A SELECT COLLECTION
OF
OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY IN THE YEAR 1744.
FOURTH EDITION,
NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS, AND NEW NOTES

BY

W. CAREW HAZLITT.

BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.

New York

Table of Contents Created by Transcriber

THE SPANISH TRAGEDY
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
CORNELIA.
THE ARGUMENT.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
SOLIMAN AND PERSEDA.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
LIFE AND DEATH OF JACK STRAW.
ACTUS PRIMUS.
ACTUS SECUNDUS.
ACTUS TERTIUS.
ACTUS QUARTUS.

THE SPANISH TRAGEDY
OR THE
SECOND PART OF JERONIMO.

EDITIONS.

The Spanish Tragedie, Containing the lamentable end of Don Horatio and Bel-imperia: with the pitiful death of olde Hieronimo. Newly corrected and amended of such grosse faults as passed in the first impression. At London Printed by Edward Allde, for Edward White. [Circâ 1594.] 4°.

The Spanish Tragedie. Containing the lamentable end of Don Horatio.... At London printed by William White dwelling in Cow-lane. 1599. 4°.

The Spanish Tragedie: Containing... enlarged with new additions of the Painters part and others, as it hath of late been divers time acted. Imprinted at London by W. W. for T. Pauier.... 1602. 4°.

Other editions appeared in 1610, &c., an account of which may be found in Halliwell's "Dictionary." Compare also Hazlitt, art. Kyd.

PREFACE.

This play was the object of ridicule to almost every writer of the time.[1] Heywood refers to it as the work of Thomas Kyd,[2] who is enumerated among the best tragic writers of his time by Meres. Ben Jonson speaks of him in his lines on Shakespeare as sporting Kyd; and Clarke, in his "Polimanteia," 1595, says, "Cornelia's [Pg 4] [Pg 5]Tragedy, however not respected, was excellently well done by him."

There is no exact authority for calling Allde's undated 4to the second edition, as Hawkins did, since we do not know how many others may have preceded it. The play was licenced in October 1592; but of a first edition, not purporting to be amended, no copy has been yet found. The allusion to "Jeronimo," which occurs in the introduction to Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair," probably refers to the "First Part of Jeronimo."

Henslowe seems to mention a performance of the "Spanish Tragedy," February 23, 1591-92; and we find from Decker's "Satiromastix," 1602, that Ben Jonson originally performed the part of Jeronimo.[3]

Cotton alludes to this play even as late as in the prologue to his "Scoffer Scoff'd"—

"Old tales and songs and an old jest, Our stomachs easily digest, And of all plays Hieronymo's the best,"

which shows that then it was remembered.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• The Ghost of Andrea.
• Revenge.
• King of Spain.
• Viceroy of Portingal.
• Don Cyprian, Duke of Castile.
• Hieronimo, Marshal of Spain.[5]
• Balthazar,[6] the Viceroy's Son, in love with Bell'-Imperia.
• Lorenzo, Duke of Castile's Son.
• Horatio, Hieronimo's Son.
• Alexandro.
• Villuppo.
• Pedringano.
• Serbebine.
• Old Man.
• Painter.
• Page.
• Hangman.
• Citizens, Soldiers, Attendants.
• Isabella, Hieronimo's Wife.
• Bell'-Imperia, Lorenzo's Sister.

THE SPANISH TRAGEDY, &c.

ACT 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[7] 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[8] of all my years, By duteous service and deserving love, In secret I possess'd a worthy dame, Which hight sweet Bell'-Imperia by name. But, in the harvest of my summer[9] joys, Death's winter nipp'd the blossoms of my bliss, Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me; For in the late conflict with Portingal, 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 slak'd[10] 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, Æacus, and Rhadamant; To whom no sooner 'gan I make approach, To crave a passport for my wand'ring ghost, But Minos, in graven 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 try'd fortune of the wars; And by war's fortune lost both love and life. Why then, said Æacus, 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 Rhadamant, 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[11] 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,[12] 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,[13] Where lovers live and bloody martialists; But either sort contain'd within his bounds. The left-hand path, declining fearfully, Was ready downfal[14] to the deepest hell, Where bloody furies shake 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[15] 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,[16] 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,[17] And bad thee lead me through the gates of horn,[18] 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 Where thou shalt see the author of thy death, Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingal, Depriv'd of life by Bell'-Imperia. Here sit we down to see the mystery, And serve for Chorus in this tragedy.

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[19] 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 Portingals will pay us tribute then?

General.

Tribute and wonted homage therewithal.

King.

Then bless'd be heav'n, and guider of the heavens, From whose fair influence such justice flows.

Castile.

O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat æther, Et conjuratæ curvato poplite gentes Succumbunt: recti soror eat 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[20] reward thy blissful chivalry.

General.

Where Spain and Portingal do jointly knit Their frontiers, leaning on each other's bound,[21] 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,[22] That valleys, hills, and rivers made rebound, And heav'n 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 t' encounter us: Meanwhile, our ordnance play'd on either side, And captains strove to have their valours[23] try'd. Don Pedro, their chief horsemen's colonel, Did with his cornet[24] 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 to and fro, Both battles join, and fall to handy-blows;[25] 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[26] Bellona rageth here and there, Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail, And shiver'd lances dark[27] the troubled air.

Pede pes et cuspide cuspis; Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro.

On every side drop[28] captains to the ground, And soldiers, some ill-maim'd,[29] some slain outright: Here falls a body, sunder'd from his head, There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass, Mingled with weapons, and unbowell'd[30] steeds, That scattering overspread the purple plain. In all this turmoil, three long hours and more, The victory to neither part inclin'd; Till Don Andrea, with his brave lanciers, In their[31] main battle made so great a breach, That (half dismay'd) the multitude retir'd: But Balthazar, the Portingal's young prince, Brought rescue, and encourag'd them to stay. Here-hence the fight was eagerly renew'd, And in that conflict was Andrea slain: Brave man at arms, but weak to Balthazar. Yet while the prince, insulting over him, Breath'd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproach, Friendship and hardy valour join'd in one, Prick'd[32] forth Horatio, our knight marshal's son, To challenge forth that prince to single fight: Not long between these twain the fight endur'd, But straight the prince was beaten from his horse, And forc'd to yield him prisoner to his foe. When he was taken, all the rest they fled, And our carbines pursu'd them to the death; Till, Phœbus waving to the western deep, Our trumpeters were charg'd 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 confirm'd a peace?

General.

No peace, my liege, but peace conditional, That if with homage tribute be well paid,[33] The fury of your[34] forces will be stay'd: And to this[35] peace their viceroy hath subscrib'd,

[Gives the King a paper.

And made a solemn vow, that during life His[36] tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.

King.

These words, these deeds, become thy person well. But now, knight marshal, frolic with thy[37] king, For 'tis thy son that wins this[38] battle's prize.

Hieronimo.

Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege, And soon decay, unless he serve my liege.

King.

Nor thou, nor he, shall die without reward.

[A tucket[39] afar off.

What means this warning of the trumpet's sound?

General.

This tells me, that your grace's men of war, Such as war's fortune hath reserv'd from death, Come marching on towards your royal seat, To show themselves before your majesty, For so I gave in[40] charge at my depart; Whereby by demonstration shall appear, That all, except three hundred or few more, Are safe return'd, and by their foes enrich'd.

The army enters.[41] Balthazar, between Lorenzo and Horatio, captive.

King.

A gladsome sight! I long to see them here.

[They enter and pass by.

Was that the warlike prince of Portingal, That by our nephew was in triumph led?

General.

It was, my liege, the prince of Portingal.

King.

But what was he, that on the other side 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, 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 That in our victory thou have a share, By virtue of thy worthy son's exploit.

[Enter again.

Bring hither the young prince of Portingal: The rest march on; but, ere they be dismiss'd, We will bestow on every soldier two ducats, And on every leader ten, that they may know Our largess welcomes them.

[Exeunt all but Bal., Lor., and Hor.

Welcome, Don Balthazar: welcome, nephew; And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too. Young prince, although thy father's hard misdeeds, 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; And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so: His men are slain, a weak'ning to his[42] realm; His colours seiz'd, a blot unto his name; His son distress'd, a cor'sive to his heart: These punishments may clear his late offence.

King.

Ay, Balthazar, if he observe[43] this truce, Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars: Meanwhile live thou, though[44] not in liberty, Yet free[45] from bearing any servile yoke; For in our hearing thy deserts were great, 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.[46]

Horatio.

To me, my sovereign.

Lorenzo.

This hand first took his[47] 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—

[They let him go.

Say,[48] worthy prince, to whether didst 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: 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. 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.[49]

King.

Content thee, marshal, thou shalt have no wrong; And, for thy sake, thy son shall want no right. 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 judgment, thus your strife shall end: You both deserve, and both shall have reward: Nephew, thou took'st his weapons and his horse: His weapons and his horse are thy reward. Horatio, thou didst force him first to yield: His ransom therefore is thy valour's fee: Appoint the sum, as you shall both agree. 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[50] may befall desert, To him we yield the armour of the prince. How likes Don Balthazar of this device?

Balthazar.

