sisyphus his endless moan;

False Pedringano, for his treachery,

Let him be dragg’d through boiling Acheron,

And there live, dying still in endless flames,

Blaspheming gods and all their holy names.

REVENGE

Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes:

To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes;

For here though death hath end their misery,

I’ll there begin their endless tragedy.

Exeunt.

Thomas Kyd

The Spanish Tragedy

Act I

[SCENE I]

[SCENE II]

[SCENE III]

[SCENE IV]

[SCENE V]

Act II

[SCENE I]

[SCENE II]

[SCENE III]

[SCENE IV]

[SCENE V]

Act III

[SCENE I]

[SCENE II]

[SCENE III]

[SCENE IV]

[SCENE V]

[SCENE VI]

[SCENE VII]

[SCENE VIII]

[SCENE IX]

[SCENE X]

[SCENE XI]

[SCENE XII]

Q4[SCENE XIIA]

[SCENE XIII]

[SCENE XIV]

[SCENE XV]

Act IV

[SCENE I]

[SCENE II]

[SCENE III.]

[SCENE IV.]

[SCENE V.]

^Q4[SCENE XIIA]