Right well, my liege, if this proviso were, That Don Horatio bear us company, Whom I admire and love for chivalry.

King.

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.

Enter Viceroy,[51] Alexandro, and Villuppo.

Viceroy.

Is our ambassador despatch'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[52] regal throne? This[53] 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[54] to misery. Here let me lie, now am I[55] at the lowest.

Qui jacet in terra, non habet unde cadat. In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo: Nil[56] 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[57] 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. O, wherefore went I not to war myself? The cause was mine; I might have died for both: My years were mellow, his but[58] young and green; My death were natural, but his was forced.

Alexandro.

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

Viceroy.

Survives! ay, where?[59]

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[60] 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.

Then hear that[61] 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 trait'rous 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, trait'rous 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 Tercera's lord, Thou hadst[62] some hope to wear this diadem, If first my son and then myself, were slain; But thy ambitious thought[63] shall break thy neck: Ay, this was it that made thee spill his blood,

[He takes the crown, and puts it on again.

But I'll now[64] wear it, till thy blood be spilt.

Alexandro.

Vouchsafe, dread[65] sovereign, to hear me speak.

Viceroy.

Away with him; his sight is second hell: Keep him till we determine of his death. If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live. Villuppo, follow us for thy reward.

[Exit Vice.

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.

Enter Horatio and Bell'-Imperia.

Bell'-Imperia.

Signior 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[66] flower, And in his death hath buried my delights.

Horatio.

For love of him and service to yourself, I nill refuse this heavy doleful[67] charge; Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me. When both our armies were enjoin'd in[68] fight, Your worthy chevalier amidst the thickest, 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[69] fresh supply of halberdiers, Which paunch'd his horse, and ding'd[70] 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.

Bell'-Imperia.

'Would thou hadst slain him, that so[71] 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 welding[72] 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,[73] sighs, nor tears, Could win pale death from his usurped 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[74] his lifeless arm, And wear it in remembrance of my friend.

Bell'-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 Bell'-Imperia's sake: For 'twas my favour at his last depart. But now wear thou[75] 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 Bell'-Imperia's life endures, She will be Don Horatio's thankful friend.

Horatio.

And, madam, Don Horatio will not slack Humbly to serve fair Bell'-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.

Bell'-Imperia.

Ay, go, Horatio, leave me here alone; For solitude best fits my cheerless mood.

[Exit Horatio.

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 Bell'-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[76] his murd'rous deed; For what was't else but murd'rous 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?

Bell'-Imperia.

That for a while I wish no company.

Lorenzo.

But here the prince is come to visit you.

Bell'-Imperia.

That argues, that he lives in[77] liberty.

Balthazar.

No, madam, but in pleasing servitude.

Bell'-Imperia.

Your prison then, belike, is your conceit.

Balthazar.

Ay, by conceit my freedom is inthrall'd,

Bell'-Imperia.

Then with conceit enlarge yourself again.

Balthazar.

What, if conceit have laid my heart to gage?

Bell'-Imperia.

Pay that you borrow'd, and recover it.

Balthazar.

I die, if it return from whence it lies.

Bell'-Imperia.

A heartless man, and lives?[78] A miracle!

Balthazar.

Ay, lady, love can work such miracles.

Lorenzo.

Tush, tush! my lord, let go these ambages,[79] And in plain terms acquaint her with your love.

[Aside.

Bell'-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; On whose aspect mine eyes find beauty's bower; In whose translucent breast my heart is lodg'd.

Bell'-Imperia.

Alas, my lord, these are but words of course, And but device[80] to drive me from this place.

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

Horatio.

Madam, your glove.

Bell'-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 pass'd; You know that women oft are humorous:[81] 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[82] sports and revelling.[83]

Horatio.

The king, my lords,[84] is coming hither straight, To feast the Portingal ambassador: Things were in readiness, before I came.

Balthazar.

Then here it fits us to attend the king, To welcome hither our ambassador, 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 Portingal laments, Supposing that Don Balthazar is slain.

Balthazar.

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, 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. Signior Horatio, wait thou upon our cup, For well thou hast deserved to be honour'd. Now, lordings, fall to; Spain is Portingal, And Portingal is Spain; we both are friends; Tribute is paid, and we enjoy our right. But where is old Hieronimo, our marshal? He promis'd us, in honour of our guest, To grace our banquet with some pompous jest.[85]

Enter Hieronimo with a drum, three knights, each 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.

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[86] twenty thousand men In Portingal, and by success of war, Enforc'd the king, then but a Saracen, To bear the yoke of th' English monarchy.

King.

My lord of Portingal, by this you see, That which may comfort both your king and you, And make your late discomfort seem the less. But say, Hieronimo, what was the next?

Hieronimo.

The second knight, that hung his 'scutcheon up,

[He doth as he did before.

Was Edmond Earl of Kent in Albion, When English Richard wore the diadem: He came likewise, and razed Lisbon walls, And took the King of Portingal in fight; For which and other suchlike service done He after was created Duke of York.

King.

This is another special argument, That Portingal may deign to bear our yoke, 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 he did before.

Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman, Brave John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster, 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, 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 th' ambassador and me: Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou love the king.—

[Takes the cup of Horatio.

My lord, I fear we sit but overlong, Unless our dainties were more delicate: But welcome are you to the best we have. Now let us in, that you[87] may be despatch'd; I think our council is already set.[Exeunt omnes.

Enter Andrea's Ghost, with 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Its great popularity, no doubt, was one cause. Prynne, in his "Histriomastix," fol. 556, has a curious passage, which in all probability refers to the "Spanish Tragedy." He is quoting the authority of the "English Gentlewoman," by R. Brathwaite, who, it is stated in the margin, was present at the occurrence: "To these two former precedents (says Prynne) I shall annex the parallel example of a late English Gentlewoman of good ranke who, daily bestowing the expense of her best hours upon the stage, and at last falling into a dangerous sickness of which she died, her friends in her extremity sent for a minister to comfort, counsel, and prepare her for her ende; who, coming to instruct her, and advising her to repent, and call upon God for mercy, she made him no reply at all, but cried out, 'Hieronimo, Hieronimo! O, let me see Hieronimo acted' (calling out for a play, instead of crying unto God for mercy), and so closed her dying eyes."—Collier.

[2] ["Apology for Actors," 1612, repr. 1841, p. 45.]

[3] This fact depends merely upon the evidence of Decker, which is denied by Mr Gifford. At the same time, it is a point of little importance; for, were it true, it could form no imputation against Ben Jonson. Mr Gifford also (Jonson's "Works," i. xvii.) notices the adicions made by Jonson to "Jeronimo." This fact rests upon the following quotations from Henslowe's "Diary," edit. 1845, pp. 201, 223:—

"Lent unto Mr Alleyn, the 25 of September, 1601, to lend unto Bengemen Johnson, upon his writing of his adicions in Geronymo, the some of xxxx^s."

"Lent unto Bengemy Johnson, at the apoyntment of E. Alleyn and Wm. Byrde, the 24 of June, 1602, in earneste of a boocke called Richard Crockbacke, and for new adicyons for Jeronymo, the some of xli."

Unquestionably these additions[4] bear marks of a hand greatly superior to that of Kyd, though Mr Hawkins says "they were foisted in by the players." They are mentioned on the title-page of the edition of 1602 of the "Spanish Tragedy". Henslowe confounds "Jeronimo" and the "Spanish Tragedy," and it does not appear that any additions were made to the former.

In the last edition of Dodsley, a curious ballad on the subject was given as an illustration. It is entitled "The Spanish Tragedy, containing the Lamentable Murder of Horatio and Bellimperia: With the pitiful Death of Old Hieronimo. To the tune of Queen Dido. Printed at London for H. Gosson," with a woodcut.

[4] First printed in the 4to of 1602.

[5] [Old copies, Portingal.]

[6] [He is called Balthezar in the "First Part of Jeronimo."]

[7] Wonted, edits. 1618, '23, '33.

[8] There in the pride and prime, ditto.

[9] Summer's, 1623, '33.

[10] Slackt, 1618.

[11] Censurer, 1618, '23, '33.

[12] Shapes of ever-blooming night, 1618. Shades of ever-blooming night, 1623, '33.

[13] Field, 1618, '23, '33.

[14] Fall down, ditto.

[15] Murderers greeve, 1618. Murderers greene, 1623, '33.

[16] —— smile. I begg'd, 1618, '23, '33.

[17] Whispered. So in Gascoigne's "Fable of Ferdinando Jeronimi" (Works, by Hazlitt, i. 422): "After his due reverence, hee layde his hande on hir temples, and privily rounding hir in hir eare;" and in Lyly's "Euphues," 1579, we have, "rounding Philautus in his eare." See also Steevens's note on King John, ii. 2.

[18] Of Hor, second edit.; of Horror, 1618, '23, '33. For the gates of horn, see Virgil, B. vi., Sunt geminæ somni portæ, &c.

[19] Pretends, 1618, '23, 33. [And perhaps rightly, as pretend was frequently used in the sense of intend, purpose.]

[20] Will, 1633.

[21] Bounds, 1623, '33.

[22] Skies, 1633.

[23] Valour, 1618, '23, '33.

[24] Coronet, ditto.

[25] This play, though not mentioned in the "Key to the Rehearsal," seems to have been one of those ridiculed by the Duke of Buckingham in that witty performance. See act v.—

"The army, wrangling for the gold you gave, First fell to words, and then to handy-blows."

[26] When, 1618, '23, '33.

[27] Dark'd, ditto

[28] Dropt, ditto.

[29] And soldiers lie maim'd, ditto.

[30] Unbowed, ditto.

[31] His, 1618.

[32] Pickt, 1618.

[33] Tribute may be paid, 1618, '23, '33.

[34] Our, ditto.

[35] That, ditto.

[36] This, ditto.

[37] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[38] That, 1618, '23.

[39] Trumpet, 1618, '23, '33. [A tucket is a flourish on a trumpet; but it is not perfectly clear that the word was not understood in the sense of a trumpet itself. See a note in the "First Part of Jeronimo," vol. iv., p. 380.]

[40] Gave them charge, 1618, '23, '33.

[41] Meets, 1618, '23, '33.

[42] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[43] Observes, ditto.

[44] As though, 1618.

[45] Free, omitted ditto.

[46] Lord, 1618, '23, '33.

[47] The, ditto.

[48] So, ditto.

[49] So in Shakespeare's "King John," iii. 1—

"You are the hare, of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard."

[50] [Reward. It seemed idle to reprint the long note in the last edition of Dodsley, illustrating the meaning of a word with which every schoolboy is acquainted.]

[51] Called King of Portugal or Portingal in the "First Part of Jeronimo." The scene here changes to Portugal.—Collier.

[52] This, 1618, '23, '33.

[53] It, 1618.

[54] Adjudged, 1618, '23, '33.

[55] I am, 1633.

[56] Nihil, 1633.

[57] These, 1623, '33.

[58] Put his, ditto.

[59] But where? 1618, '23, '33.

[60] Will fly, 1618, '23, '33.

[61] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[62] Hast, 1623, '33.

[63] Thoughts, 1618, '28, '33.

[64] Now Ile, ditto.

[65] Deare, ditto.

[66] Chiefest, 1623, '33.

[67] Ile not refuse this doleful heavy, 1618, '23, '33.

[68] To, ditto.

[69] A omitted, 1618, '23.

[70] i.e., Threw him on the ground with force, as in the "Second Part of Antonio and Mellida," iv. 3—

"Distraught and raving, from a turret's top, He threw his body in the swolne sea, And as he headlong topsie-turvie ding'd downe, He still cry'd Mellida."

Again, in Nash's "Lenten Stuffe," 1599: "For besides the loud bellowing ... which hath dung me in a manner down," &c. And in Marston's "Satires"—

"Is ding'd to hell, and vulture eats his heart."

[71] So, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[72] Carrying or bearing. So in Churchyard's "Challenge," 1593, p. 116—

"What cunning heads and hands can catch in hold, That covetous mindes doth seek to weld alone."

[73] Sorrowes, 1618, '23, '33.

[74] This scarf pluckt off from, ditto.

[75] Thou, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[76] Of, 1618, '23, 33.

[77] At, ditto.

[78] [Live, Allde's edition.]

[79] So in "Wily Beguil'd," 1606—

"By Jesus, I cannot play the dissembler, And wooe my love with courtly ambages."

[80] Devis'd,1618, '23, '33.

[81] That is, act from caprice. So in Ben Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," induction: "When you come to plays, be humorous, look with a good starch'd face, and ruffle your brow like a new boot; laugh at nothing but your own jests, or else as the noblemen laugh." Again, in Decker's "Satiromastix," 1602—

"All our understanding faculties Sit there in their high court of parliament, Enacting laws to sway this humorous world, This little isle of man."

And in the "Second Part of King Henry IV.," iv. 4, we have—

"Being incens'd, he's flint, As humorous as winter" ——

See also Mr Steevens's note on the last passage.

[82] Delightsome, 1618, '12, '33.

[83] Revellinge, ditto.

[84] Lord, ditto.

[85] To jest is to play a part in a masque. See Dr Farmer's note on "King Richard II.," i. 3—

"As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight."

[86] Five and, omitted, 1623, '33.

[87] We, 1618, '23, '33.

ACT II.

Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.

Lorenzo.

My lord, though Bell'-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[88] is pierc'd with softest shower; And she in time will fall from her disdain, And rue[89] the sufferance of your friendly pain.

Balthazar.

No, she is wilder, and more hard withal, Than beast or bird, or tree, or stony wall:[90] But wherefore blot I Bell'-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'[91] quill. My presents are not of sufficient cost, And being worthless, all my labour's lost. Yet might she love me for my valiancy:[92] Ay, but that's slander'd by captivity. Yet might she love me to content her sire: Ay, but her reason masters his[93] 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[94] 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 extasies, 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!

Enter Pedringano.

Pedringano.

Signior!

Lorenzo.

Vien que presto.

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[95] 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[96] to tell the truth.

Lorenzo.

Then, Pedringano, this is my demand: Whom loves my sister Bell'-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.

[Draws his sword.

And fear shall force what friendship cannot win: Thy death shall bury what thy life conceals; Thou dy'st for more esteeming her than me.

Pedringano.

O, 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 dy'st.

Pedringano.

If madam Bell'-Imperia be in love——

Lorenzo.

What, villain? ifs and ands? [Threatens him.

Pedringano.

O, 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 know'st thou he[97] is in 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,[98] 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 Bell'-Imperia: Besides, your honour's liberality Deserves my duteous service ev'n till death.

Lorenzo.

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: 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 Ped.

Why so: tam armis, quam ingenio: Where words prevail not, violence prevails; But gold doth more than either of them both. How likes Prince Balthazar this[99] stratagem?

Balthazar.

Both well and ill; it makes me glad and sad: Glad, that I know the hinderer of my love; 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. 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 dang'rous wounds, And by those wounds he forced me to yield, 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,[100] Which sly deceits[101] smooth Bell'-Imperia's ears; And through her ears dive down into her heart, And in her heart set[102] 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, And either lose my life or win my love.

Lorenzo.

Let's go, my lord, your[103] staying stays revenge: Do you but follow me, and gain your love, Her favour must be won by his remove. [Exeunt.

Enter Horatio and Bell'-Imperia.

Horatio.

Now, madam, since by favour of your love Our hidden smoke has 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 shows all to the Prince and Lorenzo, placing them in secret.

Bell'-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's the only port, Wherein my heart, with fears and hopes long toss'd, Each hour doth wish and long to make resort, There to repair[104] 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 and Lorenzo aside.[105]

Balthazar.

O sleep, mine eyes, see not my love profan'd; Be deaf, mine ears, hear not my discontent; Die, heart: another 'joys what thou deserv'st.

Lorenzo.

Watch still, mine eyes, to see this[106] love disjoin'd: Hear still, mine ears, to hear them both lament: Live,[107] heart, to joy at fond Horatio's fall.

Bell'-Imperia.

Why stands Horatio speechless all this while?

Horatio.

The less I speak, the more I meditate.

Bell'-Imperia.

But whereon dost thou chiefly[108] meditate?

Horatio.

On dangers past and pleasures to ensue. [Aside.

Balthazar.

On pleasures past and dangers to ensue.

Bell'-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.

[Aside.

Bell'-Imperia.

Let dangers go, thy war shall be with me: But such a warring, 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! [Aside.

Bell'-Imperia.

Then be[109] thy father's pleasant bow'r the field, Where first we vow'd a[110] mutual amity; The court were dangerous, that place is safe: Our hour shall be,[111] when Vesper 'gins to rise, That summons home distressful[112] travellers: There none shall hear us but the harmless birds; Happily the gentle nightingale Shall carol us asleep, ere we be ware, And singing with the prickle at her breast, Tell our delight and mirthful[113] 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.

Enter King of Spain, Portingal Ambassador, Don Cyprian, &c.

King.

Brother of Castile, to the prince's love What says your daughter Bell'-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 forego my love.

King.

Then, lord ambassador of Portingal, Advise thy king to make this marriage up, For strength'ning 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[114] 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[115] determine of the time.

Ambassador.

Will't please your grace command[116] me aught 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[117] To win fair Bell'-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 forego his love, She both will wrong her own estate and ours; Therefore, whiles I do entertain the prince With greatest pleasure[118] that our court affords, Endeavour you to win your daughter's thought: If she give back, all this will come to nought.

[Exeunt.

Enter Horatio, Bell'-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, Bell'-Imperia, let us to the bower, And there in safety pass a pleasant hour.

Bell'-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?

Bell'-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.

Instead of watching, I'll deserve more gold, By fetching Don Lorenzo to this match. [Aside.

[Exit Ped.

Horatio.

What means my love?

Bell'-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 heav'ns have[119] shut up day to pleasure us. The stars, thou seest, hold back their twinkling shine, And Luna hides herself to pleasure us.

Bell'-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 leafy bow'rs, The more will Flora deck it with her flow'rs.

Bell'-Imperia.

Ay, but if Flora spy Horatio here, Her jealous eye will think I sit too near.

Horatio.

Hark, madam, how the birds record[120] by night, For joy that Bell'-Imperia sits in sight.

Bell'-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.

Bell'-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.

Bell'-Imperia.

Set forth thy foot to try the push of mine.

Horatio.

But first my looks shall combat against thine.

Bell'-Imperia.

Then ward thyself, I dart this kiss at thee.

Horatio.

Thus I retort[121] the dart thou threw'st at me.

Bell'-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.

Bell'-Imperia.

O, let me go; for in my troubled eyes Now mayst 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.

Bell'-Imperia.

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

Enter Lorenzo, Balthazar, Cerberine, and Pedringano disguised.

Lorenzo.

My lord, away with her, take her aside.[122] O sir, forbear: your valour is already tried. Quickly despatch, my masters.

[They hang him in the arbour.

Horatio.

What, will ye murder me?

Lorenzo.

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

[They stab him.

Bell'-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 Bell'-Imperia.

Lorenzo.

Although his life were still[123] ambitious, proud, Yet is he at the highest, now he is dead.

Bell'-Imperia.

Murder! murder! Help, Hieronimo, help.

Lorenzo.

Come, stop her mouth, away with her. [Exeunt.

Enter Hieronimo in his shirt, &c.

HIERONIMO.

What outcries pluck[124] me from my naked bed,[125] And chill[126] 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 here within this[127] 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[128] whilome 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[129] 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 heav'ns, 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[130] profaner of this sacred bow'r? O poor Horatio! what hadst thou misdone, To lese thy life, ere life was new-begun? O wicked butcher! whatsoe'er thou wert, How couldst thou strangle virtue and desert? Ay me most wretched, that have lost my joy, In lesing 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; 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.

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. [Aye me,[131] Hieronimo, sweet husband, speak!

Hieronimo.

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—Roderigo, ho.

Enter Pedro and Jaques.

Isabella.

Aye 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 With waiting on his cup: these be favours, Which do assure me that 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: 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 you hear me, sir?

Jaques.

Ay, sir.

Hieronimo.

Well, sir, be gone. Pedro, come hither; Know'st thou who this is?

Pedro.

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, St James; but this doth make me laugh, That there are more deluded than myself.

Pedro.

Deluded?

Hieronimo.

Ay, 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.

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 asham'd.

Isabella.

Dear Hieronimo, Cast a more serious eye upon thy grief, Weak apprehension gives but weak belief.

Hieronimo.

It was a man, sure, that was hang'd up here, A youth, as I remember: I cut him down. If it should prove my son now after all, 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: 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.

O sweet Horatio! O my dearest son!

Hieronimo.

How strangely had I lost my way to grief!] 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.

And I'll close up the glasses of his sight, For once these eyes were only[132] my delight.

Hieronimo.

Seest thou this handkerchief besmear'd with blood? It shall not from me, till I take revenge: Seest thou those wounds, that yet are bleeding fresh? I'll not entomb them, till I have revenge:[133] Then will I joy amidst my discontent; Till then my sorrow[134] never shall be spent.

Isabella.

The heav'ns are just, murder cannot be hid: Time is the author both of truth and right, And time will bring this treachery to light.

Hieronimo.

Meanwhile, good Isabella, cease thy plaints, Or, at the least, dissemble them awhile: So shall we sooner find the practice out, And learn by whom all this was brought about. Come, Isabel, now let us take him up,

[They take him up.

And bear him in from out this cursed 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, & nostro detur medicina dolori: Aut si qui faciunt annorum oblivia succos, Præbeat, ipse metam magnum quæcunque per orbem, Gramina sol pulchras ejecit lucis in oras, Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni, Quicquid & irarum vi cæca nenia nectit. 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. Attamen absistam properato cedere letho, Ne mortem vindicta tuam tum nulla sequatur.

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

Enter Andrea's Ghost, with 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 Bell'-Imperia, On whom I doated more than all the world, Because she lov'd me more than all the world.

Revenge.

Thou talk'st of harvest,[135] when the corn is green; The end is crown[136] 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[88] In time the hardest flint, &c., 1618, '23, '33.

[89] Rule, ditto.

[90] [Compare Watson's "Ecatompathia" (1582), Sonnet 47:

"More fierce is my sweete loue, more hard withall, Then Beast or Birde, then Tree or stony wall."

Tyrwhitt pointed out to his friend George Steevens that the same verses occurred in Harl. MS., 3277, and Steevens did not discover, till he had copied them out, that the MS. was nothing more than a copy of the "Ecatompathia," with certain variations of very little consequence.]

[91] Marses, 1618, '23, '33.

[92] [These lines seem to be those intended to be ridiculed by the Duke of Buckingham in the "Rehearsal, iii. 5"—

"My legs, the emblem of my various thought," &c.]

[93] Her, 1618, '23, '33.

[94] Loves, 1623, '33.

[95] Livings, 1618, '23, 33.

[96] In me in lies, ditto.

[97] How knowest thou that he, 1618, '23, '33.

[98] The cross on the hilt of the sword; in times of chivalry a most sacred oath. See "Hamlet," act i. sc. 5.

[99] Of this, 1618, '23, '33.

[100] This line omitted, ditto.

[101] Sweet, ditto.

[102] Sets, 1618, '23, '33.

[103] Our, 1633.

[104] There on repair, 1618, '23, '33.

[105] The editions of 1623 and 1633 read "Balthazar and Lorenzo alone."—Collier.

[106] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[107] Leave, ditto.

[108] Chiefly dost thou, ditto.

[109] By, 1618, '23, '33.

[110] Our, ditto.

[111] These lines, describing the meeting of the lovers, are, as Mr Whalley observes, tender and natural. See "Enquiry into the Learning of Shakespeare," 1748, p. 48.

[112] Distressed, 1623, '33.

[113] Sportfull, ditto.

[114] Our, 1618.

[115] Let him, 1633.

[116] To command, 1618.

[117] Paine, 1618, '23, '33.

[118] Pleasures, ditto.

[119] Heaven hath, 1618, '23, '33.

[120] To record signified anciently to sing, as in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona," v. 3:—

"Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, And to the nightingale's complaining notes Tune my distresses and record my woes."

See also Mr Steevens's note on this passage.

[121] Return, 1618, '23, '33.

[122] Take her aside is printed as a marginal direction, 1618, '23. '33.

[123] Still, omitted, ditto.

[124] Outcry calls, 1618, '28, '33.

[125] This line, though not mentioned, is one of those indicated by Shakespeare in the induction to the "Taming of the Shrew," where Sly says, "Go to thy bed, and warm thee." Thomas Randolph, in his "Conceited Pedlar," 1630, also alludes to it: "Jeronymo rising from his naked bed was not so good a midwife."—Collier.

[126] Chills, 1618, '23, '33.

[127] The, ditto.

[128] That who whilome, 1618.

[129] Here hath, 1618, '23, '33.

[130] Vile, ditto.

[131] [The lines here inserted between brackets were Ben Jonson's additions, made in 1601-2, and first printed in the 4to of 1602. See "Henslowe's Diary," by Collier, pp. 201, 223, and Lamb's "Specimens," edit. 1854, p. 11.]

[132] Chiefly, 1623, '33.

[133] Reveng'd, Allde's edit.

[134] Sorrowes, 1618, '23, '33.

ACT III.

Enter the Viceroy of Portingal, Nobles, Alexandro, Villuppo.[137]

Viceroy.

Infortunate condition of kings,[138] Seated amidst[139] so many helpless doubts! First, we are plac'd upon extremest height, And oft supplanted with exceeding hate; 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 th' 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 deprived of his dearest son; The only hope of our successive line.[140]

Nobles.

I had not 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 feigned love, and colour'd in his looks, When he in camp comforted 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 condemned, he may die.

Enter Alexandro, with a Nobleman and halberts.

Nobleman.

In such extremes will nought 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,[141] To yield me hope of any of her mould.

Viceroy.

Why linger ye? bring forth that daring fiend, And let him die for his accursed deed.

Alexandro.

Not that I fear th' 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; [but] to the tortures with him![142] Bind him, and burn his body in those flames,

[They bind him to the stake.

That shall prefigure those unquenched 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[143] 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.

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,[144] 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,[145]

[Gives him letters.

Are happy witness of his highness' health.

[The King looks on the letters, and proceeds.

Viceroy.

Thy son doth live, your tribute is receiv'd: Thy 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.

[Gives him more letters.

Viceroy.

Accursed 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 quital for thy discontent.

[They unbind him.

Alexandro.

Dread lord, in kindness you could do no less, Upon report of such a damned 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[146] us to have misconceiv'd.

Alexandro.

Say, treacherous Villuppo, tell the king: Wherein[147] hath Alexandro used thee ill?

Villuppo.

Rent with remembrance of so foul a deed, My guilty soul[148] 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: But with the bitter'st torments and extremes, That may be yet invented for thine end.

[Alex. seems to entreat.

Entreat me not; go take the traitor hence:

[Exit Villuppo.

And, Alexandro, let us honour thee With public notice of thy loyalty. 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.

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 heav'ns! if this unhallow'd deed, If this inhumane and barbarous attempt; If this incomparable murder thus 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[s] my vexed soul, And with the wounds of my distressful son, Solicit[s] me for notice of his death. The ugly fiends do sally forth of hell, And frame my steps to unfrequented paths, And fear[149] my heart with fierce inflamed thoughts. The cloudy day my discontents[150] records, Early begins to register my dreams, And drive[s] me forth to seek the murderer. Eyes, life, world, heav'ns, hell, night, and day, See, search, show, 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 murdered thy son. Hieronimo, revenge Horatio's death, And better far than Bell'-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, Bell'-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 devised 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 beloved 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[151] near the Duke of Castile's house, Close, if I can, with Bell'-Imperia, To listen more, but nothing to bewray.[152]

Enter Pedringano.

Hieronimo.

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 Bell'-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.[153]

Why so, Hieronimo? use me.

Hieronimo.

O no, my lord; I dare not, it must not be: I humbly thank your lordship.

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[154] this,

[Gives him more gold.

And hearken to me—thus it is devis'd,[155] This night thou must (and, pr'ythee, so resolve) Meet Serberine at St Liugis' 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.

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, Then shalt thou mount for this; thou know'st my mind. Che le Jeron![156] [Exit Pedringano.

Enter Page.

Page.

My lord?

Lorenzo.

Go, sirrah, to Serberine, and bid him forthwith Meet the prince and me at St Liugis' Park, Behind the house: this evening, boy.

Page.

I go, my lord.

Lorenzo.

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, 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. This sly inquiry of Hieronimo For Bell'-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. They that for coin their souls endangered, 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: I'll trust myself, myself shall be my friend; For die they shall, slaves are ordain'd to[157] no other end. [Exit.

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[158] ward,[159] So near the duke his brother's[160] 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.[161]

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

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 hands 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[162] with the murderer.

1 Watch.

On to Hieronimo's:[163] 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.

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 aught concerns our honour and your own?

Lorenzo.

Nor[164] 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 revealed 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[165] 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 damned 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.[166] 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[167] to catch, And no man knows it was my reaching fetch. '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[168] 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[169]-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 turned off (As 'tis my will the uttermost be try'd), Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still: Show him this box, tell him his pardon's in't; But open't not, and if thou lov'st 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[170] list not trust the air With utterance of our pretence therein; For fear the privy whispering of the wind Convey our words amongst unfriendly ears, That lie too open to advantages.

E quel che voglio io, nessun le sa, Intendo io quel mi bastara. [Exit.

Enter Boy, with the box.

Boy.

My master hath forbidden me to look in this box; and, by my troth,[171] 'tis likely, if he had not warned me, I should not have had so much idle time: for we men'skind,[172] 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,[173] here's nothing but the bare empty box: were it not sin against secrecy, I would say it were a piece of gentleman-like 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[174] say, Mock on, here's thy warrant? Is't not a scurvy jest, that a man should jest himself to death? Alas! poor Pedringano, I am in a sort sorry for thee; but if I should be hang'd with thee, I cannot[175] weep.

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 heav'ns, 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[176] 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[177] 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 approved and confess'd; And by our law he is condemn'd to die.

Enter Hangman.

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[178] coming down.

Hangman.

Indeed here is a remedy for that.

Pedringano.

How? be turn'd off?

Hangman.

Ay, truly; come, are you ready? I pray you, 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[179] reason; for I am like to Break your young neck.

Pedringano.

Dost thou mock me, Hangman? Pray God, I be not preserv'd 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 an 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 ever groan'd 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 pr'ythee, request this good company to pray with[180] 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. O monstrous times! where murder's set so light, And where the soul, that should be shrin'd in heav'n, Solely delights in interdicted things, Still wand'ring in the thorny passages, That intercepts itself of happiness. Murder![181] O bloody monster, God forbid, A fault so foul should 'scape unpunished. Despatch, and see this[182] execution done: This makes me to remember thee my son. [Exit Hier.

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.

So, executioner; convey him hence: But let his body be unburied; Let not the earth be choked or infect With that which heaven contemns, and men neglect. [Exeunt.

Enter Hieronimo.

Hieronimo.

Where shall I run to breathe abroad my woes, My woes, whose weight hath wearied the earth? Or mine exclaims, that have surcharg'd the air With ceaseless plaints for my deceased 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 march with spring-tides[183] 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 winged mount; and (hovering in the air) Beat[184] at the windows of the brightest heavens, Soliciting for justice and revenge: But they are plac'd in those imperial 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, Petergad, 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 write as mine extremes requir'd, That you would labour my delivery: If you neglect, my life is desperate; And in my death I shall reveal the troth. 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 the accursed 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 venged[185] or reveal'd? Now see I what I durst not then suspect, That Bell'-Imperia's letter was not feign'd; Nor feigned 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[186] not leave. O false Lorenzo! are these thy flattering 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?[187] Woe to the cause of these constrained wars! Woe to thy baseness and captivity! Woe to thy birth, thy body and thy soul, Thy cursed father and thy conquer'd self! And ban'd with bitter execrations be The day and place, where he did pity thee! But wherefore waste I mine unfruitful words, When nought 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[135] The harvest, 1618, '23, '33.

[136] Growne, ditto.

[137] [The scene again changes to Portugal.]

[138] Mr Reed printed the line as follows, without any authority, and to the injury of the metre:—

"Unfortunate condition of great kings."

The terminations tion and sion in our old poets were almost invariably pronounced as two distinct syllables.—Collier.

[139] Among, 1623, '33.

[140] Lives, 1618, '23, '33.

[141] Infected, 1618, '23, '33.

[142] [Old copies, when? and this reading was defended by Gifford and Collier. The present was Dodsley's correction. The old reading is, however, supported to some extent by a passage in the "History of Jacob and Esau," 1568, i. 1—

"But up, Ragan! up, drowsy hogshead, I say: Why, when? will it not be? Up, I come anon. Up, or I shall raise you, in faith, ye drowsy whoreson! Why, when?"]

[143] Of, 1618, '23, '33.

[144] Know sovereign: I that, 1618. Know my soveraigne, that, 1623, '33.

[145] Commend, 1618, '23, '33.

[146] Could never once mov'd, 1633.

[147] [Old copies, Or wherein.]

[148] Guiltful, 1618, '23, '33.

[149] The word fear is often used by our ancient writers in the sense of frighten or make afraid, as in "Every Man in his Humour," iii. 7:—

"(He shall not go) I but fear the knave."

And in "Sejanus his Fall," iv.:—

"His subtility hath chose this doubling line, To hold him even in; not so to fear him, As wholly put him out."

Again, in "A Fair Quarrel," ii. 1: "But as it is, it fears me." So in "Euphues and his England," 1580: "Nor the perswasions of Papists ... could either fear hir or allure hir." Parkes, in his "Curtain-Drawer of the World," 1612, p. 41, has, "If he shall feare us out of our wits with strange words."

[150] Discontent, 1618, '23, '33.

[151] Hearken, 1618, '23, '33.

[152] [Betray.]

[153] [This scene is thus enlarged by Jonson in the 4to of 1602:]—

Lorenzo.

Why so, Hieronimo? use me.

Hieronimo.

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, 'tis 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!

Lorenzo.

Why then, farewell.

[154] Thee, 1623, '33.

[155] Thus it is: disguis'd, 1618, '23, '33.

[156] [Jeron is probably short for Jeronimo, and the words in the text were perhaps intended to represent something privately understood between the speakers.]

[157] For, 1618, '23, '33.

[158] Nor, 1618, '23, '33.

[159] These are terms used in several modern Acts of Parliament, for that composition which is paid in the City of London to cause the attendance, which formerly every householder was obliged to give in person, to watch in his respective ward. See Stowe, ed. 1720, ii. 393.

[160] Brother's, 1618, '23, '33.

[161] The ancient name for a pistol. So in "Arden of Feversham," 1592—

"Or dare abide the noise the dagge will make."

Again, ibid.—

"I'll leave you at your dag's discharge."

And—

"My dagge was levelled at his hart."

So also in "Jack Drum's Entertainment," 1601, v.—

"Whilst he would show me how to hold the dagge."

Again, Ascham (Works, by Bennet, p. 21): "Ridving on his journey, he was once shot with a dagge secretly."

[162] Marshall, 1618, '23, '33.

[163] Hieronimo, ditto.

[164] Not, 1618, '23, '33.

[165] I, Serberine, 1618, '23, '33.

[166] Snared or entangled, as a bird with bird-lime. So in "Much Ado about Nothing," iii. 1—

"She's limed, I warrant you, we have caught her, madam."

And in "Arden of Feversham"—

"Once more Lime well your twigs to catch this wary bird."

[167] Hope, 1623, '33.

[168] Imprison'd, 1618, '23, 33.

[169] Marshals, 1618, 23, '33.

[170] I, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[171] Bare, omitted, ditto.

[172] Men-kind, ditto.

[173] Credit, ditto.

[174] Should, ditto.

[175] Could not, 1618, '23, '33.

[176] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[177] No, ditto.

[178] My, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[179] No reason, ditto.

[180] For, 1618, '23, '33.

[181] [Old copies, murder? o.]

[182] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[183] Spring-tide, 1618, '23, '33.

[184] But, ditto.

[185] Shall thus be this revenged, 1618. Shall thus be thus revenged, 1623, '33.

[186] Should, 1618, '23, '33.

[187] For thee, ditto.

ACT IV.[188]

Enter Isabella and her Maid.

Isabella.

So that you say this herb will purge the eye,[189] 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! O, 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 whipstalk[190] too, To be revenged on their villanies?

Maid.

Madam, these humours do torment my soul.

Isabella.

My soul, poor soul; thou talk'st of things— Thou know'st not what: my soul hath silver wings, That mount me up unto the highest heavens: To heaven, ay, there sits my Horatio, Back'd with a troop of fiery cherubims, Dancing about his newly-healed wounds, Singing sweet hymns, and chanting heavenly notes: Rare harmony to greet his innocence,[191] That died,[192] 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.

Bell'-imperia at a window.

Bell'-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! Accursed brother, unkind murderer, Why bend'st thou thus thy mind to martyr me? Hieronimo, why writ[193] 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.

Christophil.

Come, madam Bell'-Imperia, this may[194] not be.

[Exeunt.

Enter Lorenzo, Balthazar, and the Page.

Lorenzo

Boy, talk no further. Thus far things go well. Thou art assured, 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.[195] 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, inquired 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[196]— But here she comes.

Enter Bell'-Imperia.

Lorenzo.

Now, sister?

Bell'-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 weapon[197] 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?[198] Or wherein is't that I offended thee?

Lorenzo.

Advise you better, Bell'-Imperia, For I have done you no disparagement; Unless, by more discretion than deserv'd, I sought to save your honour and mine own.

Bell'-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 resolved To come confer with old Hieronimo, Concerning certain matters of estate, That by the viceroy was determined.

Bell'-Imperia.

And wherein was mine honour touch'd in that?

Balthazar.

Have patience, Bell'-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 Bell'-Imperia with Horatio.

Bell'-Imperia.

How then?

Lorenzo.

Why then, remembering that old disgrace, Which you for Don Andrea had endured, And now were likely longer to sustain, By being found so meanly accompanied, Thought rather, for I knew[199] 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.

Bell'-Imperia.

Even 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.

Bell'-Imperia.

But why had I no notice of his ire?

Lorenzo.

That were to add more fuel to your[200] fire, Who burnt like Ætna, for Andrea's loss.

Bell'-Imperia.

Hath not my father then inquir'd for me?

Lorenzo.

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

[He whispereth in her ear.

But, Bell'-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[201] love: thy flight, his following thee.

Bell'-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,[202] Wherewith my liberty thou hast surprised: Of that thine ivory front, my sorrow's map, Wherein I see no haven to rest my hope.

Bell'-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.

Bell'-Imperia.

Whom?

Balthazar.

Bell'-Imperia.

Bell'-Imperia.

But I, that fear.

Balthazar.

Whom?

Bell'-Imperia.

Bell'-Imperia.

Lorenzo.

Fear yourself?

Bell'-Imperia.

Ay, brother.

Lorenzo.

How?

Bell'-Imperia.

As those that what[203] they love are loth and fear to lose.

Balthazar.

Then, fair, let Balthazar your keeper be.

Bell'-Imperia.

No,[204] Balthazar doth fear as well as we:

Et tremulo metui pavidum junxere timorem, Et vanum stolidæ proditionis opus. [Exit.

Lorenzo.

Nay, an' you argue things so cunningly, We'll go continue this discourse at court.

Balthazar.

Led by the lodestar[205] of her heavenly looks, Wends poor oppressed Balthazar, As o'er the mountains walks the wanderer, Incertain to effect his pilgrimage. [Exeunt.

Enter two Portingals, and Hieronimo meets them.

1 Portingal.

By your leave, sir.

Hieronimo.

['Tis[206] neither as you think, nor as you think, Nor as you think: you are 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 balance those light creatures we call women: And, at nine months' end, creeps forth to light. What is there yet in a son, To make a father doat, 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 striking 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, unbevelled[207] he appears, Reckons his parents among the rank of fools, Strikes care[208] 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 those 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 stored up in him. None but a damned murderer could hate him: He had not seen the back of nineteen years, When his strong arm unhors'd the proud Prince Balthazar; And his great mind, too full of honour, took him to Mercy that valiant but ignoble Portingal.[209] 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 escape, 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.] Good leave have you: I pray you go, For I'll leave you, if you can leave me so.

2 Portingal.

Pray you, which is the next[210] way to my lord the duke's?

Hieronimo.

The next way from me.

2 Portingal.

To his house, we mean.

Hieronimo.

O, hard by; 'tis yon house that you see.

2 Portingal.

You could not tell us if his son were there?

Hieronimo.

Who, my Lord Lorenzo?

1 Portingal.

Ay, sir.

[He goes in at one door, and comes out at another.

Hieronimo.

O, forbear! For other talk for us far fitter were; But if you be importunate[211] 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,[212] It will conduct you to despair and death; Whose rocky cliffs when you have once beheld, Within a hugy dale of lasting night, That,[213] kindled with the world's iniquities, Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes: Not far from thence, where murderers have built An habitation for their cursed souls, There is 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 Portingal.

Ha, ha, ha!

Hieronimo.

Ha, ha, ha! Why, ha, ha, ha! Farewell, good Ha, ha, ha! [Exit.

2 Portingal.

Doubtless this man is passing lunatic, Or imperfection of his age doth make him doat. Come, let's away to seek my lord the duke.

[Exeunt.

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 firebrand, 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, and thou shalt be with him straight; Or this, and then thou needst 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.[214]

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, seest thou not the king is busy?

Hieronimo.

O, is he so?

King.

Who is he that interrupts our business?

Hieronimo.

Not I. Hieronimo, beware; go by, go by.[215]

Ambassador.

Renowned king, he hath receiv'd and read Thy kingly proffers and thy promis'd 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 Bell'-Imperia, thy beloved niece, The news are more delightful to his soul, Than myrrh or incense to th' offended heavens: In person, therefore, will he come himself, To see the marriage rites solemnized: And in the presence of the court of Spain, To knit a sure inextricable[216] band Of kingly love and everlasting league Betwixt the crowns of Spain and Portingal; There will he give his crown to Balthazar, And make a queen of Bell'-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 nought 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 the 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[217] fiends in hell, To be avenged 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 [all] the devils drive. [Exit.

King.

What accident hath happ'd[218] 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, Hap'ly Hieronimo hath need thereof.

Lorenzo.

But if he be thus helplessly[219] distract, 'Tis requisite his office be resign'd, And given to one of more discretion.

King.

We shall increase his melancholy so; 'Tis best that[220] we see farther in it first: Till when ourself will [hold] exempt the place. And, brother, now bring in th' ambassador, That he may be a witness of the match 'Twixt Balthazar and Bell'-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.

Therein your highness highly shall content His majesty, that longs to hear from hence.

King.

On, then, and hear you,[221] lord ambassador.

[Exeunt.

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,[222] since his Horatio died; And now his aged 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, here he comes.

Enter Hieronimo.

Hieronimo.

I pry through every crevice of each wall, Look at each tree, and search through every brake, Beat on the bushes, stamp our grand-dame earth, Dive in the water, and stare up to heaven: Yet cannot I behold my son Horatio. How now, who's there? Sprights, sprights!

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, When as the sun-god rides in all his glory; Light me your torches then.

Pedro.

Then we burn daylight.[223]

Hieronimo.

Let it be burnt; night is a murd'rous slut, That would not have her treasons to be seen: And yonder pale-faced Hecate there, the moon, Doth give consent to that is done in darkness! And all those stars that gaze upon her face, Are aglets[224] 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 heavens are gracious, and your miseries And sorrow make you speak, you know not what.

Hieronimo.

Villain, thou li'st, and thou dost nought But tell me I am mad! thou li'st, 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 the 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 murd'rer seen him, His weapon would have fallen, and cut the earth, Had he been fram'd of nought 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 Jaques: Not I, indeed—we are 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:

[One knocks within at the door.

O wicked, wicked plant! See who knocks 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 [it was], that I should set this tree. But even so masters ungrateful servants rear[225] From nought, 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 undelved mines cannot buy An ounce of justice, 'tis a jewel so Inestimable. I tell thee, God hath Engrossed all justice in his hands, And there is none but what comes from him.

Painter.

O, 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 is a lie, As massy as the earth: I had a son, Whose least unvalued hair did weigh A thousand of thy sons; and he was murder'd.

Painter.

Alas! sir, I had no more but he.

Hieronimo.

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, Like to two lions reaved of their young. Go in a-doors, I say. [Exeunt.

[The Painter and he sit down.

Come, let's talk wisely now. Was thy son murder'd?

Painter.

Ay, sir.

Hieronimo.

So was mine. How dost thou take it? art thou not sometime mad? Is there no tricks that comes before thine eyes?

Painter.

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! 'fore God, an excellent fellow. Look you, sir, Do you see? I'd have you paint me my gallery, In your oil-colours matted, and draw me five Years younger than I am: do you 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, and hanging upon this tree— Canst thou draw a murd'rer?

Painter.

I'll warrant you, sir; I have the pattern of the most notorious villains That ever liv'd in all Spain.

Hieronimo.

O, let them be worse, worse: stretch thine art; And let their beards be of Judas his own colour,[226] And let their eyebrows 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 rear'd up thus: And with these words: What noise is this? who calls Hieronimo? May it be done?

Painter.

Yes, 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 owls shrieking, the toads croaking, the minutes jarring, and the clock striking twelve. And then at last, sir, starting, behold a man hanging, and tott'ring and tott'ring, 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 a passion, there you may show a passion. Draw me like old Priam of Troy, Crying, the house is o' fire, the house is o' fire. As the torch over thy head; make me curse, Make me rave, make me cry, make me mad, Make me well again, make me curse hell, Invocate, and in the end leave 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 than 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.

Vindicta mihi— Ay, heaven will be reveng'd of every ill;[227] Nor will they suffer murder unrepaid: Then stay, Hieronimo, attend their will: For mortal men may not appoint their time.[228]

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 juvant, 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[229] be assured 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 cloaked 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[230] slip; For ignorance, I wot, and well they know,

Remedium malorum mors 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,[231] 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, and it shall please you, sir, That you should plead their cases[232] 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.

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. [Aside.

Hieronimo.

Come near, you men, that thus importune me; Now must I bear a face of gravity, For thus[233] I us'd, before my marshalship, To plead in causes as corrigidor.— [Aside. 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 Ejectio firma by a lease.

Hieronimo.

Content you, sirs, are you determin'd That I should plead your several actions?

1 Citizen.

Ay, sir, and here's my declaration.

2 Citizen.

And here's my band.[234]

3 Citizen.

And here is my lease.

[They give him papers.

Hieronimo.

But wherefore stands yon[235] silly man so mute, With mournful eyes and hands to heaven uprear'd?— Come hither, father, let me know thy cause.

Senex.

O worthy sir, my cause, but slightly known, May move the hearts of warlike Myrmidons, And melt the corsic[236] rocks with ruthful[237] tears.

Hieronimo.

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

Senex.

No, sir, could my woes Give way unto my most distressful words, Then should 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 murdered son.

Senex.

Ay, sir.

Hieronimo.

No, sir, it was my murdered son: O my son, O my son, O my son Horatio! But mine or thine, Bazulto, be content. Here, take my handkerchief, 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 revenged I should be. But here, take this and this——

Senex.

What, thy purse?——

Hieronimo.

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[238] for his son's decease. If love's[239] effects so strive in lesser things, If love enforce such moods in meaner wits, If love express[240] such power in poor estates: Hieronimo, when as a raging sea, Toss'd with the wind and tide, o'erturneth then The upper billows, course of waves to keep, Whilst lesser waters labour in the deep: Then shamest thou not, Hieronimo, to neglect The sweet[241] revenge of thy Horatio? Though on this earth justice will not be found, I'll down to hell, and in this passion Knock at the dismal gates of Pluto's court, Getting by force (as once Alcides did)[242] A troop of furies and tormenting hags To torture Don Lorenzo and the rest. Yet lest the triple-headed porter should Deny my passage to the slimy strand, The Thracian poet thou shalt counterfeit— Come on,[243] old father, be my Orpheus; And if thou canst[244] no notes upon the harp, Then sound the burden of thy sore heart's-grief, Till we do gain, that Proserpine may grant Revenge on them that murdered my son. Then will I rent and tear them thus and thus, Shivering 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.

Re-enter Hieronimo.

2 Citizen.

Save my bond.

3 Citizen.

Alas! my lease, it cost me ten pound, And you, my lord, have torn the same.

Hieronimo.

That cannot be, I gave it[245] never a wound; Show me one drop of blood fall from the same: How is it possible I should slay it then? 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, Whose lights are dimm'd with overlong laments? Go back, my son, complain to Æacus, For here's no justice; gentle boy, be gone, For justice is exiled from the earth: Hieronimo will bear thee company. Thy mother cries on righteous Rhadamant For just revenge against the murderers.

Senex.

Alas! my lord, whence springs this troubled speech?

Hieronimo.

But let me look on my Horatio. Sweet boy, how[246] art thou[247] chang'd in death's black shade! Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth, But suffer'd thy fair crimson-colour'd spring With withered winter to be blasted thus? Horatio, thou art older[248] than thy father: Ah, ruthless father, that favour thus transforms!

Bazulto.

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

Hieronimo.

What, not my son? thou then[249] a fury art, Sent from the empty kingdom of black night To summon me to make appearance Before grim Minos and just Rhadamant, To plague Hieronimo that is remiss, And seeks not vengeance for Horatio's death.

Bazulto.

I am a grieved 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: Thou art the lively image of my grief; Within thy face my sorrows I may see: Thy eyes are gumm'd[250] with tears, thy cheeks are wan, Thy forehead troubled, and thy muttering lips Murmur sad words abruptly broken off, 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, And thou and I, and she, will sing a song, Three parts in one; but all of discords fram'd: Talk not of chords, but let us now be gone, For with a cord Horatio was slain. [Exeunt.

Enter King of Spain, the Duke, Viceroy, and Lorenzo, Balthazar, Don Pedro, and Bell'-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.

Pedro.

It shall be so.[251]

King.

And now to meet these[252] Portingals: 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 raging seas:[253] Sufficeth[254] 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 condescent To-morrow are they[255] to be married. To this intent we entertain thyself, Thy followers, their pleasure,[256] and our peace. Speak, men of Portingal, shall it be so? If ay, say so; if not, say flatly, no.

Viceroy.

Renowned king, I come not, as thou think'st, With doubtful followers, unresolved 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 beloved niece, Fair Bell'-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 preserved.

King.

See, brother, see, how nature strives in him! Come, worthy Viceroy, and accompany Thy friend with thine extremities: A place more private fits this princely mood.

Viceroy.

Or here, or where your highness thinks it good. [Exeunt all but Cast. 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 the promis'd marriage.

Castile.

She is thy sister.

Lorenzo.

Who? Bell'-Imperia? Ay, my gracious lord; and this Is th' day, that I have long'd so happily to see.

Castile.

Thou wouldst be loth that any fault of thine Should intercept her in her happiness!

Lorenzo.

Heav'ns 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 seek'st 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[257] 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 seest 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,[258] Whence grows the ground of this report in court?

Lorenzo.

My lord, it lies not in Lorenzo's power To stop the vulgar, liberal[259] 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, have 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[260] Hieronimo and I Were reconcil'd, if he misconstrue me.

Castile.

Lorenzo, thou hast said; it shall be so. Go, one of you, and call Hieronimo.

Enter Balthazar and Bell'-Imperia.

Balthazar.

Come, Bell'-Imperia, Balthazar's content, My sorrow's ease and sovereign of my bliss, Sith heaven hath ordain'd thee[261] to be mine: Disperse those clouds and melancholy looks, And clear[262] them up with those thy sun-bright eyes, Wherein my hope and heaven's fair beauty lies.

Bell'-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.

Bell'-Imperia.

But not too fast, lest heat and all be done. I see my lord my father.

Balthazar.

Truce, my love; I will go salute him.

Castile.

Welcome, Balthazar, welcome, brave prince, The pledge of Castile's peace;— And welcome, Bell'-Imperia: how now, girl? Why com'st thou sadly to salute us thus? Content thyself, for I am satisfied; It is not now as when Andrea liv'd, We have forgotten and forgiven that, And thou art graced with a happier love:— But, Balthazar, here comes Hieronimo; 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 devised, trow? Pocas palabras,[263] mild as the lamb; Is't,[264] I will be reveng'd! No, I am not the man.

Castile.

Welcome, Hieronimo.

Lorenzo.

Welcome, Hieronimo.

Balthazar.

Welcome, Hieronimo.

Hieronimo.

My lords, I thank you for Horatio.

Castile.

Hieronimo, the reason that I sent To speak with you, is this.

Hieronimo.

What, so short? Then I'll be gone, I thank you for't.

Castile.

Nay, stay, Hieronimo—[Goes out]—go call him, son.

Lorenzo.

Hieronimo, my father craves a word with you. [Re-enter Hieronimo.

Hieronimo.

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

Lorenzo.

No; 'would he had! [Aside.

Castile.

Hieronimo, I hear You find yourself aggrieved 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.

Hieronimo, I hope you have no cause, And would be loth 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? 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 love not me, and hate my lord too much; Should I suspect Lorenzo would prevent Or cross my suit, that lov'd 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.

There 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: 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; 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 that, I hope, old grudges are forgot.

Hieronimo.

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. Pha! Keep your way.

Mi! chi mi fa piu carrezze che non suole, Tradito mi ha, o tradir mi vuole.[265] [Exit.

Enter Ghost and Revenge.

Ghost.

Awake, Alecto:[266] Cerberus, awake, Solicit Pluto, gentle Proserpine, To combat Acheron and Erebus in hell; Or near-by Styx and Phlegethon; Nor ferried Charon to the fiery lakes Such fearful sights, as poor Andrea sees. Revenge, awake.

Revenge.

Awake? for why?[267]

Ghost.

Awake, Revenge; for thou art ill-advis'd To sleep—awake: what, thou[268] 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 of 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[269] 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,[270] 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.

The two first the nuptial torches bore As brightly[271] burning as the mid-day's sun: But after them doth Hymen hie as fast, Clothed 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[272] thee and those infernal powers, That will not tolerate a lover's woe: Rest thee, for I will sit to[273] see the rest.

Revenge.

Then[274] argue not, for thou hast thy request.

[Exeunt.

FOOTNOTES:

[188] Hitherto this play has been made to consist of four acts; but, surely, through mistake: the third act containing more pages than any two besides. The present editor [Hawkins] has therefore ventured, against the authority of the printed copies, to divide the third into two; and submits the propriety of the arrangement to the judgment of the reader.

It should seem, nevertheless, as if Kyd did not mean to make this division, as at the end of all the other acts something passes between the Ghost of Andrea and Revenge. It is singular that all the editions of this tragedy should be in four acts only, if such had not been the intention of the author.—Collier.

[189] Eyes, 1618, '23, '33.

[190] Or whipstock. "Probably the handle of a whip, round which a strap of leather is usually twisted, and is sometimes put for the whip itself." So in "Pericles," ii.—

"For by his rusty outside he appears To have practised more the whipstock than the lance."

And in Ben Jonson's "New Inn," iii. 1, Pierce says, in reply to Trundle, "Let him go, base whipstock." Other examples are in Mr Steevens's note on "Twelfth Night," ii. 3.

[191] Innocency, 1618, '23, '33.

[192] Liv'd, ditto.

[193] Write, 1618, '23, 33.

[194] Must, ditto.

[195] Exit Page, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[196] Unrest, for disquiet, is a word frequently used by the old writers, as in "Titus Andronicus," act ii. sc. 3—

"And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest."

See Mr Steevens's note on this line.

Again, ibid.—

"Then rest we here awhile in our unrest."

[197] [Old copies, weapons.]

[198] Wit, 1618, '23, '33.

[199] Know, 1618, '23, '33.

[200] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[201] Thy hate is love, 1618.

[202] Twinnes, 1618, '23, '33.

[203] When, 1618, '23, '33.

[204] No, omitted, ditto.

[205] [So in Shakespeare's "Midsummer-Night's Dream," act. i. sc. 1—

"O happy fair! Your eyes are lodestars."

Jonson correctly describes the lodestar, or loadstar, as it is less properly called, as "the leading or guiding star." Milton has the same thought in "Allegro"—

"Towr's and battlements he sees Bosom'd high in loftiest trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighb'ring eyes."

Davies calls Elizabeth "lodestone to all hearts and lodestar to all eyes." See also Steevens's note on the above passage.]

[206] [The lines between brackets represent Jonson's additions to the original text.]

[207] Unleavell'd, 1623, '33.

[208] Cares, ditto.

[209] [Old copies—

"And his great mind, too full of honour, Took him us to mercy that," &c.

Even as altered (perhaps for the better), the text is rather questionable.]

[210] Next, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[211] Importune, 1618, '23.

[212] Whose palefull humours if you but behold, 1618, '23, '33.

[213] That's, ditto.

[214] [A proverbial expression.]

[215] [This line is ridiculed by Shakespeare in the induction to the "Taming of the Shrew," and by other poets of the time, as in Decker's "Satiromastix," 1602, where Tulla says, "Go by, Jeronimo, go by."]

[216] Inexecrable, Allde's undated edit.; inexplicable, 1618, '23, '33.

[217] My, 1618, '23, '33.

[218] Hapt to, ditto.

[219] Haplesly 1618, '23, '33.

[220] That omitted, ditto.

[221] Your, 1618, '23, '33.

[222] Distracted. So in "Jack Drum's Entertainment," 1601, ed. 1616, sig. G 3—

"Alas! kind youth, how came he thus distraught?"

And—

"Alas! my son's distraught. Sweet boy, appease Thy unstirring affections."

—"Second Part of Antonio and Mellida," iii. 2.

Again, in Lyly's "Euphues and his England"—

"Iffida is distraught of her wits."

[223] To burn daylight was a proverbial phrase for doing anything in waste or with no advantage. See "Merry Wives of Windsor," ii. 1, and "Romeo and Juliet," i. 4. So in Churchyard's "Worthiness of Wales," p. 96, edit. 1776—

"Tyme rouleth on: I doe but daylight burne."

And in the "Curtain-Drawer of the World," 1612—"How dost thou burne out thy daylight to these thy regardless children."

[224] An aglet, Mr Pope says, is the tag of a point. See "Taming of the Shrew," i. 2. This is one of the explanations in Baret's "Alvearic," 1580, who also says, "An aglet is a jewell in one's cap, segmentum aureum."

[225] [Old copy, rear'd.]

[226] It is observed that, in an age when but a small part of the nation could read, ideas were frequently borrowed from representations in painting or tapestry. Leland, in his "Collectanea," asserts that painters constantly represented Judas the traitor with a red head. Dr Plot ("Oxfordshire," p. 153) says the same. This conceit is thought to have arisen in England from an ancient grudge to the red-haired Danes. See the notes of Mr Steevens and Mr Tollet to "Merry Wives of Windsor," i. 4. To the instances there produced may be added the following—"What has he given her? what is it, gossip? A fair, high-standing cup, and the two great 'postle spoons, one of them gilt. Sure, that was Judas with the red beard."—Middleton's "Chaste Maid in Cheapside," 1620.

"Methought a sweet young man, In years some twenty, with a downy chin, Promising a future beard, and yet no red one."

—Beaumont and Fletcher's "Sea Voyage." [See also Dyce's ed. of Beaumont and Fletcher, v. 41.]

"Runne to the counter, Fetch me red-bearded serjeant."

—"Ram Alley," 1611, ed. 1636, E 3.

[227] This passage seems laughed at in the induction to an extremely rare old play, called "A Warning for Fair Women," 1599.

"Came screaming like a piggie halfstickt, And cries, Vindicta, revenge, revenge!"

—Collier.

[228] A time, 1618, '23, '33.

[229] Thou shalt, 1623, '33.

[230] It, 1618, '23, '33.

[231] Spirits affoord, ditto.

[232] Causes, 1623, '33.

[233] This, 1618, '23, '33.

[234] This was altered to bond in the edition of 1599. Band was, however, the manner in which the word was previously written, and, I imagine, pronounced. See several instances in Mr Steevens's note on the "Comedy of Errors," iv. 2. Again, in Churchyard's "Challenge," 1593, p. 152—

"Since faith could get no credit at his hand, I sent him word to come and see my band"

And, in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Noble Gentleman" [Dyce's ed., x. 118]—

"Take up at any use; give band or land, Or mighty statutes."

[235] Stand you, 1618, '23, '33.

[236] [Melius latebam procul ab invidæ malis, remotus inter Corsicos rupes.—Senec. in "Oct."

"Safe I lay hid and free from envy's spite, While Corsick rocks were my retired Site."

—Brathwaite's "Survey of History," 1638, p. 152, b.

Nares says, corsick, grieved; but query, Corsic for Corsican or vindictive.]

[237] Rueful, 1618, '23, '33.

[238] Delivered, 1618, '23, '33.

[239] Love, 1618.

[240] Enforce, 1611, '23, '33.

[241] Swift, ditto.

[242] Did, omitted, 1618.

[243] On, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[244] Canst no notes, i.e., understandest not, hast no knowledge of, or power in. So Spenser and others.

[245] Them, 1618, '23, '33.

[246] How, omitted, 1618.

[247] Thou art, 1623, '33.

[248] Elder, 1618, '23, '33.

[249] Then thou, 1633.

[250] Dim'd, 1618, '23, '33.

[251] Be, sir, 1618; be done, sir, 1623.

[252] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[253] According to our modern geography, it is not necessary to cross "the raging seas" to pass from Portugal to Spain.

[254] Sufficed, 1618, '23, '33.

[255] They are, 1633.

[256] Pleasures, 1623, '33.

[257] Wert, 1618, '23, '33.

[258] Too, omitted, ditto.

[259] Liberal, in our ancient writers, is (as here) frequently used to signify licentious. So in Field's "Woman's a Weathercock"—

"Next that, the fame Of your neglect and liberal talking tongue, Which breeds my honour an eternal wrong."

[260] That, omitted 1623, '33.

[261] Heaven hath thee ordained, ditto.

[262] Cheare, 1618, '23, '33.

[263] These words are given to the Tinker in the induction to the "Taming of the Shrew," in order to ridicule them.

[264] Hist, I will be reveng'd, 1633.

[265] Me. Chi mi fa? Pui Correzza Che non sule Tradito viha otrade vule.—Old copies.

[266] [Old copies, Alecto, and a little lower down, Achinon Ericus, For neere by.]

[267] Rev. Awake for why? Omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[268] Thou, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[269] In, ditto.

[270] Found, ditto.

ACT V.

Enter Bell'-Imperia and Hieronimo.

Bell'-Imperia.